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Chapter Text

Merlin’s face scrunched up, and his mouth thinned into a line. If he never had to slosh through another puddle on the way to class again, it would be too soon. The water seeped in through his cloth sneakers and and squelched unpleasantly between his toes with every step. 

“Have you ever heard such a load of nonsense?” Arthur burst out as he fell in with his friend on the path. Merlin had to quicken his step to keep up with the blond’s brisk, agitated pace. “Norway, Germany, Sweden—none of them have ever faced the problems we have with magic, and yet this Muirden fellow is preaching to us reconsidering our ‘stringent policies’? His country didn’t get torn apart by sorcerers. It’s bad enough that he’s discussing amnesty movements for his own country, but to suggest them for us ? No one except that lunatic Fox talks about that shit here. Who the hell does Muirden think he is?”  

“It’s just words, Arthur,” Merlin said wearily. He never liked these discussions, even accustomed as he was to keeping his true thoughts deeply buried. “The protests have been happening off and on for the last three years. Nothing’s going to come of this.” As if Merlin would dare to hope he’d ever be safe using magic in public. England would be the last country to institute amnesty and legalize sorcery. 

“Yeah? Well they certainly made a mess of the campus,” Arthur grumbled shaking an abandoned cardboard protest sign off the sole of his shoe with an expression of distaste. That was true, Merlin reflected wryly. Mud and grass stained the sidewalk for a block past the field, and trash still littered the area where the protest had dispersed just hours before. “Whatever they’re trying to achieve, nothing good can come of it,” Arthur persisted in a harsh tone. “You remember what happened the year we finished secondary school.” 

“I’m less likely to forget it than you,” Merlin said stiffly. He remembered the rows of burning buildings, the attacks on the government buildings. His mother coming to visit him in London was usually a happy occasion, but less so when her home had burned down. Arthur faltered briefly. 

“Right. Sorry.” There was a moment of silence between them. Merlin brushed the rainwater from his eyes. Arthur’s shoulder brushed his briefly. There had been a period of quiet after Merlin’s friend Will died in the riots.

“It’s not a big deal, Arthur,” he said with a sigh. It’s okay. He didn’t want to talk about Will again. Not right now. “Protests are common on the universities. You knew that before we came. It was only a matter of time. And the riots had nothing to do with sorcerers. It was Fox who stirred them up.”
“There were rumors that she was a sorcerer herself,” Arthur pointed out. 

“That’s what people say about every politician they don’t like. People have even suggested that your father has some history of dalliance in sorcery,” Merlin retorted, slightly annoyed. “Look, this will blow over. People are just discussing the matter, and that’s healthy. Public affairs like that should be talked over—especially sensitive ones.” 

“Not this one.” Arthur’s tone was clipped and brusque.

“Sure. Silence everyone. That’s got a history of working really well,” Merlin deadpanned. Arthur didn’t answer, and he didn’t push it. There was no point in discussing further right now. Arthur was being unusually stubborn. The blond could be intolerant when it came to magic, but usually he wasn’t this uncompromising on the matter. 

“You coming?” Arthur looked back at him as Merlin pulled his hood up. The rain was getting heavier. 

“Arthur…” Merlin hesitated at the exit to the archway. Arthur hadn’t even slackened pace, but this wasn’t the way back to their flat. “Where are you going?” he asked slowly.

“To get a drink,” Arthur said without turning around. A drink ? Merlin groaned. 

“Couldn’t you settle for a coffee? The café’s just…” He paused since Arthur was marching straight on and clearly not listening. “…across the street from us,” he finished and followed after the blond with a resigned sigh. “Or you could get a cup of tea—at home… Alright… fine. Let’s just freeze our feet off walking to the pub instead. Great idea,” he continued, half to himself as he caught up with the blond. “What’s this about anyways? You never drink on weekdays. You do know you still have class in the morning.” 

Arthur shot him a narrow-eyed look. 

“Do you ever shut up?” Merlin tilted his head and quirked a smile. 

“Lucky for you, I don’t. We wouldn’t be friends otherwise.”  

“You mean when you ran your mouth and got your arse kicked by me?” Arthur smirked back at him. 

“Someone had to check your big ego,” Merlin said with a shrug. They’d hardly been friends when they met. “You know, I’m still accepting apologies for that occasion.” Merlin picked up his pace to catch up with Arthur again. Arthur scoffed. 

“You can stick around and see how that goes,” he said. He had his sights set on a pub just ahead. So, no dissuading him today. Alright… 

“Drowning your sorrows?” Merlin asked. That got him to slow down.

“What ‘sorrows’?” Arthur rolled his eyes at Merlin. 

“Guinevere?” 

“I am not upset over Gwen. That was weeks ago.” 

“And you haven’t talked to each other in weeks,” Merlin asserted. 

“We don’t have any classes together,” Arthur said flatly. 

“She lives next door to us.” 

“We’re busy.”
“You mean Gwen is busy.” The comment earned Merlin a glare from the blond. 

“I wasn’t even that serious about Gwen. We’re just friends.” Merlin nearly rolled his eyes in turn. 

“She’s the only one you were ever serious about,” he scoffed. Gwen and Arthur had been the on-again-off-again couple for nearly three years now. It was just like Arthur to let his pride get between them again.  

“I’ve had other serious girlfriends,” Arthur argued. Merlin tilted his head. 

“Really? Which one?” Arthur gave him a dark look which Merlin took as his cue to proceed. He made a show of considering the matter for a moment. “Let’s see… there was Vivian who practically had to be chased out of the apartment with death threats. She still stalks you on the campus sometimes,” 

“She does not!” Arthur looked back at him wide-eyed, and Merlin grinned. 

“Oh, she does. Haven’t you seen her hanging around the History books?” He hummed. “And… let’s see… Sophia. She was a real keeper—totaled your first car and dumped you right afterward, leaving you alone to endure the tirade from your father. Oh, and then Elena— ” 

“Elena does not count,” Arthur cut in instantly. Merlin snorted. 

“Sure. If you say so,” he scoffed. Arthur resumed his sullen silence. “You still like her,” Merlin added. 

“Like hell. Elena was a nightmare--” 

“Not Elena.” Merlin snorted. “Come on. It’s bloody obvious. Why can’t you just admit it?” Arthur halted abruptly, and Merlin nearly ran into his companion turning to look at him. He took a step backwards, surprised, and looked back at Arthur, but there was no anger or annoyance in his friend’s face—only a strange, conflicted expression. 

“She’s with Lance now,” Arthur said bluntly. It was as close to an admission as Merlin would get. He still gritted his teeth in mute exasperation. They both knew. But Lance… Merlin wasn’t as sure about him and Gwen as Arthur seemed to be. “It doesn’t matter,” Arthur muttered. “Just drop it, Merlin.”  

“Alright,” Merlin said quietly, holding his hands up in surrender. Arthur turned on his heel, and Merlin waited a beat before he couldn’t help adding with a wicked grin, “I still have the picture.” Arthur stopped again, now outside the door of the pub, and fixed his gaze on his flatmate. “You really ought to post it. The look on your face when Elena—”

“If the picture ever makes it onto the internet,” Arthur interrupted in a low voice, “I will make your life a living hell.” 

“More than you already do?” Merlin asked brightly. 

“Yes,” Arthur growled.  

“I’ll think about deleting it if you buy me a drink.”Merlin grinned. That earned him a sharp cuff over the ear which he failed to dodge. 

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur ordered him and pulled open the door of the pub. 

It was noisy inside the pub—unusually so for a weeknight. The small space was crowded with noise and activity, everyone talking at once, some with raised voices, glassware clinking, ice at the bar rattling noisily, chairs scraping on the wood floor. If Merlin hadn’t known better, he’d have assumed there was a football game to attract such a crowd. As it was, the number of people made him wary. Perhaps there was some sort of gathering going on here that he hadn’t heard about. 

Arthur, ever the pragmatist, paid no heed to the other occupants and made straight for the bar, and Merlin followed. It would be nice, he reflected, if Arthur kept half an eye open for his own safety. What Arthur didn’t know about Sophia was that she hadn’t just been out for a joy-ride. Merlin had caught the girl trying to smuggle multiple cards out of his wallet. How he’d missed Arthur’s car keys in the girl’s pocket was another matter… Gold digging girls was the least of the blond’s problems, though.  England had been under Uther Pendragon’s leadership for over a decade. It didn’t look as if Uther would lift their State of Emergency or allow an election to be called any time soon. As the son of the highly controversial dictator Pendragon , Arthur was subject to press attention and, of course, threats. Merlin for one wasn’t enjoying the lack of a security detail as much as Arthur. He looked forward to Leon’s return when he could relax-- just a little. 

“I’ll buy you a drink if you’ll look a bit less miserable,” Arthur offered, pulling out a chair for him. He looked at the chair, resigned to his usual role of unpaid watchdog. 

“I like my misery, thanks,” he said. Arthur shrugged.

“Suit yourself,” he said, leaning on the bar to catch the attention of a bartender. 

Amidst the other voices one particularly loud one rose over the hubbub of the room, particularly noticeable for its casual lilt—an American. Merlin’s interest sharpened a touch. It was rare to catch an American alone in Britain these days. They always seemed to come in packs and especially since the civil war. America was careful of her citizens these days, and travel advisories warned heavily against travel to England. The country still suffered a less than stellar reputation after two separate civil wars tore the country apart in 2089 and 2095. 

“You lot should just take a leaf out of our book an’ relax a little,” the foreigner’s voice intoned cheerfully. Merlin caught a glimpse of a broad-shouldered man with thick, dark hair, a scruffy beard along his jawline and a lively gleam in his brown eyes. 

“And let those dogs rule our country again?” one of his listeners demanded. 

“Rule? There’s probably not enough of them to have an uprising if they tried,” responded another. 

“Let the man talk,” a young woman interrupted, leaning forward eagerly. “Is that what America’s up to? Relaxing the laws?” 

“Modifying them,” the American amended. “For the benefit of the country.” Merlin caught the murmur around him—a mixture of unease but also strong curiosity. A handful of younger people--likely students--had gathered around him. A pale-haired younger man chimed in: 

“But it’s all talk, isn’t it? Surely no one will actually pass a bill like that,”  

“Oh it’ll pass,” The American said with utter confidence and a cheerful grin for his listeners. “Maybe not here in England. But the house is mostly New Democrats right now. They’re the progressives. They want to see things change.” 

“Nothing’s going to be changed here as long as Uther’s in charge,” the young woman chimed in. Merlin couldn’t see her face, but he imagined a scowl to match the tone of voice. 

“Uther’s a damned fool. It makes sense. Y’have less enemies if you make friends of them,” the American replied. There was a ripple of murmured consent among his listeners though a scant few kept quiet, and Merlin could fairly sense their discomfort even from across the room. It made him squirm a little as well. Talking about Uther that way was a sure ticket for trouble. He got the impression that the bombastic American wasn’t concerned about trouble, though. 

“You can’t make friends of a sorcerer.” The comment was soft, meant for Merlin’s ears alone. Merlin’s head came about abruptly. Arthur was standing a foot to his left, one drink in either hand. 

“Are those both for you, or did you get me one?” he asked. Arthur’s  eyes lingered on the American at the distant table, alight with a familiar stubborn glint. Merlin pursed his lips. “Don’t pick an argument with a drunk man. You can’t win,” he advised, lifting his shoulders. Arthur snorted and turned to set the drinks on the bar. The young women he collided with seemed to come out of nowhere. Her tray tipped over, and three shot glasses clattered to the ground. One of Arthur’s drinks sloshed over his sleeve and hand. The other clattered to the ground with the woman’s tray and drinks, splashing Merlin’s already soaked trainers with alcohol. Merlin grimaced and moved his feet back, letting the glass roll away. 

“Oh… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll get you replacements,” I’m sorry!” She was already on her knees, hurrying to pick everything up, head bowed. Merlin crouched down to help her. “Oh no. I’m so sorry,” she repeated. 

“It’s alright.  It’ll wash out,” Arthur said slowly, blinking and shaking his head. He had an odd expression on his face, as if he’d just emerged from deep water. 

“My shoes were already wet,” Merlin said with a shrug. 

“Thank you.” The woman lifted her head as well to glance at Arthur, and Merlin caught a glimpse of what looked like unusually bright amber-yellow eyes. He gathered her shot glasses back onto the tray and righted one of the dropped glasses. 

“Here. Are you alright?” He passed her the tray and… no. Her eyes met his, and he was caught peering back at their striking deep blue. He could have sworn… 

“I’m alright. Thank you. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.” She gathered the tray up, getting to her feet. “It’s been so busy tonight. I’ll get you replacements right away, on the house.” 

“Oh—no need for that. It’s not a big deal, honestly,” Merlin tried weakly to protest, but she was already turning to go. Something in her gently angular face and the dark brown hair that framed it, even the brisk but graceful way she moved seemed vaguely familiar. And her eyes… “Hang on,” he called after her, reaching out as if to catch at her sleeve and stop her. She paused and looked over her shoulder at him, bright eyes shining inquisitively. “Do I know you?” She tilted her head ever so slightly, and an enigmatic smile tugged at her lips. 

“Do you want to?” Merlin felt his ears warming. 

“Wh-I, uh—” But now she was gone, balancing the tray gracefully on one hand as she slipped behind the bar and into a back room. A long, strange silence followed, and Merlin reached out to hand Arthur a napkin for his still dripping sleeve, mildly concerned by the vacant, confused stare on his friend’s face. 

“Arthur?” He flicked the napkin at Arthur, and the blond shook himself again and squinted at Merlin. 

“What… was that all about?” he asked slowly with a bewildered expression. Merlin raised an eyebrow. 

“Never seen someone flirt before?” he asked. 

“Not with you,” Arthur said, and his expression was clear again. Merlin sighed and passed him a napkin. 

“You’re not everybody’s type, prat,” he said. The blue-eyed young woman chose that moment to reappear with their drinks. 

“Sorry about that.” She said, setting them on the bar. “Enjoy. They’re on the house.” She offered Merlin a last, brilliant smile and swept away again. Merlin slowly reached down to pick up his glass, and from underneath the smooth paper notes, he picked up the napkin she’d left between two fingers. A little number was scrawled across the corner in neat, curly handwriting. A grin slowly crept across the warlock’s face. 

“You know, I was wrong. Coming here was a great idea.” Arthur stared for a moment at the napkin, scowled, and picked up his own drink to take a swig. Merlin turned his attention to his own drink, chuckling. It was only then that he realized the noise on the other side of the pub had died down. He felt the hair on the back of his neck prickling and turned his head to find a stocky man making his way over to the bar. 

“Well if it isn’t the princeling himself, come down from on high to visit his subjects.” The American was nowhere to be seen—perhaps he’d left. The lively crowd’s attention was now diverted. Merlin eyed the stocky, broad shouldered speaker.--decidedly bigger than either himself or Arthur, and the smell of alcohol on his breath was rank. Don’t pick an argument with a drunk man… Merlin slowly let go of his drink and stood up. Beside him, Arthur’s fingers curled around his ale mug, and the knuckles paled. 

“Maybe we should go,” Merlin muttered close to his ear. The drinks were free anyways, and it wasn’t worth a broken jaw, the inevitable reaction from Uther, and a new bodyguard assignment for Arthur to assert his right to stay. Arthur looked furious, but he slowly released his grip on the mug as well and stood up.

“I was just leaving,” he said quietly. 

“What, without finishing your drink? Is our humble fare not good enough for you, m’lord?” a second, a younger man with small, sharp eyes mocked, close by the side of the first. 

“No. I’ve just lost my appetite,” Arthur deadpanned, moving carefully past them with Merlin at his side. The pub remained eerily silent as they made their way through the crowd to the exit. 

Merlin let out a soft breath when they made it out the door. He couldn’t blame Arthur for his annoyance. Uther was still highly unpopular among certain groups, and his reputation always landed squarely on the shoulders of his son when spotted in public.

“We’ll get drinks for the flat on the way home, yeah?” he offered.

“Sure,” Arthur muttered, turning to go. 

“Hang on. We were going to pay our respects to his highness.” Merlin’s heart sank. The stocky fellow, apparently the ringleader of this crew, had come through the door behind them, and he strolled forward to come around and face Arthur with a leering grin, and this time he wasn’t alone. The beady-eyed little man from the bar was there along with a couple others. Students maybe, or some of the many unemployed members of the younger generation. Merlin didn’t like the look of them, narrowed eyes and rigid stance, one or two clearly having a little more on board than strictly necessary, which meant lowered inhibitions. They seemed to be forming a line behind the first man, blocking Arthur’s escape. His eyes darted from him to the others gathering at his back. What worried him the most was the way these men moved together, as if they knew each other, and the fact that some of them hadn’t come out of the bar but emerged from the shadows like they’d been waiting. As if this was planned . Was it possible someone was tracking Arthur’s movements?

 He didn’t have time to consider that at the moment, though as they drew closer, and he placed himself at Arthur’s side, feeling his insides twist with anxiety. He couldn’t let them hurt Arthur, but he would be useless in a fight without a touch of magic to protect himself, let alone trying to protect Arthur at the same time… He raised a hand ever so slightly, tensing, fingers spread as he ran through the easiest tricks to play with his magic. Perhaps the drunk men would make this easier for him. How much would they trust their eyes right now anyways? 

 “Oh, let the princeling alone.” Merlin flicked a glance to the side towards the lazy voice beside him, surprised to hear the American again. The man was leaning against the wall of the pub, watching the scene with mild interest as he took a drag at the lit cigarette in his mouth.

“Why? Worried for his pretty face?” the stocky man sneered. 

“Nah,” the American pushed himself off the wall and drew up to his full height, surprisingly steady and sharp for a man who’d appeared drunk just a few seconds ago. “I just don’t like cowards. And,” he flicked his half-used cigarette away lazily with a roguish grin. “I think I like our odds.” He nodded to Arthur and Merlin.  

“A drunk, a pretty boy, and a scrawny runt? I think I like them too,” the stocky man responded. Merlin thought he counted five men, but he couldn’t confirm the number since all at once they were moving, and Merlin shifted to put himself protectively in front of Arthur, but he almost instantly lost track of his companions. One of their opponents was closing on Merlin with a scornful grin. 

His heartbeat picked up. The alcohol on the men’s breath was cloying. The rain had cleared up, and the smell of smoke stung the back of his throat. He inhaled sharply and took a step back.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s shout jolted him into action. He ducked away from his attacker’s grasping hands. The second lunge he was not quite prepared for, and he twisted to free himself, lost his balance, and clumsily toppled to the hard ground. It won’t matter… only if I’m seen. He managed to catch a shred of breath lying on the ground, turned his head so he wasn’t looking his attacker in the eye, and the telltale gold flashed through his irises.

 From that angle, he easily used a surreptitious telekinetic push on the back of his attacker’s knees and toppled him over, then guided the man’s fall so he tripped a second attacker behind him. A final flicker of telekinetic energy stirred up a handful of dirt, trash, and gravel into their faces to keep them out of the way for a moment.

Merlin rolled over and pushed himself up on his hands and knees, eyes flitting back and forth in a quick, urgent search for his flatmate. Arthur had engaged the stocky man who’d first started harassing them, and he had the man’s wrist and arm, and he twisted them neatly, bringing the man to his knees, face contorted with pain. —an all too familiar move that Merlin had been on the receiving end of before.  Tell me, Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?  Merlin smiled a little. Arthur wasn’t as much of an ass as he’d been when they met, but somethings didn’t change. 

Their childhood scraps were a far cry from this, though… Merlin felt a surge of cold and his head turned. Something instinctively drew Merlin’s eye.A gleam of metal shone in the shadows behind Arthur. He surged to his feet without time to calculate. 

“Arthur!” he barked, eyes just lighting with the golden blaze of magic, not having enough time to reach Arthur, but another figure reached the back-stabbing assailant first. 

The shadow-shrouded figure caught the attacker’s unarmed hand, and that was as much as Merlin witnessed before he was flat on his back a second time and lay for a second, stunned by the impact of his head on the cold cement. It was all he could do to lift his hands and shield his face as a halfhearted attempt to grasp at his magic which was almost as rattled as his consciousness at the moment. A pair of hands grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him upright, limp and dazed, but the second punch never came. Merlin heard a strangled yell, sounds of the scuffle nearby, shoes scraping on the pavement. 

“What the hell did you do to him?” 

“He got in the way!” 

“Put the god-damned knife away you fucking idiot ,” the one holding Merlin shouted, sending a stab of pain searing through his throbbing head. Merlin dropped to all fours when released, wincing at the gravel digging into his palms and knees. 

“Get out of here before someone calls the cops!” Merlin suddenly felt sick. He rolled over unsteady as he was and blinked to clear his vision. 

“Arthur?” he croaked, staggering to his feet.  

“Go. Go!” Merlin caught a glimpse of the attackers vanishing into the shadows and around the corner of the pub and Arthur’s hair, pale gold in the thin light of the pub window. His hunched shoulders were outlined in its glow, and several people were coming out to see the cause of all the noise. Merlin staggered to his feet and made his way across the lot to his flatmate. 

“Arthur!” He almost dropped on his knees again, trying to get a look at his friend. Arthur was crouched low to the ground. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, fine. I’m trying to…” Arthur lifted a hand and squinted at it in the dim light, and Merlin’s throat tightened. His fingers were slick with blood. “Oh hell… Merlin—” The warlock hesitated a split second, recognizing the prone figure before Arthur. It wasn’t Arthur’s blood. He’d forgotten about their impromptu ally somewhere in the middle of the struggle. He shouldered the blond aside, already shrugging his coat off. “Call an ambulance,” he instructed, using the clean inner lining of his coat to stem the blood flow. Arthur was quick to obey, fumbling with his phone between damp, smeared hands. Merlin bowed his head the moment Arthur was occupied with dialing the emergency number. He took a soft breath, fervently praying he’d remembered the spell right, and whispered the words under his breath, spreading the fingers of one hand over the wound with the coat shielding them from view. The man stirred and groaned softly. “Come on. You need to wake up, alright? I have to keep you conscious until help arrives,” Merlin muttered half to himself, moving his hand away and putting pressure on the wound with his jacket. He kept his eyes down. If he could avoid eye contact, this was the better way to keep pressure on the bleed. 

“Hmm?” The American blinked dazedly. “Wasn’ asleep,” he mumbled. Merlin’s shoulders relaxed. It seemed to have worked. Even the bleeding had slowed somewhat. The threat of blood-loss would at least be staved off for now, though a cut as deep as this one would certainly need stitches. “Hell. Didn’t know that prick had a knife on him,” the American commented through his teeth. Merlin pursed his lips. 

“Me neither,” he said regretfully. “You didn’t have to get involved.” The American shrugged and smiled—though it turned into more of a grimace. 

“Neither did you,” he said. For a second, all Merlin could hear was Arthur’s voice as he spoke to the emergency responders, then, “What’s your name, then?” the American asked. 

“Merlin.” Merlin smiled back wearily. “Yours?”
“Gwaine.” 

“Don’t sit up,” Merlin said quickly when the man shifted, trying to raise an arm, and he pressed his makeshift bandage firmly over the gash, wincing when the man hissed at the pressure. “I’ll shake your hand when I’m not trying to save your life, yeah?” Gwaine chuckled breathlessly. 

“Fair enough.” 

“The ambulance will be here in about three minutes,” Arthur said, coming to kneel beside Merlin. “How is he?” 

“ He can talk,” Gwaine responded dryly, squinting up at the blond. “How much is that ambulance gonna cost me? I’m a little… strapped for cash at the moment.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Arthur said instantly. The American grinned. 

“Alright then,” he said. Arthur opened his mouth and blinked at him, clearly having expected an argument, and Merlin couldn’t help a snort of laughter at his expression. 

“Actually,” Gwaine added, “I don’t have any money. Spent the last of it in there.” 

“We’ll get you sorted,” Arthur allowed. “Cab fare to your place--whatever you need.” 

“Don’ have a place.” 

“What?” Arthur stared at him. Gwaine grimaced.

“My old man decided I was having a bit too much fun here ‘n… cut me off.” Gwaine closed his eyes for a moment, face creased with lines of pain. “Got evicted yesterday.” Merlin exchanged a slightly bewildered look with his flatmate, letting his spell drop as he heard the sirens. 

“Well… if it wasn’t for you, I’d be the one getting stitches… if not worse.” Arthur sighed. “You can stay at our flat for now. We’ll find you a place tomorrow.” The American grinned widely then grimaced again, coughed, and reached a hand up to his face. Merlin winced. It looked like he’d taken a decent hook to the cheek.

“Here.” Merlin found a napkin in his pocket and handed it to Gwaine and was bewildered when the roguish grin returned to the American’s face and he batted Merlin’s hand away. 

“Can’t use that, Merlin. You’ll be wanting to call the girl back,” he said, wiping the trickle of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Merlin held the napkin up to the light and blinked. 

“Oh. Right.” 

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Arthur cut in, scowling across the American’s head at Merlin. “What is it about you? The lost puppy expression?” Merlin lifted his shoulders. 

“You just don’t appreciate good taste when you see it.” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure it’s your dashing good looks, Merlin . You and your ridiculous ears and those feet you’re always tripping over,” Arthur scoffed.

“Come on, Arthur, I never said I was all that handsome,” Merlin responded with a smirk. “There’s just not much of a competition. It’s either me or an arrogant prat with the face of a toad.” Arthur’s eyes widened, but Gwaine chuckled. 

“Relax, princess,” he said, giving the blond a clumsy pat on the arm. “You’re still pretty. You just weren’t her type.” He cringed and tried to reach a hand down to the still-bleeding gash.  

“Lie still. I’ve got it,” Merlin said quietly with a sympathetic grimace. Arthur squeezed his shoulder briefly, but his eyes narrowed at Merlin.  

“I do not have the face of a toad,” he muttered at last. Merlin tilted his head and scrutinized Arthur carefully.  

“No. You’re right,” he said solemnly. “I should leave the poor toads out of it.” Arthur opened his mouth, blinked, and stared at his flatmate for a moment, apparently unable to think of a satisfactory comeback, and as the blue-and-red lights of the emergency vehicles spilled across the street, Gwaine let his head rest back on the cement and laughed.

Chapter Text

Merlin… 

“Can’t you let me sleep in peace?” Merlin turned his palm over, kindling his mage light as he heard the soft drip of the water from the ceiling. Even in his dream, he could almost feel the chill of the damp underground passageway. 

“You’re going to need my help, young warlock.”

“We’re done, Kilgarrah. I told you that when I left London,” Merlin said stiffly. He lifted the light, setting his jaw. “Are you going to show yourself this time?”  He stepped past the corner into the reinforced chamber where the dragon lived. Moonlight spilled through the barred window above, but the room was as cold as ever. The great creature stirred from the shadows, and its head reared about so one golden eye was turned on Merlin. He took a step back.

“Are you going to listen this time?” the dragon asked. Merlin could feel the low, rumbling voice in his chest--the walls of the cavern seemed to tremble with it. He stood his ground, sending a pulse of energy through his mage-light to illuminate the space, casting shadows over the dragon’s rust-brown hide. 

“I’m not going to change my mind.” 

“You and I are alike, Merlin. Creatures of magic. We are kin.” The dragon arched his neck back and peered down at him. 

“I am nothing like you.” Merlin curled his lip and turned to go. 

“Arthur is in danger.” 

“When is he not?” Merlin drew his light closer to himself and felt the heat of the dragon’s breath on his back. 

“It is your destiny to protect him.” The dragon’s voice dropped into a low, agitated growl. Merlin stopped without turning back.

“I look out for him, because he’s my friend. Your destiny talk comes from children’s books. Arthur’s not even a politician. He’s not going to start some great rebellion or change the law.” He looked back, jaw set as the dragon rumbled softly at him again. 

“Your magic has grown more powerful, Merlin. I can feel it.” His eyes turned on the glowing mage light hovering over Merlin’s palm. “You could free me now.” 

“So you can trick me again?” Merlin asked quietly. He drew himself up, looking back at the dragon with a steady gaze. 

“I gave you a chance, young one. Uther’s death would set the country on the path to healing!” Kilgarrah bared his teeth. 

“At the hands of a child?” he asked. 

“By any hand necessary,” Kilgarrah replied. Merlin’s light pulsed as he gritted his teeth. 

“Mordred didn’t deserve that. You would have made him a killer at nine . He’d have been caught and executed. Why should I trust you after that?” 

“He would have done it for the greater good.” 

“Whose good?” Merlin snapped back. 

“The country’s. The world’s, Merlin. We could do great things together.” Kilgarrah’s lip curled in what was almost a smile. It made Merlin’s skin crawl. 

“I do things my own way,” he said firmly. 

“Very well.” Kilgarrah lowered his head to peer more closely at Merlin as he stepped back again. “You will be back, Emrys.”
“I told you not to call me that,” he said, lowering his hand. 

“I will see you again when you need me,” Kilgarrah answered. Merlin’s light winked out. Darkness washed over the great cavern. 

Merlin blinked open his eyes to the grating buzz of his cell phone on the table beside him. 

“Mmmmff…” he grunted and turned on his side to hit the ‘stop’ button. He lay still for a moment, listening to the sound of running water in the bathroom across the hall. Kilgarrah hadn’t contacted him in months. He’d hoped the dragon’s ability to walk in his dreams would be weaker with distance. It seemed there was some truth to his words. They were connected. Kilgarrah’s voice still troubled his mind even here, far from Uther’s guarded neighborhood. 

And Mordred… he hadn’t thought about the boy in some time either. Mordred had to be a teeanager by now, he supposed. He wondered if Arthur thought about the boy too. The boy’s frightened eyes still burned in his mind. Kilgarrah didn’t walk in the dreams of many, even magical persons. But he had terrorized the boy into playing assassin. The command of a dragon was a terrible thing to put on so young a sorcerer. Merlin scrubbed a hand over his face. Mordred was far away by now. Hopefully Kilgarrah didn’t trouble him at night as well.

Arthur was out of the bathroom and getting dressed when Merlin gathered his wallet and phone and headed down the hall. 

“I’m heading out.” Merlin peered around his doorway. Arthur was preoccupied with a text, his shirt half on and his hair a mess. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” 

“Mm?” Arthur looked up at him, and Merlin winced sympathetically at the bags under his eyes. “Did you sleep at all?” 

“Term Paper’s due tomorrow.” Arthur shrugged. “Say hi for me. I’ll be in the library.” 

“Suit yourself. Look like you could use a cup of coffee,” Merlin commented. 

“Wanna bring me one?” 

“I charge delivery.” He grinned as Arthur scowled after him and snagged his backpack on the way out the door. 

“What happened to your head?” Morgana reached out as soon as he sat down across from her. Merlin flinched and pulled away from the fingers brushing his hair.

“Uh… nothing.” He flattened his hair down over the bruise on his temple. “Knocked it on something.” As little as Morgana liked Uther, she might be worried enough to talk to her adopted father if she heard about Arthur’s run-in with the hostile students. An investigation or a new bodyguard would cause more problems than Merlin could count just at the moment, particularly with Gwaine staying at the flat. 

“You’re normally clumsy, but not that clumsy.” Morgana’s eyes narrowed dubiously. Merlin scooted the creamer towards her. 

“You’d be surprised,” he joked with a shrug. “Arthur and I have a new flatmate,” he added by way of changing the topic. “An American. He’s crashing at our place until he can get a new flat. Got himself evicted last week.” Morgana made a face. 

“I thought international students stayed in the remaining student housing,” Morgana commented. 

“Usually… but they take every excuse to shunt students into flats off the campus. Building more student housing isn’t exactly a priority right now,” Merlin said. Oxford had once been home to a considerable magic population, and city and university both been hit hard during the civil war. Even now after fifteen years of reconstruction, the university struggled to sustain three-quarters of the student body it had before, and undamaged classrooms were always scheduled with classes from morning until sundown. Like most of the country, though, the old university and its faculty tenaciously continued to carry on as much as possible like nothing had happened.  

“What is an American doing in this dump anyways?” Morgana mused. “Surely he could find an intact university at home.” Merlin shrugged.

“Well… he’s only half American. He says he was born in Dublin and his mum took him to America to live with his grandparents after the civil wars started. According to him, his grandparents in America ‘got sick of him’ and shipped him back to England to make something of himself.” 

“And now he’s been evicted from his flat in the middle of the term,” Morgana laughed. “He sounds like quite the character.” 

“You have no idea. Last night he borrowed a tenner off the table and came back drunk. I’m not sure I want to know how he managed that.” Morgana’s eyebrows rose.

“How’d you talk Arthur into letting a nutter like that stay in your flat?” 

“I didn’t. Arthur’s the one who invited him.” Merlin’s grin faded. This again, he thought, suppressing a sigh. “He’s not that uptight, Morgana. There’s just a lot of… pressure on him.”  

“He’s not the only one,” Morgana muttered pointedly. She resumed stirring creamer into her coffee with a thin black straw. “I can’t imagine Uther’s golden child keeping company with someone like that though.” Merlin pursed his lips and stalled for a moment, turning his phone over in one hand to check the time, only half out of necessity. Gwaine had told him that his father died in the civil wars, following the orders of some ‘pompous, arrogant bureaucrat’ in charge of his unit. He wasn’t entirely sold on Arthur either-- “entitled bureaucrat's son” he’d called him. But for all his odd flaws, Merlin liked the American. He was still relaxed and cheerful, and his opinions certainly hadn’t affected his behavior around Arthur.  

“They get on,” Merlin said, shrugging. “Arthur says hi, by the way,” he added.  

“He could’ve said it himself,” Morgana said flatly. Merlin shrugged.

“He’s buried in the library somewhere trying to finish his term paper.” Morgana looked unimpressed. 

“Did he tell you to say that?”
“No.” Merlin bridled instantly. “I’m not here to make excuses for Arthur.” 

“Come on, Merlin. You know what’s going on,” Morgana challenged, folding her arms over her chest. “He’s avoiding me.”  

“I certainly don’t know that.” Merlin set his coffee mug down with a sigh. “First of all, Arthur actually does have a term paper to write, and secondly I am not your middle man and won’t carry messages for either of you. If you have a problem with Arthur, you can talk to him yourself.” 

“Arthur’s the one with a problem. He does this every time I have any kind of quarrel with Uther—like somehow he’ll be contaminated if he talks to me.” 

“You push him for an opinion,” Merlin said. “He’d be happy to talk to you if he didn’t think you’d drag him into the middle of a row.” He sighed. “What did you expect, Morgana? You know what Uther thinks about sorcery.” 

“It wouldn’t matter if I condemned it as enthusiastically as he does.. Uther doesn’t listen to me. But he might listen to his golden child,” Morgana retorted peevishly. Merlin shook his head. 

“Arthur would only estrange himself too. It wouldn’t help. Don’t ask him to take sides between you and Uther. It’s not his battle.”  

“It’s everyone’s battle,” Morgana rejoined harshly. “He’ll have to choose a side eventually.” She leaned forward over the table, hunching her shoulders and staring down at her mug. “But he’ll go with Uther’s pigheaded prejudice, I suppose.” Merlin blinked. 

“Arthur’s not like that, and you know it,” he protested. Morgana scowled but didn’t answer. She was almost as unreasonable as Arthur had been two days before discussing the amnesty acts in Scandinavia. It was times like this that Merlin could imagine that the two children Uther had raised were true brother and sister. They had a matching obstinate streak a mile wide. But in some ways Morgana seemed even more like Uther than the man’s own son did. Arthur chose his battles carefully where Morgana fought every battle in sight with an unflagging vigor. And Arthur, as arrogant as he could be, saw the good in others where Morgana judged swiftly and harshly. 

Merlin took a breath. “You remember Mordred,” he said quietly. Her expression changed slightly. “We all knew the boy was affiliated with Druids. But turning you in was never even an option when Arthur found you hiding him. Morgana...” he leaned forward over the table, watching her. She was looking down at her coffee fixedly. “You know he cares about you. But he doesn’t want to be forced to choose between two members of his family. You must be able to see that.” She was quiet for a few seconds longer, and still she didn’t look up when she answered; 

“He could at least try to act like he wants to see me.” 

“He’d be happy to see you if you’d talk about school… life. Anything but Uther,” Merlin insisted. “Arthur hasn’t got much of a choice right now.  Anything he says goes straight to the news media. He’s under a lot of pressure, and Uther holds the purse-strings. He can’t do any differently right now. He’ll have a harder time cutting ties ultimately. If you got a job and paid your own rent, Uther wouldn’t have any say in what you did or said.”  Morgana shrugged her shoulders. 

“So could he.” 

“Maybe.” Merlin frowned. 

“Assuming that England even has free speech anymore,” she added. 

“Things are changing,” Merlin insisted. “America is putting a bill for amnesty to the vote, and Sweden and Norway are revisiting their laws on sorcery. It’s only a matter of time before Uther is forced to at least review our laws.” 

“Do you really think Uther will ever reconsider the laws on sorcery?” Morgana asked. Merlin paused for a beat. He wasn’t entirely sure. Uther had held the country in stasis on this subject for a long time. People still feared even to discuss it. 

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “But that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about, is it? What happened yesterday? You called at… what was it, five in the morning? Were you having those nightmares again?”  Morgana lifted her eyes. In moments like this, Merlin could see just how much had changed from the frightened girl he’d known in their childhood--the one who had lit her curtains on fire at night, before she knew or understood her own magic. Now, her eyes were bright, and a slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. 

“No. They’re gone now.” She stole a furtive glance around the room and lowered her voice. “I’ve met someone… someone who knew how to stop them,” she said softly. 

“You…” Merlin suppressed a shiver at the words. “Does this someone know you ... ” have magic?  The last two words went unsaid. He hardly dared speak them aloud, though he was sure there weren’t any listeners in their current conversation. He had long been her only confidante on the subject of magic. He’d always answered her calls, come to help when she needed to talk. And he always left with the same uncomfortable pit in his stomach. Morgana didn’t know. Perhaps she never would. Was that wrong?  

“It’s alright. She’s with the Druids,” Morgana told him quickly. A Druid… that was somewhat reassuring. Mordred had been safe in their hands. 

“As long as you’re safe,” he said slowly. 

“It’s completely safe,” Morgana promised, and he smiled slightly, trying not to look worried. “She’s told me so much about our kind,” Morgana continued enthusiastically, “About my abilities and the dreams. She says there were once many like myself… seers she called them. They saw the future, sometimes through crystals or spells, but the most powerful ones through dreams. And,” she continued, her voice dropping so low that Merlin had to lean forward to listen. “She told me about a great prophecy that the seers of old spoke of—that in the country’s darkest hour, a great leader and a powerful sorcerer would come to unite the two peoples of this country.” Merlin drew his cup a little closer, staring down at the tendrils of steam rising from it. “They call him Emrys,” she said. The name was spoken in a hushed tone--almost reverent. It made Merlin feel a little sick. It was the same prophecy he’d first heard so many years ago from the dragon. Not that he’d ever believed in such things to start with. 

“That’s nonsense. An old folk tale,” he said. 

“Merlin,” Morgana’s voice rose impatiently. “You know about my dreams… All of them have happened just as I saw them—the riots when we started college, the assassination attempt on Uther’s life… you remember. I told you!” 

Merlin held up his hands in surrender and gestured for her to lower her voice. She stopped for a heartbeat with an impatient nod then continued in an urgent half-whisper:“These Druids… they’re the only people who can explain why. They’re not making up tales.” She ignored Merlin’s dubious expression and pressed on. “Maybe this warlock has already been born. I think the country needs it more than ever right now. The Druids are all looking. Morgause knows other sorcerers from all over the country. She said they need people like me: people who see the future in their dreams.” Merlin almost choked on his mouthful of tea. He swallowed a little faster than he intended to and cleared his throat, eyes watering from the almost scalding liquid. 

“Morgause?” he breathed. “You… you don’t mean—”

“Morgause Fox,” she said, nodding. 

“She left the country,” Merlin said hoarsely. “She was… she was indicted for treasonous speech. Morgana, it can’t be safe to affiliate with her!” 

“She’s here. I met her. The druids helped her stay here in hiding,” Morgana said. 

“And you told her you have...” Merlin trailed off, shaking his head vigorously. “Morgana, you can’t trust her. She’s a politician—a rabble rouser. She’s probably using you!” 

“Why would she do that?” Merlin gaped at her. Surely Morgana wasn’t so naïve? 

“You’re Uther Pendragon’s adopted daughter. You’d be the perfect media tool!” he said impatiently. 

“She wouldn’t do anything to harm me, Merlin. She’s like me!” Morgana leaned forward, her eyes bright with excitement. Her words and expression made Merlin feel suddenly cold and numb with foreboding. Morgause Fox was a sorceress ... It put the former MP in an entirely new light--and Merlin wasn’t sure it was a favorable one. “She’s taking a stand for people like me,” Morgana urged. “This country’s system is screwed up. Things aren’t going to change if people don’t start making noise.” Merlin shook his head and found his voice again. 

“Yes, but not like Fox. She’s a radical. She stirs up the crowds--incites anger, excitement, riots. If there’s going to be a change, it needs to be a compromise, not a rebellion or military coup. It has to be done right. This country just recovered from a civil war. We don’t need another one.” Morgana paused with her cup raised halfway to her lips. 

“Why not?” Her voice hardened, and it made Merlin cringe. 

“You can’t mean that.” The girl ignored him, setting her coffee cup down hard on the table.

“Do you really think anything short of a revolution is going to change things for the better in this country?” she demanded harshly. “The sickness has gone too deep. Sometimes it takes radical action to change things.” Merlin stilled. He’d always loved the fire in Morgana’s eyes—the energy and determination that rang in her voice, but he could see as clear as day how harmful that energy could be if channeled in the wrong direction, and this... this was leading nowhere good. 

“And what if she’s like The Pure?” he asked. Morgana opened her mouth and stared at him. 

“No. She’s not like that,” she said sharply at last. 

“How do you know?”
“Merlin, this is the only way,” Morgana said. “There has to be another war.” 

“You’re wrong.” Merlin lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye. “Change is already happening. Several countries are leaning towards more lenient laws on magic. It’s been discussed on the air, in public, all over the country. Attitudes are shifting. But we’re going to need patience, understanding, and forgiveness. Fox is aggressive, brash, and impatient. She’s hurting her side more than she’s helping it.” 

“Patience? Forgiveness?” Morgana scoffed. “Easy for you to say. You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to live in fear of your life everywhere you go.”

“Maybe I understand more than you think.” The words were out before Merlin could stop himself. He dropped his eyes to his cup and fell quiet, aware of her gaze on him and her sudden silence.

“I’m sorry. I know, you and Gwen have both seen people falsely accused,” she said at last in a more level tone. “But what you went through in Armagh… your friend Will, when he was taken away... that’s a way of life for me. I don’t want to live like this anymore. I want to be free. Morgause has been a strong voice in this country, and she will be again. She can change things for the better. She still has many supporters, and Uther made her into a martyr when he issued an order for her arrest. When she sets the movement into action, I want to be part of it. If I can help, I will.” Merlin’s shoulders slumped, and he warily met her eyes. 

“Will wanted a rebellion too,” he said. “I don’t want to see what happened to him happen to you.” Morgana shook her head. 

“It won’t,” she said. “Will was younger. He didn’t have the connections or the skills I have.” 

“He wasn’t even a sorcerer,” Merlin insisted. He looked down and relaxed his grip on the handle of his mug, taking a breath. Will’s family had come under suspicion during the riots… he was far from the only one accused of sorcery. He was the only boy to be executed on its charges. Morgana was right. Something had to change. But like this…? 

“Morgana, there’s something I need to tell you,” he said. He could feel his heart beating in his throat. Morgana tilted her head ever so slightly. “Not here,” Merlin added and bit his lip. Morgana might be willing to talk about her ‘dreams’ here, but he wouldn’t speak his secret aloud in a public place. “Can you come back down to Oxford next Saturday?” 

“Yeah,” she said slowly. 

“We can talk at my flat. Arthur’s always at the shooting range on Saturday afternoons.” Morgana’s eyebrows drew together and her eyes narrowed curiously. She nodded. 

“I’ll be there.”  

Arthur was tucked away in a reading room, a stack of books perched precariously on the edge of his desk. The top of his laptop screen was just visible past the books, open. Merlin stopped at the end of the table and smiled, putting his concerns about Morgana aside for the moment. Arthur’s head rested on the page of the current book he’d been reading, and his laptop screen had gone blank probably long ago. He sauntered casually over to the desk right beside Arthur and dropped his backpack next to the desk with a satisfyingly loud thud . Arthur started up, blinking owlishly in the yellowish light of his reading lamp. 

“How’s that paper coming along?” Merlin asked cheerfully. Arthur glared at him. 

“I was having a nice nap,” he grumbled. Merlin rolled his eyes.

“I was coming to ask what you wanted from the takeout menu. Anyways, the library closes in ten minutes,” he pointed out, gesturing at a nearby wall clock. Arthur groaned and rubbed his eyes miserably as he sat up. Merlin’s brows drew together. “Did you go to class today?” 

“No.” Arthur crumpled up a protein-bar wrapper and stuffed it in his jeans-pocket. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I think I’m coming down with something.” 

“You did get knocked on the head earlier this week,” Merlin observed. Arthur ran his fingers through his hair with a grimace. 

“Not that hard,” he mumbled. He did look a bit pale, but then he’d kept himself locked up in the library for the past day and a half. But Arthur could take care of himself. Merlin had better things to do than worry about a sore, ill-tempered flatmate. “How’s Morgana?” Arthur asked unexpectedly as he began to collect the items strewn across his desk. 

“Good. She was sorry you weren’t there,” Merlin answered. It was a half-truth he supposed. Arthur glanced up at him. 

“Is she still going on about that bloody left wing amnesty movement?”

“Yeah,” Merlin answered slowly. His voice was a bit edgy. He reached down to pick up a book, avoiding Arthur’s eyes, but it was snatched out from under his hand before he could touch it. Tired as he was, a faint kindling of interest relit in Arthur’s weary eyes: the usual guarded concern that accompanied discussions on Morgana.

“You think she’s right.” Merlin withdrew his hand and shifted back a step, still careful not to meet Arthur’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. 

“I think you should talk to her,” he answered diplomatically, favoring the former option. 

“Morgana’s a die-hard progressive. You know we won’t agree on anything.” 

“That’s not true. It’d do you both good to hear each other out if either of you could shut up long enough to listen to the other,” Merlin said. Arthur spread his hands.

“So we discuss them. What good will it do? Curfew, travel restrictions, laws… executions. They’re not going to change.” Arthur sighed heavily and pushed a couple of books to the side. “What do you think? Is Morgana right?” 

“I…” Merlin’s mouth went dry. He carded his fingers restlessly through the tassels of his red scarf. “I don’t know,” he stammered. Arthur dropped a final book on his pile with a conclusive thump and turned narrowed eyes on him. 

“What is it with you?” he asked. “You come out with the strongest opinions sometimes, and when I ask you about something outright, you lock up and act like a skittish stray cat. You’re almost as spooked about magic as you are about the Patroni.” 

“Everyone’s spooked by the Patroni,” Merlin said tersely. Whether or not Arthur found them necessary, Uther’s heavily armed sorcery task force was intimidating.

“You do know that people study the history of magic here.” Arthur gestured towards the bookshelves. “You won’t be executed for talking about it at the university.

“I’m not afraid to talk about it!” Merlin rejoined instantly, stung by the irony of Arthur’s statement.

“Then what is it?” Arthur demanded. “Are you afraid I’ll tell my father?” Merlin suppressed a shudder. 

“You said just a couple days ago that that kind of thing shouldn’t be discussed,” he said crossly. The tension leaked out of Arthur’s shoulders, and he pursed his lips slightly.

“Look. Never mind what I said then. I was…” He stopped, glancing down at his laptop keyboard. “Maybe… not in the best mood.” Merlin’s lips twitched upward. It was so typical of Arthur. Never a straightforward admission. 

“ Now you’re getting somewhere,” he cajoled. “The next step is called ‘ apologizing ’.” He drew the word out slowly and was forced to dodge sideways and put his hands up to shield his face from the book Arthur threw at him. 

“Shut up, Merlin . Just answer the question.” Arthur glared balefully at him. The smile slipped from Merlin’s face. Even when he was in the best of moods, Merlin didn’t like to broach the topic of sorcery with Arthur. Merlin knew the doubts were still there, hidden under his façade of dauntless confidence, but at least nominally, Arthur had always stood with his father—perfectly trained to put on a good show for the media. 

“England’s still struggling,” Merlin said evasively, picking up the discarded book. “I guess… people want to see some change happening. Not the old routines your father put in place more than fifteen years ago.”  

“That’s what ‘people’ think. I’m asking what you think,” Arthur said, arching an eyebrow. Merlin offered him a sheepish smile.

“I… don’t?” he suggested, hopeful. Arthur snorted. 

“I could almost believe that. Come on, Merlin. Spit it out. You usually love to talk.” Merlin ran his thumb over the pages of the small, cloth-bound book in his hands. 

“I think… people are afraid of sorcery because of what it did to this country when we were younger… but sorcerers lived among the population here for centuries before the uprising—in peace. Maybe it would be easier if we left them alone. If we don’t trouble them, they won’t trouble us. The way we’re living now isn’t sustainable.” Arthur’s brow creased, and Merlin waited a moment, watching uneasily for a reaction. Silence… it was better than what he’d gotten for his trouble two days ago. He wasn’t willing to dig deeper into this issue. Not today. Arthur looked like he needed a good rest.“Well don’t think too hard,” he said mildly. “I know it’s painful for you—especially on an empty stomach.” He ducked when Arthur hurled a pencil at his head. “Right. You’re ordering your own food now,” he said, grinning, and quickly backed out of the room before Arthur could throw anything else. 

“ Merlin. ” He stopped by the door as Arthur gathered his things in his arms. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m ordering Indian. You want your favorite?” There was a pause. Arthur sighed, then nodded. 

“Please,” he said wearily. 

“Oh.. we get manners today.” Merlin grinned. “I might throw in some garlic Naan for that.” He got an eye roll from Arthur, but he was still smiling as he headed out, pulling up the menu on his phone as he made his way through the library stacks. 

The murmur of voices from students filtering out of the closing library didn’t disturb him. He watched half a foot in front of himself, picking a couple curries and adding Arthur’s usual chicken tikka dish to the order. Something made the hair on the back of his neck prickle as he passed a shelf where two people were speaking in low voices. He stopped, lowering his phone.

“Not right now! Please. I’ll talk to you outside.” Merlin backed up a couple steps and peered over the top of the books. 

“Why, so you can avoid me for another day?” Through the gap in the shelf, Merlin saw the first speaker--a slender young woman with dark brown hair pulled back in a messy bun. Her eyes were tracked on the man in front of her, but Merlin couldn’t make him out. He had his back to Merlin. 

“N-no.”
“You know if you don’t do what I ask, I’ll have to take another payment.” He caught at her arm, and Merlin’s jaw set as he saw her flinch away. He straightened up, tucking his phone away, and stepped around the shelf into full view. 

“I think,” he said steadily, “That you should let her go.” The man’s head came around. Merlin’s stomach did a flip. He was considerably outmatched. He began to wish Arthur had followed him out of the library, but there was no sign of his flatmate. He squared his shoulders, staring down the larger man, careful to keep any trace of fear out of his face. The man stood almost a foot taller than the girl in front of him. She seemed to have dropped the books that lay haphazard around her feet. 

“This doesn’t concern you,” the man growled. Despite his height and burly build, the man’s face was rounded and somewhat childish. The leering expression didn’t suit him at all. 

“Do you want him to let you go?” Merlin turned to her, addressing her. The girl hadn’t moved, frozen with her aggressor’s hand still clamped around her wrist. She darted a look at the man then back to Merlin and nodded mutely. “There you have it.” Merlin set his backpack down and looked the scowling man in the eye. “Let her go, or I’ll make you,” he said. His heart was racing as he calculated how he could pull some books down on the man’s head, or if there were people nearby who might come to help if there was a scuffle. To his relief, the man let go of the girl’s wrist, still glowering. 

“Don’t forget our agreement,” he snapped. He turned away, and Merlin heard the soft crunch of a book’s spine under his foot as stalked away. Merlin watched until he was out of earshot and turned to the mute victim.Would the man be waiting for her outside…? Had he made something worse? He took a breath. 

“Are you alright?” he asked the girl. His eyes took in the discoloration on her wrist which she had gathered against herself right away. She gave him a tiny nod. “Has he bothered you before?” Merlin pressed as he knelt down to pick up the scattered books. 

“No… it’s fine,” she said, almost too quiet for him to hear. 

“It’s not fine. He was threatening you.” Merlin picked up the book with the broken spine. Several crumpled pages had fallen out, and he carefully slid them back into the book, smoothing them flat again. “You can get help for that. Make sure he stays away from you. I can help you talk to some people.”  

“No. Please… it’s fine. I know him,” she said, shaking her head. She gathered the textbook out of Merlin’s arms and held it against her chest. “Really, I’m okay… thank you. He… I borrowed his textbook and… I damaged it. It’s missing some pages.” She touched the spine of the broken book. Merlin raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure it had been damaged before the man stepped on it, but he wouldn’t argue with her. He tilted his head and looked at the spine. 

“My flatmate has a copy of that. We’re just wrapping up the term. I’ll bet he would be willing to lend it to you. That guy will get off your back if he’s got a copy with all the pages, right?” She lifted her head and met his eyes for the first time, her expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, absolutely. It’s not a problem.” The smile that tugged at her lips was small, but for that split second, he felt his stomach do a flip again. He took a breath, then reached a hand into his pocket. “Do you… er… we could exchange phone numbers. I… then I can bring you the book tomorrow. Soon as possible. So you’re out of trouble.” She nodded and shifted her books to one arm to get her own mobile out. 

“That would be nice.” It would…? Merlin bit his lip as he pulled up ‘new contact’ and held his phone out to her. 

“Maybe…” he hesitated. “Maybe you could meet me at a café… get a cup of tea…” He faltered. Did she drink coffee? Gwen didn’t like coffee, what if... ? “Or… coffee if you prefer,” he blurted out. “I mean, only if you want to—” He stopped short as she let out a soft, lighthearted laugh, and the anxiety melted away into a smile spreading across Merlin’s face as well. She took his phone, passing him hers in exchange. 

“I like coffee,” she said. Merlin hastily retrieved his backpack from the ground and started typing his number into her phone as well. And from the corner of his eye, he spotted a shadow just past the shelf where they were standing. His smile faded.

“Tell you what,” he said a little more confidently as they swapped phones back. “It’s getting dark. I’ll walk you home.” Her relieved expression was enough to make it worthwhile, even had her home been all the way back in London.

“I’m Merlin by the way.” She smiled back, genuine gratitude shining in her eyes, and he fell in step with her as they made their way out of the library. 

“I’m Freya.”

Chapter Text

“Arthur… Arthur? ” Arthur opened one eye to squint at the speaker. Wasn’t she just talking to Merlin? He’d lost track of who was where several minutes ago when he stopped to lean his cheek against the cool window pane while his paper printed out, one painstakingly slow page at a time. 

His flat was a flurry of activity. His head throbbed with each peak of noise. He had a lot on his mind anyways, and Merlin seemed pretty on top of the discussion about new living arrangements for Gwaine. He felt guilty. Gwaine had to find different arrangements when Uther came to visit later this week. But Merlin and Lance had sorted things out. So Arthur didn’t really need to be involved, did he? 

“Sorry, what?” he mumbled, lifting his head to look at the speaker. 

To say that he and Gwen had ‘broken up’ would be an exaggeration. They’d never been officially dating. Gwen’s father, Thomas Smith, represented one of Uther’s greatest failings in the eyes of the media. When her father, Thomas Smith, was falsely accused of magic, the press had taken it as evidence that Uther’s Patronus force was not an asset but a danger to society. They had doubled down after Merlin’s uncle Gaius was also falsely accused. The chief of the Patroni, Aredian, had been stripped of his rank and title and subsequently arrested. Media still placed the blame on Uther. Arthur was aware that any close relationship between himself and Gwen Smith would be difficult for his father. That thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Arthur felt bound by his father’s political career. Gwen… didn’t understand. It was a painful disagreement. 

“ Morgana .” Gwen enunciated the name with a trace of exaggeration, as if Arthur might have forgotten who that was. “I was asking if you’d talked to her lately. Are you awake?” Arthur winced. Guinevere’s mouth was drawn in a thin line, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Was she annoyed at him? They had gotten along pretty well since they stopped dating, but Morgana remained a touchy subject. 

“ You could at least say something… even pretend that it bothers you…” She’d tried to argue him into backing up Morgana. Arthur was reluctant to get involved.. Morgana and Uther were both such volatile personalities, and he got caught in the crossfire.

“No to both questions,” Arthur answered with a sigh. Of course it bothered him when Uther threatened to cut off Morgana’s finances, but it also bothered him that Morgana was getting involved with the amnesty movement. He wasn’t going to choose sides between Uther and Morgana. In his view, neither one of them was ‘right’. They were simply two strong personalities clashing. If it wasn’t over magic, it would be something else which set them at odds with one another. 

“Merlin seems to think she’s in some kind of trouble,” Gwen said. “He’s worried.” 

“Nothing new on either of those points,” Arthur said dryly and clamped the stapler down over a corner of his paper with an air of finality. Somewhere behind him, Gwaine and Merlin laughed at something Lance was saying. Arthur wondered why Gwen had decided she needed to talk to him now . Wasn’t it bad form to chat with an ex when your boyfriend was around? 

“She’s your sister , Arthur,” said Gwen. 

“Adopted sister,” Arthur replied. He brushed past her to get a glass of water from the tap. 

“Oh, that makes all the difference. No need to worry what happens to her, then,” Gwen responded with biting sarcasm. Arthur braced himself to turn back around, glass in hand. 

“I don’t know what to do, Gwen. She doesn’t want my help, and she won’t listen to me anyways.” 

“You haven't even tried," Gwen rejoined. Arthur pinched the ridge of his nose for a moment. He didn't have the energy for this right now. The headache he’d been battling for days was creeping down his back and across his shoulders. 

"No, I haven’t,” he agreed. “And I'll talk to Morgana about my father when I want a bloody migraine." Arthur almost groaned at the gathering storm he could read in Gwen’s expression. He already had a migraine, he suspected. He wanted to shut himself in a dark room and bury his face in a pillow until he felt halfway normal again. "Look,” he finished off his glass of water, popping a painkiller in his mouth along with it, and snatched his paper off the counter before Gwen could formulate an angry response. “Nothing I say will ever be enough for Morgana, unless I denounce my father openly to the press and take up the banner to march alongside her.”

“Arthur—” he set his glass down with a grimace. 

“Gwen, I’m sorry… I… need to go turn this in. Can’t we talk about this later?” He braced a hand on the counter, letting his chin tip down towards his chest, as if perhaps relaxing his neck might ease the persistent throb in the back of his head. He heard the soft exhale from Gwen—plainly not pacified, but at least she seemed to be acquiescing. He didn’t want to snap at her. He was just exhausted and in pain. 

He set his cup down blindly, and it toppled into the sink with a clatter. Arthur gritted his teeth, as much because of the noise as the fact that Merlin, Lance, and Gwaine stopped to look at him. He tried to ignore Gwen’s look, which felt more like disappointment than anything else. It made him feel a little worse somehow than he already did. He reached over the counter to snag his keys off the hook by the door.

“Merlin, could you grab something quick for supper tonight?” he asked as he headed for the door.

“I’ve brought back food all week, Arthur,” Merlin responded. “You’re done with your paper. You can stop by the supermarket this time if you don’t want leftovers.” Arthur lifted a hand to his face again. The supermarket sounded like hell on earth right now.

“I’ll pay for it,” he offered. Merlin frowned at him. 

“Maybe another time? I’m not going to be home for dinner tonight. I’m going out with a friend.” Arthur held back a groan of frustration and glanced sideways at the American next to Merlin. Gwaine grinned. 

“Not me, mate. Merlin’s got a lady friend.” 

“What?” Gwen perked up. “Who?” Her attention finally diverted from Arthur to Merlin, and interest kindled in her eyes. The color rose to Merlin’s face. 

“It’s not—We’re just—” 

“He’s got a picture ,” Gwaine interjected. Arthur let out a long breath and headed to the door. The distraction was a perfect moment to escape.

“I’ll just order out,” he said to the air, reaching for the door handle.  

“Arthur.” A voice brought him up short and a hand touched his shoulder lightly. “Are you alright?” 

It was hard to dislike Lance Cabrera. Arthur didn’t want to like Gwen’s new boyfriend. He couldn’t deny that he felt a sharp twinge of jealousy when he saw Gwen laughing with the man. Despite that, Lance had won Arthur over before he’d even seen the young med-student together with Gwen. He was a little older, calmer, mellower than Arthur, and had recently started his first year at the local hospital. He didn’t have much time off, but he seemed to find time for Gwen anyways. Arthur sometimes felt like he came from a different world than Gwen when he realized how little she had to live on. Lance on the other hand was cut from the same cloth, and ever generous despite his lack. Even now, and yet Lance had offered Gwaine a place to stay indefinitely while Arthur sorted out matters with his father. Arthur made a mental note to talk with Gwen. Perhaps she could offer Lance some money through Arthur, buy him dinner or something as thanks for helping Gwaine. 

“Hmm...?” Arthur rubbed his eyes and glanced back at Lance whose brows were drawn together. Arthur pressed his thumb and forefinger to his forehead and sighed. 

“Yeah. Just… need a bit more sleep. I’ll be fine.”  Lance’s mouth thinned to a line.

“Alright. Take care,” he said. Arthur forced a smile.
“Thanks for putting Gwaine up for a bit.”

“Not a problem. I imagine he’ll liven things up at my place,” Lance chuckled.

“Arthur! Don’t you want to see Merlin’s girlfriend?” the individual in question called. Gwaine was grinning from ear to ear and holding up a resigned looking Merlin’s mobile phone. 

“The picture will be here when I get back, I’m sure,” Arthur said. Any other time he might’ve been happy to heckle Merlin about this girl he’d found. After all, Merlin kept to himself so much, it was nice to hear he’d found someone. But right now Arthur wanted his errand done as soon as possible… and perhaps get some idea what to do with the problem that had been troubling him all week.

Doctor Leod lived in his office. Arthur was fairly sure of that now at the end of the semester as the man's door was nearly always open and his light on. Despite his apprehensions about the man, Arthur was drawn to the open door like a moth to flame. The professor’s heavy brows, worn features, and particularly his flinty blue-gray eyes stirred a deeply buried recollection each time Arthur saw him. Leod reminded him of someone he’d seen before, fleeting though the encounter had been. Leod was a bold man, outspoken for one who had lived through the reign of both The Pure and Uther Pendragon… and it had taken Arthur nearly the entire term to figure it out. Even then he’d doubted himself. He liked the eccentric professor, and part of him didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. He’d meant to speak with Merlin about this so many times, but Merlin always found a convenient escape from the room when the word ‘magic’ was aired.

Arthur could have left his term paper in Leod’s box in the main office, but instead he made his way to the professor’s doorway and stood, looking at the rim of the professor’s black-framed glasses, just visible under a fringe of curly silver hair. The soft gleam of yellow lamp-light reflected off the sheen of Leod’s lenses. It was reminding Arthur of the golden glow he’d seen a very few times. He remembered the flicker of gold dying in the eyes of a man as the Patroni shot him. He remembered Michael Collins, eyes bright with anger as he tried to use magic to kill Arthur—just before Merlin saved Arthur’s life. And he remembered one more—the quiet older man who had taken Mordred from his care and taken the boy away to safety. It was the first time Arthur had actively chosen to protect someone he knew had magic. And it had been the first time Arthur saw a sorcerer use magic without intent to harm. 

And here he was, sitting quietly in his office, reading as Arthur approached the doorway. Yet despite everything Uther had told him about the dangers of sorcery, all Arthur could think of as he looked through the doorway at a man he knew to be a sorcerer was the one opinion he’d managed to wring out of Merlin: 

“ Maybe it would be easier if we left them alone. If we don’t trouble them, they won’t trouble us.”  

“Arthur,” Professor Leod looked up from his work and removed his dark-rimmed glasses, smiling in greeting. “Did you find a source on the physical records?” he asked. Arthur took a breath. He didn’t smile back. Leod knew him . The question that remained was: did the man know that Arthur had recognized him? Surely not, or he wouldn’t have stayed around to be reported, would he? 

“There’s nothing remaining in the physical record,” he said. “All my sources talk about some mystic lore… something called the ‘Old Religion’ that sorcerers worshipped until The Pure rose to power and brought in a new practice. There’s no evidence of either practice though. Why would there be? It’s illegal now.” The professor’s eyebrows rose, and Arthur let himself lean a little against the doorframe, rubbing his temple with one hand.. Maybe this wasn’t the time to address his problem. 

“Did you read the work on burial customs, necromancy, and the veil between the worlds?” Leod inquired. Arthur opened his eyes wide and stared at the professor. 

“You don’t believe any of that nonsense, do you?” 

“Whether or not I believe it is beside the point,” Leod answered. “There are some physical remains from those practices. That is where the evidence lies. A great deal of magical lore surrounds the passage from one world to the next, and it is recorded both in literature and stone.” 

“Stone?” Arthur blinked. 

“Ritual circles, cairns, graves aligned with the cycles of the sun, medallions and talismans engraved with the endless knot or a triskelion—there is ample evidence for magic on record. These are only a few of the traditional markers found in England.” 

“England?” Arthur said then quickly clamped his mouth shut feeling like a foolish echo.

“There are different sects and cultures within the magical community, yes,” Leod said. “Just as there are among those without magic. You would find an entirely different set of artifacts pointing to sorcery in Asia or the Americas. You simply have to be looking in order to find them.”  

“But...” Arthur tugged on a loose strap on the top of his backpack and began tapping a rhythm on his palm to distract himself from the throbbing ache behind his eyes. “All of that was… considered superstition. If that was real magic—if it was so obvious... Why did no one believe in it then?”

“No one?” The professor inquired. Arthur bit back an impatient sigh. 

“Okay… maybe a few people… but people thought they were just superstitious.” 

“Exactly,” Leod agreed. “There have always been the scant few who believed in it, even among the non-magical community, and as you say they were considered mad for most of history.” 

“That’s not what I meant,”Arthur protested. “It was there the whole time. How did it never come out before? People should have seen it.” And yet no one has seen you… The professor chuckled. 

“You put too much stock in the perception of your fellow man. We are creatures of habit. We see what we are trained to see. If there is anything you will learn from history, Arthur, it is that at least seventy percent of what we see is what we expect to see. For the keener minded of us, perhaps thirty is observation. Most of us wrap ourselves in a comfortable cocoon of artifacts: people, things, and concepts that we understand and anticipate. It is remarkably difficult to imagine, let alone see things outside the shelter we have built for ourselves. Not so long ago in the large scheme of history, people believed the earth was only a few thousand years old.” 

“So you’re saying... nobody ever discovered it, because they weren’t looking ,” Arthur drew out the word with a hint of sarcasm. 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Leod agreed with an approving nod. Arthur’s frown didn’t change. “Make of it what you will. Magic users took care to hide their craft in the last several centuries, and most people were happy to write it off as religion or superstition. But the record still shows the remnants of those practices.” Leod regarded his student with a thoughtful expression then held out his hand again for Arthur’s paper. “You have time to brush up on that before the exam. You’ve come to turn in your term paper, I take it.” Arthur suppressed a sigh and straightened up, shrugging his backpack onto his shoulders again. 

“Thank you, professor,” he allowed a bit reluctantly and handed over the paper.

“Keep it in mind, Arthur,” the professor added mildly. “You would be foolish to believe that you know everything about your world today.” The tone of his voice puzzled Arthur. He stopped and turned back in the doorway. 

“Why not? You always tell the class that there’s nothing new under the sun,” he said.

“There isn’t; there are only new concepts and new discoveries to be made. Like magic. The Pure were just a handful of the many sorcerers living among us. There are many others who remain hidden.” 

“Like yourself.” The words were out before Arthur could think twice.. He closed his mouth and tensed. Leod raised his head and his eyes locked on Arthur. And then to Arthur’s amazement, the skin around his eyes creased in fine lines of amusement, and he laughed . 

“Found an easy way out of taking my final exam, have you, Pendragon?” There was no molten gold sheen of magic in his eyes; no fear; no surprise. But the choice of name did not escape Arthur’s attention. Iseldir Leod held his gaze, and tension crackled in the air between them.

“No sir. I’m not worried about passing your exam,” Arthur said finally. If he was surprised, Leod didn’t show it. Arthur still felt the weight of the silence that followed. What would Uther have thought? And did it even matter…? He took a breath. “Can I ask…?” 

“You can ask what you like, Arthur. I believe we’ve entered the territory of mutually assured destruction,” Leod said with a touch of amusement. Arthur’s brows drew together.
“How’s Mordred?” he asked. That brought a smile to Leod’s face. 

“He’s doing well. He’ll be happy to know you asked about him.” 

“He remembers me?” 

“You saved his life, Arthur. Of course he remembers you.” Was that why Leod wasn’t worried? Had he shown his cards? Now, for the second time, he was flaunting everything Uther stood for, choosing not to report Leod—a man he knew to be a sorcerer.  

Arthur could feel the building headache behind his eyes growing worse even as he thought of it. Was he doing the right thing? He closed his eyes, leaning against the doorframe for a second as the ache in his head made his eyes throb. He heard the sound of Leod’s chair shifting and opened them a crack. “Are you alright?”  Why was everyone asking him that today? Arthur straightened up. 

“I’m okay. Too busy to sleep lately,” he said, rubbing his eyes. Or was it that sleep didn’t seem to make him feel rested anymore?

“I’ll see you on Tuesday then.” The professor’s smile returned. “Get some rest, Arthur. You look like you need it.” 

The cool air outside still did little to sooth Arthur’s aching head. At this point, he wouldn’t even have cared if Uther came storming into his flat with threats to disown him. Just as long as he got some sleep .

Merlin drummed his fingers on the screen of his mobile. It was growing late, and the setting sun’s thin rays gleamed off the surface of the puddles at Merlin’s feet. 

Everything alright? he wrote, stopping to lean his knee against a short brick wall at the end of the row of apartments. 

Yep. Sorry, almost there. Got off work late. Where are we going? Merlin grinned and answered the text: 

No hurry. It’s just a 10 min walk. You’ll like it. He sat down on the wall beside him as the minutes dragged by. And he knew a spot Freya would like—somewhere they could sit as the sun went down and enjoy the colors dancing off the surface of the river. It might not be as beautiful as the lakes with wildflowers growing around them that Freya had described from her home in Sweden, but perhaps somewhere peaceful to take her mind off exams and stressors as they wrapped up their school year. He checked his phone—no texts from Freya—and wondered what exactly Freya’s idea of ‘almost’ was. 

He’d left Lance and Gwaien talking like old friends at the cafe, but for the rest of the day, Merlin’s thoughts had scarcely touched on Gwaine, or even Arthur’s poor humor. Each time he saw Freya, he grew certain that there was something much more twisted going on than she admitted. The day before, when he’d come looking for Freya, he’d seen Halig. A name was all he’d gotten out of his inquiries.

“How did you get involved with him?” Freya always kept her eyes on the ground when he talked about Halig. 

“He was a classmate.”
“Just a classmate?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she’d answered miserably. And that shot Merlin’s last theory. This was more than an abusive ex or present boyfriend. He had the feeling Halig was blackmailing her—he knew something about her that kept Freya from simply reporting him for harassment. But Freya was afraid, and he wasn’t going to make things worse for her. Her last word on the matter had been cryptic: “ Sometimes you can’t trust people .” 

So it might take time. Merlin could handle that. He’d wait. He’d wait until she felt she could trust him. Until then, he’d be steady--prove to her that he was worthy of trust. Until he understood what Halig held over Freya, he could keep her out of the man’s way as much as possible. 

Merlin’s phone lit up with a call. He fumbled to answer it.
“Freya?” He held it up to his ear. There was a muffled noise, then a rattle. He turned his head. “Are you here yet? Freya…?” Had she pocket-dialed him? He looked up, scanning his surroundings. 

The sunlight was half hidden behind the buildings, so he couldn’t make out any figures, but he heard hurried sounds of feet scuffing against the pavement, then a muffled cry. His heart leapt into his throat. 

“Freya?” He slipped his shoulder out from under the bag he’d brought and sprinted towards the noise. “Freya!” The shadows were long, and Merlin didn’t dare try to light anything within them using magic. He veered into the little gap between two apartment buildings, following the noises of the scuffle. There were only two figures, and he recognized Freya’s attacker from the week before by his stocky figure and short-cropped brown hair. He had an arm tight around Freya’s waist, pulling her against him and his other hand was fisted in her hair, keeping her from twisting free. Merlin didn’t stop to shout a threat or warning. He lunged for the pair. He never made it to them. He didn’t recognize the familiar prickle under his skin—that feeling he’d felt so rarely of magic humming in the air around him. He didn’t have time to search for the threat. A split second later, the ground spun out of sight, and he was flat on the cement, gulping for the air knocked forcefully out of his lungs. 

What…? Merlin rolled over and hauled himself to his feet. His eyes took a moment to focus, and he turned his head, searching frantically. “F-Freya!” he gasped. She froze like a deer before a hunter, and he locked eyes with her as a molten-gold glow faded away to amber brown. My god… Merlin blinked dazedly at her. He’d been lucky. To his left, Halig lay half-slumped against the wall, unmoving. The tension in her body, the hand extended, fingers spread, were those of a cornered animal. Merlin turned his hand palms facing up as he got enough breath back to speak. “Hey… it’s okay.” He turned one hand over, palm down, extended towards her in a non-threatening gesture. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Freya sounded close to tears.

“It’s okay… you’re okay.” Merlin stepped forward, and she shrank away. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” she repeated, her voice rising. “I couldn’t tell you, Merlin, I just couldn’t. Please don’t turn me in. I’ll leave. It won’t happen again, I swear!” She backed up against the wall, shielding her face with her arm. 

“Freya!” Merlin stretched out a hand, conscious of her panic, and his fingers brushed her arm with a light touch. They didn’t have time to linger. He’d lived this life for too long not to be conscious that they were increasing their risk with every moment they stood here. “We have to get out of here,” he urged. She shivered, perhaps as much from fear as cold. Her jacket lay somewhere behind them on the ground, torn. Merlin’s fingers tapped gently on her arm, not gripping or pulling, just drawing attention. “Freya! It’s alright. I’m not going to turn you in.” Her downcast eyes flitted up to his face. She shook under his touch. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” he repeated in a soft voice. “But we need to get away from here. Come on. You need to get home.” Her eyes locked on him, and he took it as permission. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and steered her around towards the apartment, darting frequent looks over his shoulder for fear that someone had seen. He collected his bag, Freya’s coat and purse, and shepherded her hastily away.  He didn’t know how Freya had done it, but a hunch told him that Halig would never speak against Freya, or against anyone in the future. He looked too still. They couldn’t afford to leave anything here. He turned his head, and his eyes flickered the faintest shade of golden-yellow as he cleaned away any footsteps they’d left from their wet sneakers. 

Freya followed Merlin’s lead silently until he ushered her into her apartment and shut the door. She pulled away and sank into the couch, burying her face in shaking hands. Merlin crouched beside her.

“Are you alright?” She nodded. “What did Halig make you do? Did he tell anyone else about you?” She shook her head. Her body was trembling as Merlin reached for her, trying to reassure her. 

“He wanted…. He… he’d take money, food, he… wanted other things… said if I didn’t do what he asked he would… he would tell someone.” 

“So no one else knows,” Merlin pressed. She shook her head, and he relaxed a little. “You’re okay. No one will find out. You’ll be safe.” She stirred, peering over her fingers at him.  

“Why are you still here?” Her voice, as small as she looked, made Merlin’s throat tighten. “Why aren’t you afraid?”  

“I don’t see anything to be afraid of,” he said. Freya flinched away when he put a hand on her shoulder. “Freya, please… Will you look? I want to show you something.” The dark haired girl’s eyes, wide and fearful, flitted to his face and he lifted his hand up to her line of sight. Merlin cupped his palm before his mouth.

“ Forbærne .” She was watching in open confusion as he slowly uncurled his fingers. The tiny flame that danced in his palm was  reflected in Freya’s eyes.. 

“You...” She reached out to feel the warmth of the flame. Merlin let it flicker out in its oscillating pattern. Her fingers traced the spot in his palm where the flame had been. 

“I’m like you,” he said. She blinked at him, and a tear trickled down her cheek. 

“You’re not like me. No one is like me.” Her voice shook. “I can’t control it. It just... lashes out. I’m dangerous. I hurt people.” Merlin’s breath caught somewhere in his throat. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Your reaction was natural,” he insisted gently. It was a question he’d asked himself a thousand times. Is there something wrong with me? Are they right to be afraid? He took a slow breath in through his nose. “I used to be like that too. I became afraid of myself. It felt uncontrollable. That’s.. Why I left Ireland. To come here and stay with my uncle Gaius. He knew how to help me control it.” 

“You… you know other people with magic?” she asked, slowly looking up as her curiosity overcame her fear. He hesitated. 

“Just Gaius. No one else,” he said. “But.. you could meet him,” he added hopefully. “He could help you too.” Gaius would surely give him grief for revealing himself to someone else, but he would help. He always helped. She looked down again. She was still shivering visibly, and Merlin reached for a blanket on her sofa to wrap around her. 

“I think… I think I killed him,” she said in a small voice. Merlin’s fingers curled gently over her shoulder, holding the blanket in place. 

“He hurt you. You were defending yourself,” he said firmly.. In some ways, it changed everything… Freya was like him, and it made his insides twist with dizzy excitement. But at the same time, she was still the same girl whose shy smile won him the day he picked her books off the floor in the library—who sat with him on the bench in the park and exchanged tales of home—Sweden and Ireland and all the things they missed, the people they left behind… the girl who surreptitiously stole a strawberry from Merlin’s lunch when he wasn’t looking and looked so chagrined when he caught her. How anyone could see her as a monster—as dangerous —was beyond Merlin’s imagination. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “You were told it was wrong. No one allowed you to learn how to control it, because you weren’t allowed to use it. How could you have done any better.” He touched the back of her hand, the lightest brush with the pads of his fingers. “But it doesn’t have to be that way. You can learn. I can help you.” Freya shook her head again, blinking away tears. 

“I can’t stay here… I can’t. Something will happen again. Someone will find me.”

“Then we’ll leave. I’ll find a better place,” Merlin insisted, leaning forward. 

“You can’t. Merlin, you have a good life here. My life is… I have to keep moving, always looking over my shoulder… people chasing me.”

“I don’t care. No one really knows me here. They don’t accept me. I don’t want to stay here,” Merlin said. “Freya…” He tentatively touched her cheek, turning her face towards his. “You really don’t understand how special you are,  do you?” 

“Merlin…” she shook her head slightly. 

“I promised I’d help you,” Merlin interrupted stubbornly. Freya lifted her head and blinked at him with pained brown eyes. He turned her face towards his gently and squeezed her hand. “We’ll leave the country—go somewhere no one knows us… America maybe. Or back to Sweden. Their bill will pass. I’m sure of it.” Freya pulled her hand away from his and shook her head. 

“They’ll send me back. They have extradition agreements.”

“Freya,” Merlin’s voice acquired an edge of intensity. “You’ve done no crime. What happened was only self-defense. They won’t send you back.”

“That won’t be the way everyone sees it. Another country won’t destroy good relations with England just to protect me,” Freya responded softly. 

“So Greece then—or Norway. They’re not worried about offending Uther Pendragon. You’ll be safer away from Britain anyways. I’ll teach you how to control this,” Merlin caught her hand again and laced his fingers with hers. “And you can teach me the language, right?” That got a tiny laugh out of her. 

“They’re not quite the same—Swedish, Norwegian,” she said. Merlin shrugged.  

“You haven’t given me an answer yet,” he coaxed with a hopeful smile. Freya lifted her eyes to meet his. She brushed the tears from them with her free hand and returned a small, shaky smile. 

“I want that more than anything.” Merlin’s heart soared, and on a moment’s impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her. 

Merlin didn’t leave, even after the light faded and curfew was long past. Freya still shivered from time to time, and he drew her close, and he waited until he felt her breathing even out before he allowed himself to doze. The sirens wailed some time in the middle of the night. Merlin opened one eye and without moving from his place turned the blind slats down to shut out the lights of the emergency vehicles. Freya stirred, and Merlin let his cheek rest against her hair. He didn’t know what sort of investigations the Patroni might start after they found the body, or what struggles Freya might face, but Halig wouldn’t trouble her anymore… and he would find a way to protect her. Because Freya deserved it, and because for the first time in so many years, he wasn’t afraid of himself. There was no need to hide anything—no need to worry what she might say. With her, he could simply be who he was.

Chapter Text

Merlin stirred awake with something soft tickling the inside of his ear. He opened his eyes halfway and ran a hand over his face to brush away the strand of hair. Freya looked as drowsy as he felt, and he could see a faint mark where the fold of his shirt had pressed against her cheek. 

“You’re still here,” she said. 

“’Course I am.” Merlin smiled at her and pulled her close again. She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment. 

“What time is it?” she murmured. 

“Dunno. Does it matter?” 

“Yeah… I have to go to work.” 

“Hmm… Call in sick,” Merlin said, cinching his arm around her shoulders. 

“ Merlin .” Her protest was half laughter, but Freya still gave him a push and tried to squirm out from under his arm. 

“Alright, alright,” Merlin grinned as he released her and sat up, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “Where’s my phone?” 

“You’re sitting on it,” Freya squeezed his arm and got up to slip into the kitchen, leaving Merlin in the silent main-room for a moment. Merlin let out a quiet sigh. The silence inexplicably worried him. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but he had a vague sense that something was off. It reminded him of the feeling he got when another source of magic was somewhere near him—like a subconscious warning. But this was a bit different. It was more of a vague sense that he was forgetting something important: that he was in the wrong place right now. He’d told Arthur he was out last night, hadn’t he…? Merlin rubbed his eyes and pressed the button on his phone. No messages from Arthur. No news was presumably good news, but he would’ve expected at least one message asking where he was. Maybe Arthur had just gone to bed early. His phone buzzed and he blinked at the name that flickered across his screen. 

[I haven’t heard from you. Hope everything is okay. Meet at your flat?] His heart all but stopped. Morgana. 

“Oh hell,” he murmured, swiping to open the message hastily. Uther was arriving this morning to visit Arthur on his way through town. It was one thing if Morgana ran into Arthur. They might snipe at each other, but they’d be fine. If Morgana ran into Uther, though, then God help him and Arthur both… Morgana would be furious. She might assume that he and Arthur had purposefully set the situation up.

[ Running a little late. Can I meet you at the coffee shop again in half an hour? ]

He ran one hand through his already tousled hair. How could I forget to text her last night? And he’d meant to tell Morgana about himself, his magic… was that a good idea now? Would it put Freya at any greater risk? He couldn’t do that to her right now. They were talking about leaving together. 

“Freya?” Merlin trailed after her into the kitchen, slinging his coat over his shoulder. “I’m sorry; I have to go. I forgot I’d promised to meet a friend for breakfast this morning.” Freya paused with the fridge door open and gave him a mock reproachful look. 

“And you were trying to make me skive off work,” she accused. Merlin grinned sheepishly, but her responding smile soon faded. “You’re going right now?” she said. Merlin bit his lip. 

“Will you be alright?” he asked anxiously. Her eyes darted down to her feet and she nodded. “I can walk with you to your work first,” Merlin offered. There was no way to know how much of a police presence was in their vicinity right now. They’d left Halig lying a ten minute walk’s distance away, but whatever investigations were going on might be widespread. 

“No, it’s alright. I’ll be fine,” she said. She let the fridge door swing shut and reached out to flatten Merlin’s unruly hair. He chuckled. 

“Don’t bother. It’s a lost cause.” He caught her hand with his own, buried the fingers of his other hand gently in her long, smooth hair, and gave her a kiss. He closed his eyes briefly when her arms wound around his neck and one hand buried itself in his hair again, carding through it. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he murmured when she turned to rest her forehead against his shoulder. She nodded, and for a while the two stood still, leaning into one another. He didn’t feel right leaving her, but he’d be back as soon as he settled matters with Morgana. “You’re safe. Remember that. No one knows but me,” he said quietly in her ear. She nodded against his shoulder. “Just think of that if you feel worried. You’re safe. As long as you’re safe, you can keep it hidden, yeah?

“Yeah,” she murmured back. He pressed his cheek against her hair. 

“If anything worries you, call me. Any time. I’ll be here for you.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze as they drew apart. 

Outside, rainwater dripped from every gutter and leaf along the way. Merlin silently blessed it. He’d covered tracks carefully, but if any evidence had been left at the scene of Freya’s attack, it would be long washed away now. He passed the scene at a leisurely walk, trying to quash his guilty feeling for leaving her so soon. He’d just drop his backpack at home, make sure Arthur was fine, and that Morgana hadn’t arrived before seeing his text. He broke into a run once he was well away from Freya’s block, just as a fresh drizzle started up. It was five till. Uther wasn’t supposed to be here until 10AM on the dot. He’d have time to nip into the flat before Uther showed up.  

Or not… It was hard to miss the Prime Minister-turned-dictator and his security force when they arrived. Leon spotted him first as he approached the security personnel attending Uther. He was met with a friendly smile. Merlin had been Arthur’s flatmate long enough that the security didn’t worry about him. 

“Morning, Merlin.” Had Uther heard about the run-in at the bar, Merlin wondered? He smiled. He was well used to Arthur’s various security tails over the years. Leon was easily his favorite, easygoing and friendly--very different from most of the grim-faced Patroni. 

“Hi, Leon. Are you assigned to Arthur again?” Leon stepped back to accompany him to the door as Uther appeared from the second sleek black car behind them. 

“No word yet. Guess I’ll find out,” he said. 

It was like Uther to be early. He should’ve figured. Merlin lingered on the doorstep, taking out his key-fob. 

“Morning,” he greeted as levelly as possible. Uther’s brows were drawn together. Merlin recognized a gathering storm when he saw it. Something was wrong, whether it was the pub brawl or perhaps Uther coming to complain about Morgana. Poor Arthur. 

“Where’s Arthur?” Uther demanded. Merlin shrugged. 

“Don’t know. Maybe he went to the shooting range early.” The lock hummed softly in response to Merlin’s fob, but he didn’t hear the soft click of the bolt sliding back. Arthur hadn’t set it to lock after Gwaine and Lance left… Merlin fidgeted with the handle, hoping Uther wouldn’t notice. He didn’t need another reason to criticize his son this morning. 

“Arthur?” He pushed the door open and nudged a pair of trainers out of his way as he stepped inside. There was no answer. Merlin rolled his eyes. 

In the main room, a couple stray items of clothing were strewn over the couch and floor, and Arthur’s wallet was balanced on a windowsill of all places. Dishes were piled in the sink, a bag of grapes sat open on the counter, and a few crushed crisps lay scattered across the linoleum. Surely Arthur didn’t expect him to clean up the mess before Uther showed up just so he could head off to his hobby in the morning? Merlin tossed his keys onto the counter and let Uther shut the door behind them. 

“Hang on. I’ll look for him.” 

[You left the door unlocked again.] he texted to Arthur as he headed down the hall.  Had he really forgotten Uther was coming and gone off to range practice…? He’d clearly been under a lot of pressure, but standing up Uther wasn’t like Arthur, even on a bad day.  

It was a little too late to salvage the mess that was their flat right now. Uther would just have to cope with it. Merlin didn’t take his shoes off but headed straight for his own bedroom to leave his backpack. He’d figure out where his idiot flatmate had gotten off to, then he and Morgana would find a quiet spot where they could talk. And perhaps… he could put off telling her about his magic until a better time. Talking too much about magic in a public place still unnerved him. 

He was halfway down the hall when a mobile phone chime stopped him. He looked sideways at the bedroom door to his left. 

“Arthur?” No answer. 

[Did you go to the range this morning?] he wrote. He stood still in the hall for a moment, and sure enough a phone chimed again inside Arthur’s bedroom.

He nudged the door open with his foot and peered inside, and sure enough a heap of blankets lay on the bed, rising and falling in a steady pattern. The room was pitch black save for the crack of light from the door. Blinds were drawn, and even the laptop’s charger light was obscured under a pillow. He pulled a face. How much dirty laundry was in here? It smelled. 

“Arthur, your father’s here,” Merlin said, edging through the door. 

“Mmmm,” was all the response he got from his flatmate. Merlin blew out a soft breath. 

“Look, he’s already pissed that you didn’t answer the door. I wouldn’t suggest keeping him waiting.” He flicked the light switch. The covers instantly rustled, and Arthur’s blond head disappeared under them. 

“ No . Turn’t’off.” It was more of an incoherent groan than words. Merlin frowned and shut it off again. Arthur had been dragging all week, and he’d looked pretty wretched the day before, but he’d assumed his friend was just overwrought with his class load and finishing term projects or papers. 

“Not feeling any better then?” The covers didn’t retreat from over Arthur’s face. “Migraine..?” he asked quietly. He got a faint grunt in response and pursed his lips. Arthur was a lot of things. A wimp wasn’t one of them. It had to be bad for him to react like this. He approached the edge of the bed. “How can I help?” he asked. 

“Just le’ me be,” Arthur mumbled.  Merlin reached down to touch Arthur’s arm lightly with one hand, and he started when Arthur rolled over abruptly and fumbled for something at the edge of the bed. Merlin’s eyes, adjusting to the dark, discerned the dark shape of a bin near Arthur’s clumsily grasping fingers. Oh… 

“I’ve got it.” He stepped in and passed Arthur the trash bin, glad for the moment that he’d only cracked the door open. He kept one hand on the edge of the bin, grimacing sympathetically as Arthur retched into it. “Finished?” he asked as Arthur leaned back on one arm. Arthur nodded, and Merlin set the bin down, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder as he laid back. Even through Arthur’s shirt he could feel the man’s skin burning, but more than anything he was unnerved by the fact that Arthur hadn’t brought anything more than a little liquid up. “How long has this been going on?” he pressed. Arthur shrugged, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders. 

“S’fine… it’ll go away.” 

“After you’ve coughed up half your stomach lining,” Merlin retorted. “How long?”

“Last night.” Arthur turned onto his side and tried to pull the blanket over his head again.
“Threw up. Couple times since… don’t know.” Merlin’s eyes tracked down to the bin. He swallowed. No wonder it smelled so bad. 

“It’s not fine. Why didn’t you call me? Or… Gwen? Someone?” Arthur didn’t seem to be paying attention though. His eyes were half closed and no longer focused on his flatmate. 

“Merlin. Need t-to… tell Professor Leod… tell him ‘m sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You turned in your paper yesterday,” Merlin assured him. He put a hand on Arthur’s forehead, trying to gauge his fever and bit his lip. 

“I said I’d be there. Said I would. He’ll think—”

“Be where?” Merlin blinked at him. 

“Final… I missed the final.” 

“Arthur, it’s Saturday . You haven’t missed anything.” Was he delirious? How long did he think he’d slept? Merlin brushed the blanket aside to touch Arthur’s forehead. He definitely had a fever, but there was something else that made Merlin’s hair stand on end. He withdrew his hand with a sinking heart. His fingertips were tingling. This was wrong. He could sense the same vague feeling he’d gotten the night before, just before Freya… No … it couldn’t be. Arthur was sick. Just sick. That was all. “Have you eaten anything?” he asked. Arthur gave a muffled negative. “Have you been drinking water?” 

“Not thirsty,” Arthur mumbled. Merlin sighed. 

“Hang on. I’ll be right back.” He backed out of the room as quietly as he could and stopped just outside, bracing himself. He took a long breath, bracing himself. He tried as much as possible to look straight-faced as he returned to the main room to face Uther Pendragon. 

“He’s still here,” Uther said. It was not a question. 

“Arthur’s sick,” Merlin said. “We should get him to a doctor. I think he needs help.” He grabbed the first glass off the counter that he saw and filled it. 

“He’s said nothing of the sort to me.” Uther scrutinized him with one of those expressions that Merlin disliked so much—as if Merlin had ever at some point given him a reason to be suspicious. Merlin lifted his shoulders and put the water filter back on the counter. He mentally counted to five before answering. The best thing he could do for Arthur was stay calm. 

“I don’t think he’s in any shape to talk,” he said evenly. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Uther was already heading for the hall. Merlin clenched his teeth angrily and followed with the glass of water. 

“Arthur?” Uther both pushed the door wide open and turned the light on. Arthur cringed in the glare. Merlin resisted the petty urge to switch it off again immediately. Antagonizing Uther would only make things worse. Instead, he stepped past Uther and put an arm around Arthur’s shoulders to coax him into a sitting position. 

“Here. You need to drink.” He ignored Arthur’s halfhearted mumble of protest and used a little strength to help his friend upright. “Drink,” he repeated and pressed the glass of water into Arthur’s hand. Arthur took a small sip and rested the glass on his knee, as if it were too heavy to hold up. 

“You have to tell him,” he said. Tell who…? Leod…? 

“Arthur you haven’t missed the exam. I promise,” Merlin insisted firmly. It couldn’t be a good sign that Arthur had completely lost his sense of time. Arthur caught Merlin's sleeve with a fumbling hand.

“Just tell him. Please.” 

“Alright… alright. I’ll tell him.” He tapped the water glass. “As long as you drink. Okay?” 

“Where was he last night?” Uther interrupted. Merlin glanced up in shock and outrage. 

“He was here, with me,” he said. It was a lie, but Merlin would be damned if he let Uther accuse his son of that . 

“Is that what he told you to say?” Uther asked coldly. For a second, it reminded Merlin so much of Morgana that he was shocked. Why did Arthur’s own father and adopted sister seem so ready to assume the worst of him when all he’d ever tried to do was keep peace with them? He clenched his teeth and gingerly eased the barely-touched glass of water from Arthur’s hands when Arthur nearly dropped it. 

“He’s not hung over,” he said, his voice quiet but laced with barely controlled anger. “I know what that looks like. But don’t worry. I made sure to have him do a breath test when he came back from turning in his term paper .” He emphasized the last few words with biting sarcasm. Uther’s expression darkened, and Merlin wondered for the briefest of moments whether he’d gone too far. He breathed out through his nose. What good was it anyways? This wasn’t going to help the situation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur tense. He wondered whether his friend was even paying attention to the conversation, wretched as he was. Arthur nearly pitched forward trying to reach for the bin again, and Merlin quickly braced an arm around his shoulders and fetched it for him. 

There was nothing to bring up but the mouthful of water he’d just swallowed. Merlin felt as if his stomach were twisting too at the sound of him gagging. “Arthur, you need to keep that water down,” he said in a low voice. Arthur only leaned his forehead against the edge of the bin and shivered. He squeezed his friend’s shoulder and straightened up. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t the time to pick a battle with the most stubborn man in Britain. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s sick. He needs help,” he said. His voice had regained the steadier tone. He ignored Uther’s hesitation, desperate to get Arthur somewhere with proper help and care. If Uther was going to be an arse about this, he would call an ambulance, but he guessed that the man would help, however grudgingly. Arthur had leaned back against his pillows now and closed his eyes. He opened them again when Merlin shook him. “We’re taking you to the hospital, alright? Can you get up? There’s a car waiting for you.” He didn’t ask; Arthur looked even paler at the mention of a car, but he nodded feebly, and Merlin helped him to his feet. A hand took the bin from Arthur’s grasp, and Uther wordlessly came to Arthur’s side, taking his other arm.

“It’s not far, Arthur.” Merlin felt the tension drain from his shoulders. The anger in Uther’s eyes was gone. He was surprisingly soft-spoken as he pulled Arthur’s arm around his shoulders. “We’ll get you help. It’ll be over soon,” he promised. Arthur gave the tiniest of nods and leaned into their support as they steered him slowly out to the car. 

The rain was pouring down in sheets again, just as it had every day for the past week. Merlin leaned against the wall of the hospital, watching as Leon disappeared around the corner, returning to the ward where Arthur had been admitted. It wasn’t even eleven in the morning, and he already felt utterly exhausted, stretched too thin to think straight for anyone. Gwaine had been texting him about something he left behind at the flat, Freya’s dilemma still lingered at the back of his overtaxed mind, and the overwhelming sense of wrongness that he got from Arthur only grew with every minute. “ We’ll let you know as soon as we can,” was all he could get from a grim, quiet Leon. His smile was gone. That told him plainly enough that this was serious. It wasn’t a simple fix. 

Merlin closed his eyes and tapped the last missed call, taking a breath before he put the phone to his ear. He was answered almost immediately.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said heavily. 

“Merlin, where are you? I’ve been waiting here for half an hour. There’s something you need to see.” Morgana sounded urgent. It made Merlin dizzy just to think about the whole problem of Morgana’s associations. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know whatever it was right now.  

“I’m sorry. I meant to call you, but things got really out of hand this morning. Uther was at the flat, and Arthur’s really sick. He’s just been admitted to hospital.” 

“What?” Morgana’s voice rose half an octave. “Is he alright?” There was a painful moment of silence. Merlin swallowed. Arthur was plainly dehydrated, running a high fever, and the soreness, light sensitivity, and headache all pointed to something familiar  But it was wrong. Merlin was as certain of that as if Gaius had told him. He wanted to ignore it, but the presence of a foreign sorcery was more apparent every time he’d been near Arthur since returning to the flat, and far stronger than what he’d sensed from Freya. Freya hadn’t cursed anyone. She’d only used her magic in self defense. But this… this was worse, and he doubted medical cures were going to fix it. Maybe their IV fluids would stall it at best. The hospital would find out soon enough that their treatments weren’t helping… then they’d try something else that wouldn’t help. Merlin took a breath. 

“He’s not… well. But he’s here now. He’ll be fine,” he lied. He heard a quiet exhale on the other end of the line. “Look. I’m really sorry. I have to go. The doctors think Arthur’s got meningitis, so I need to talk with Gwen, Lance, and Gwaine since they’ve been around him. They all need to pick up their course of antibiotics, just in case.” 

“It’s alright. Don’t apologize,” Morgana answered quickly. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help... and could you call tomorrow if…” 

“I’ll tell you if anything happens,” Merlin promised. 

“Thanks,” she breathed. 

“Sure. I’ll talk to you later.” Merlin ended the call and dialed in another number hurriedly. He had no answers or cures for whatever was going on with Arthur. So he’d have to start with someone who might… but he had to leave a message before he went anywhere. The guilt gnawed at his insides as he stood beneath the shelter at the door to the hospital. He had to do this now—had to find a way to help Arthur… but the thought of leaving Freya for so long made him feel sick with worry. Freya didn’t answer. Merlin rested his head against the bricks and waited for the tone. 

“Hey, Freya. I’m sorry I won’t be back as soon as I’d planned. Arthur’s sick, and I had to take him to the hospital. I don’t know how long I’ll be out, but I’ll give you a call as soon as I’m coming back. You can still call if you need anything, though. Let me know if you… run into any trouble at work, alright? Take care.” He ended the message and stood with his eyes shut, listening to the patter of the rain. He breathed in slowly, inhaling the fresh, cool smell of the rain, and pushed himself off the wall, setting his jaw in a determined expression.  

“You will be back, Emrys… I will see you again when you need me.”

He silently cursed the dragon as he stepped out into the rain, but he let himself seek out that old connection, already mapping out a path on the train and metro systems. Whatever Kilgarrah knew, he needed to find out. 

Kilgarrah’s prison was heavily guarded. The growing guilt inside Merlin felt like a ball of ice in his stomach, but he did what was necessary, putting one guard after another into a heavy sleep and unlocking doors and passageways. This would come back to haunt him, without a doubt. Such a security breach--and one clearly done by sorcery--would put Uther and the whole force on high alert, and he wouldn’t have much time. The guards would wake before long. He couldn’t maintain the spell on them indefinitely. 

The dark tunnel was just as Merlin remembered it, even the chill familiar as he picked his way down the slope. He trod carefully on the high side to avoid sloshing through the rainwater that flowed alongside him, illuminating the way with the pale blue orb he hadn’t lit, save in his dreams, for months. In person, the prison seemed truly inhumane--dank, dark, cold, and open to the elements. He had never dared visit it in person. He’d tried to stop visiting even in his dreams after the incident with Mordred.  But Kilgarrah knew things he shouldn’t know when trapped underground. He’d known about Arthur. He’d known of Merlin’s arrival and meeting with Arthur. He was still a powerful creature of magic. He was hundreds of years old. He might know of curses and counter-curses to help combat Arthur’s sickness. 

Years of waiting no doubt made keen ears. Merlin heard the scraping of chains on the ground as he made his way into the dragon’s huge cavern. A pair of golden orbs turned slowly to fix on Merlin when he stepped into the open, and Merlin held his breath. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet in person, young warlock.” Merlin braced his feet apart, willing himself not to be intimidated as the massive dragon arched his neck and looked down unblinkingly at him. He could see the flicker of fire in its nostrils, feel the puff of heat from its breath. 

“I need your help,” he admitted. He didn’t have time for formalities. Kilgarrah’s tail shifted on the ground behind him and his eyes narrowed, catlike. 

“I can give you the cure. But you know what I will ask of you in return,” he said. Merlin’s stomach dropped. He took a step back. 

“Where will you go?” he asked warily. The dragon blinked slowly at him and Merlin felt a surge of impatience. 

“That is not your concern.” 

“They could detect you.”

“I can take care of myself, young warlock.” Kilgarrah stretched his wings out to their full span, as if ready to launch into the sky.

“I thought you believed in us. In Arthur’s destiny. ” Kilgarrah lowered his head, and Merlin’s heart raced as the dragon’s eye came nearly level with him. He looked almost smug as he replied, his voice rumbling through the cave, at once a challenge and a warning. 

“Nothing comes without a price, Emrys.” 

Chapter Text

“I was promised he would receive the best care here.” Lance retreated a step from the bed to look up as Uther swept back into the room. Uther had put many of the hospital’s staff on edge, moving through the ward like a dark storm cloud. “Perhaps I should have Gaius take over the case.” 

“Uther, I’ve known Doctor Collins since medical school.” Gaius interrupted. “I have complete faith in her. Arthur is receiving the best care available.” Lance’s Attending physician was patient--far more patient than Lance thought Uther deserved, but then what else could they do with the man most people considered a dictator. He felt the tension in every fiber of his body. Uther could end Collins’ career. Whether Lance would land on his feet was its own question, but he didn’t want to see Doctor Collins go down for this. 

“Mr. Pendragon, I’m sorry we haven’t been able to get any clearer answer for you yet, but medicine is rarely an exact art. We have to wait until he’s had time to react to the treatments,” Collins added firmly. Her keen grayish eyes were fixed steadily on Uther. He didn’t faze her the way he did others. The sprinkling of silver in her long brown hair suggested the experience she broadcasted in her even demeanor. It wasn’t the first difficult patient Lance had seen her handle. Lance was only now starting to understand the evenness needed to handle the family and friends of people in the High Dependency Unit. 

“And if he doesn’t have time to wait?” Uther’s voice was edged. 

“His condition is stable for the moment,” Collins said. Lance wasn’t sure just how stable Arthur was. He was at least lucid when awake now. But Lance’s attention drifted from the conversation as he looked past Uther’s shoulder at Arthur in the hospital bed beyond. 

It was strange to see Arthur like this, his hand decorated with a hospital bracelet and bright plastic IV line and a thin oxygen cannula across his face, his chest rising and falling with tiny, shallow breaths aided by the airflow from the tank. Lance was closer with Merlin. He’d first met the younger man at the tail end of medical school as he was seeking internships. It was Merlin’s connection, through Gaius, that first connected Lance with Doctor Collins. So in a roundabout sort of way, Merlin was the reason that Lancelot stood where he was today, notebook tucked under his arm as he stood, listening to Arthur’s prognosis. 

Arthur, on the other hand… Arthur he’d seen many times before he met Merlin--always up in the early hours of the morning, noticeable as he wound his way around the campus and surrounding streets for his daily run. When Lance had his early morning shifts and passed Merlin and Arthur’s apartments on his way to catch a bus to the medical campus, he was accustomed to seeing Arthur there—one of the few people awake as early as Lance—lacing his brightly colored trainers on the front steps of his building. Even if he made a turn for the better, Lance knew it would be weeks before Arthur would be in any shape to go running again. It was rare that patients recovering from meningitis left the hospital without some lasting damage, especially those as far advanced as Arthur already was. 

“You’re Lance, aren’t you?” Lance looked up, surprised to be addressed. He’d lost the thread of conversation between Collins and Uther Pendragon, but this voice was closer to his ear and didn’t sound like his mentor. A woman with piercing eyes and jet black hair stood beside him, inspecting him with her sharp look.

“Er… yes.”  Lance looked back at her in undisguised surprise. There was only one person other than Uther who would be allowed in for a visit at the HDU. “And you must be Morgana,” he said slowly. Today was full of surprises. From what Gwen had told him, Lance hadn’t expected to see Morgana Cornwall anywhere in the same two-mile radius as Uther Pendragon. She nodded fleetingly. Her attention was on Arthur’s bed behind Gaius and Uther. “Are the others still waiting downstairs?” he couldn’t help asking, his brow furrowing with concern.   

“Gwen is,” she answered. Lance winced. “Merlin said he’d update us, then he disappeared.” She sounded testy. Merlin was gone? That didn’t sound like him. Lance pursed his lips. “May I sit with him?” Morgana interrupted his thoughts. 

“For a little. Visiting hours end at eight,” he said, stepping aside. Morgana gave him a brief, tight smile and swept past the doctor and Uther, ignoring her guardian’s presence, despite the surprised look that followed her to Arthur’s bedside. Lance watched in silence while she pulled up a chair, careful not to bump the bed, and slowly put her hand over Arthur’s: a light, unobtrusive touch. 

“Arthur?” His eyes opened halfway and focused on her face. 

“Morgana,” he mumbled. This time at least, he seemed to recognize his visitor. A faint spark returned to his eyes. “Am I dying?” The question surprised Lance, and apparently the addressee as well. Morgana’s eyes narrowed.   

“Of course you’re not dying, Arthur. Don’t be such a wimp.” Her voice didn’t sound quite as confident as her words, and the tips of her fingers curled around his hand. 

“Ah…” His eyes flickered shut briefly and sought out her face again. “Thought that’s why you came to visit.” 

“No. Just came to annoy you,” Morgana said firmly. 

“You mean… you’d be nice to me if I was dying?” Arthur asked. Morgana scoffed. 

“Oh no. I’ll always be there to annoy you, Arthur Pendragon. Even on your deathbed,” she promised, a gentle lilt of mock-solemnity in her voice. A weak smile tugged at Arthur’s lips. His hand shifted under hers, though he seemed to have not even the strength to lift it.

“Sweet of you,” he murmured. His eyes squeezed shut and his mouth turned down in a grimace, and Morgana gently slid her hand under his and squeezed. Lance looked away. In the HDU, he often felt as though he was privy to conversations not meant for his ears, but it was all the stranger for the fact that Arthur was a friend. It seemed somehow wrong to be listening.  

Uther’s voice had gone silent several seconds ago. Lance backed away from the bed a step. His stomach dropped. There was something wrong about the quiet that had fallen behind him, but he’d missed the last words. Uther had stopped pacing and turned his eyes on Doctor Collins again, clasping his hands behind his back. 

“What are you saying?” His voice had dropped considerably, and the steel was gone from his gray eyes. 

“Your son is in a lot of pain,” said Collins, her voice low, mainly meant for Uther’s ears, though Lance saw Morgana perk up and direct her attention towards them. “And the medication is not doing an effective job. We’ve already spoken with Arthur. He’s given his permission for you to make medical decisions if he’s unconscious. If he doesn’t improve into the night, we would like to sedate him and move him into the ICU. We can spare him the suffering until we can bring his fever down and position him where he can get the closest attention for his condition. If you want a chance to speak with your son before we put him under, I suggest you do so now before the worst of the pain returns.” 

“Do what you need to. I will speak with him when he’s feeling better,” Uther replied. There was a pause. Lance felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. 

“Mr. Pendragon, there’s always a risk with these cases. I would strongly recommend you talk to him sooner rather than later.”

There was a moment of silence which seemed to stretch into hours. A ball of ice settled in Lance’s chest. He clutched Arthur’s case clipboard tighter and felt the edge dig into his hand.

“There…” Uther’s eyes darted from Wilson to Collins. “No, that can’t be a risk. There must be something you can do. Any treatment you have, I will willingly pay for it.” 

“Uther,” Gaius’ voice was soft. “This is not a matter of treatment or cost. If it had been caught sooner, perhaps there would have been more we could do. For now, we have to realize the possibility of that risk. We can only wait and see.” 

“I’m sorry,” Collins said quietly. 

“No.” Uther shook his head. “No, he’s my son. My only son. He can’t…” Uther fumbled for the wall with one hand, but when Gaius tried to offer support, he brushed it off and stepped past the two doctors. Lance had heard many less than kind things about Uther from Gwen, but he still felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Uther’s eyes were locked on the two children he’d raised, there amidst the forest of medical machinery—one who had turned her back on him and the other too sick to stand.

As if to emphasize the poignancy of the situation, Morgana, upon noting his attention, rose from her place on the other side of the bed and backed away. Arthur was still again, perhaps unconscious. Uther straightened up, pale, with a haunted expression in his eyes. “Morgana?” She turned away, her expression hard and cold, and before he could say anything further, she turned and stalked from the room. Lance watched her until she was out of sight, swallowing over the tight feeling in his throat. A hand lit on his shoulder. 

“Lance.” Doctor Collins was looking at him as Uther stepped up to the bed. “You don’t have to be here for this case,” she said quietly. He took a breath and shook his head. 

“I can handle it. I’d rather know what’s going on.” She fixed a lingering look on him, then nodded. “Alright. Let me know if it gets to be too much.” She looked at Morgana’s disappearing figure down the hall and squeezed his shoulder briefly. “Take half an hour. I’ll page you.” He didn’t need telling twice. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, and before he could catch any more of Uther’s broken words as he turned to Gaius, Lance hurried out the door after Morgana. 

Gwen was sitting in an aged looking leather chair, watching the rivulets of water run down the window beside her. Her head turned and she sprang up when Morgana and Lance arrived together, eyes wide with evident distress. 

“Have you seen him?” 

“Gwen—” Morgana’s voice shook the tiniest bit. Lance saw Gwen’s shoulders drop and her face crumple in dismay. Morgana wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders, and for a moment, they were quiet, arms wrapped tight around each other. Lance hovered half a foot away with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure what was going on between them. He’d been as surprised as Merlin to see Arthur so brusque with Gwen in the last week, but they were clearly still close. Now, he had to wonder if it was a product of Arthur being in pain. Arthur was always quick to apologize. And anyone could see the look in his eyes when he saw Gwen. Had Lance not seen Arthur as he was around Gwen, he might have thought what everyone else thought of the prime minister’s son: that Arthur was confident, arrogant even, and steered by his father’s maxims. But there was something about Gwen that drew out a different side of Arthur Pendragon—a more cautious, introspective side. The façade of defensive confidence fell away, and Arthur showed himself an attentive listener and more conflicted than Lance would ever have guessed—wrestling with his father’s deeply ingrained, static worldview in the face of a complicated and changing world.

In the face of this uncertainty, he felt helpless as Gwen and Morgana held each other in silence, standing together in the lobby of the hospital. Any words of comfort Lance could offer right now would be as empty and useless as he felt. 

“What’s happened?” Morgana and Gwen looked up and pulled apart. Lance turned to see Merlin trudging into the hospital’s lobby. His eyes were wide, almost haunted, and water was dripping from his hair down into his face. 

“Merlin? Where have you been?” Morgana sounded almost offended. Merlin shook his head and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. 

“Lance, what’s going on?” he demanded. 

“Merlin, you know I can’t tell you anything about patients—”

“Morgana’s going to tell me in a moment anyways,” Merlin interrupted sharply. “It won’t matter. Please , Lance… I need to know.” Lance hesitated. Merlin’s fingers were tugging at the ends of his worn red scarf, an age-old nervous habit, even as water dripped from the end of the tassels. Where had he been?  

“They’ve… decided to sedate him so he won’t be in pain,” Lance admitted at last. “The treatment isn’t working. We’re hoping to see some improvement in the next couple of hours, but…” Nothing was certain yet. Lance still couldn’t help but feel that there was no good news right now--not the way Doctor Collins was reacting. Merlin buried his fingers in his hair and turned his back with a shaky intake of breath. “Merlin, I’m sorry…” Lance put a hand on his shoulder and felt the wiry tension under his touch. He’d never seen Merlin so wound up over anything. The younger man sank into a chair by the wall, shaking his head. 

“They have to let me in. I have to see him. I have to,” he said hoarsely. Lance stole a glance at Gwen and Morgana and sat down quietly beside Merlin. 

“Uther’s with him right now. We can get you in to visit shortly,” he said. All the things he wanted to say, every assurance he wanted to give, was a lie. There was a good chance they’d move Arthur in the next hour, and Uther wasn’t going to want other visitors most likely. 

“They’re doing everything they can for Arthur,” he promised. Merlin didn’t answer, hunched over in his chair with a haunted look in his eyes. Perhaps he read between the lines to what Lance didn’t say. ‘Everything they can’ was a euphemism—no better than telling families they were keeping the loved one as comfortable as possible. 

It grew dark early as the storm clouds rolled in once more. The rain, which had poured off and on all day, brought with it a turmoil of thunder and lightning. Arthur was moved into Intensive Care in a private room at 8:30PM. The shade was drawn across the window, leaving Arthur’s room lit only by the pale electric lights. Hospital staff moved with quiet efficiency inside the room. Arthur’s oxygen was increased, and a fluid bag was hung beside his bed. 

“Let Morgana stay with him a while.” Gaius’ voice made Lance retreat just behind the doorway. He wasn’t on rotation in the ICU, and he wasn’t keen to run into Uther. “You need some rest. She is willing to sit up with him tonight.” Doctor Collins took a step back into the doorway and Lance tried and failed to back up in time. Collins’ eyes settled on Lance for a moment, but she didn’t say anything--merely turned back to Uther. 

“I’m staying.” Uther’s voice was faint. There was sympathy in Collins’ face as she looked back at him. 

“We’ll have staff checking on him regularly, and I’ll be on call if there are any changes,” she assured him. There was a pause, then Lance heard Uther’s voice, quiet and weary. 

“Have you given up on him too?”

“He’s not gone, Uther,” Gaius replied. 

“But he will not recover,” said Uther. 

“We don’t know that,” Gauis replied. 

“What are you hoping for? A miracle?”  There was a resigned bitterness in Uther’s words. The finality of the words was chilling. Lance swallowed. The way his gut twisted at the exchange made him feel sick.

“I’ll bring you something to drink,” Gaius said at last. Uther was hunched over the bed, not looking at them. Gaius rested a hand just briefly on Uther’s shoulder, his back to the door. Lance retreated another step, and a moment later, Gaius left the room and headed down the hallway as if on some urgent errand. 

Collins stepped out into the hallway and shut the door to the room, shutting out the sound of Arthur’s heart monitor.

“Lance.” Collins turned to him. He took a breath.

“I’ll go. I’m—”  

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Collins cut him short. He blinked at her. Oh… 

“It’s not your fault. I know you’re doing everything you can.” He looked down at his shoes. He’d never seen someone he knew well in the ICU. His throat was tight as he thought of Merlin, Morgana, and Gwen all huddled in the lobby, unable to go home, to rest, waiting for some final word. The looks on their faces haunted him almost as much as Arthur’s pale figure in the hospital bed. “Is there any chance… any at all that he’ll recover?” he asked. Collins looked back at the window into the room.

“I don’t know. His symptoms are not what we would normally expect of a patient with meningitis. He was treatable when he arrived and should have responded to treatments by now.” 

“So it’s not meningitis?” 

“It must not be… but we don’t know what else. His O2 Sats are dropping, and we don’t know why.” She shook her head. “There’s something at work here that neither of us understands.” Lance wasn’t sure he understood her meaning. He rubbed his thumb on the edges of his notebook pages. 

“What happens if….” he paused. If Arthur didn’t make it…? He almost didn’t dare think. The ripple effect would rock his whole world. “Are you going to be okay?” He looked over at Uther. The man had his head down on the rail of the bed, very still. Collins pursed her lips and shook her head. 

“I don’t know.” He bit the inside of his cheek. He might escape stigma as a first year resident. Collins, though… Uther wasn’t known for being a forgiving man. She smiled sadly at him. “Stay out of sight if you want to take a moment. But you should rest. I’ll need you here tomorrow. Arthur’s not our only patient.” She let her hand drop from his shoulder and headed down the hall, leaving Lance standing by the corner, watching Uther through the window. He sat hunched over in the chair beside the bed where Morgana had been earlier in the day, and his head rested on the cover beside Arthur’s shoulder. Lance turned to rest his forehead on the wall for a moment, taking a long, deep breath.

The automatic doors at the end of the hall hissed open. Lance set his jaw and stepped back around the corner, holding his breath. So much for taking a moment. 

“Merlin.” What? It was Gaius’ voice. He should’ve left then and there, retreated down the other hallway and left before someone else spotted him here and asked questions. It was late. His shift was over. He needed rest, but…  He turned his head to look at Gaius’ reflection in a window with the curtains drawn behind it… and there was no mistaking the familiar lanky figure meeting Gaius by Arthur’s room. What was Merlin doing here? He took a step forward, about to move out in the open and ask, but Merlin’s words froze him in place. 

“I only need five minutes.” Merlin’s hands were clasped together restlessly. Lance’s heart twisted. 

“Be as quick as you can,” Gaius said quietly. His footsteps faded away down the hall. Lance took another soft step around the corner. Merlin had been pleading to be allowed up for a visit, but by the time Merlin got back to the hospital this evening, Arthur was being sedated and moved, then visiting hours were over. It seemed Gaius was willing to bend the rules to let his nephew see Arthur one last time. 

Lance didn’t want to make a sound, hopeful that Merlin would make it in and out of the room without waking Uther. It might be Merlin’s last chance to say goodbye, even if Arthur was unconscious. He watched in silence as Merlin slipped into the room with careful steps and came to Arthur’s bedside and… reached for Uther. 

Merlin’s hand looked a touch unsteady as he extended it, his fingertips very nearly brushing the hair atop Uther’s head. Uther moved, just enough to tuck his head in the crook of his arm, resting on the pristine hospital cover beside Arthur’s shoulder. Apparently satisfied, Merlin drew back and moved to the other side of the bed. What on earth…? Lance moved from behind the corner to get a clear view of the man, now that Merlin had his back turned to the door. Uther was still, sleeping soundly on the edge of Arthur’s bed… what was Merlin doing? Checking to be sure he was asleep? Lance came another step closer, keeping half an eye out. They were damn lucky this corner of the ward was so quiet… that Uther had finagled this quiet spot for his son. He could hear the soft noise of other hospital staff. Perhaps Gaius was keeping watch to be sure no one else came this way.

“I don’t give a damn,” Merlin’s voice broke the silence, startling Lance. “About prophecies or destiny or what any of those bloody media stations say about you… but I was starting to believe in you. You know that? I’ve just done something… you wouldn’t believe. God…” His voice broke, and Lance watched him scrub a hand over his face, heard the breath he took. “This has to work. You have to get better, Arthur. If you don’t…” He trailed off for a moment, then extended both hands.  He placed them over Arthur’s chest palms down. “You hear me, prat? I’m going to give you one more chance, alright? I need you back… everyone needs you back.” Merlin bowed his head, hands resting over Arthur’s heart, pressing down firmly, and for a moment Lance took two more steps closer to the door. What was he doing ? Arthur didn’t need chest compressions. He’s gone mad. The thought crossed Lance’s mind seconds before Merlin spoke again, and now his voice rose in a strong, steady cadence. “ Gelácne ádligne lybcræft .” Lance froze, transfixed. There was no visible change in the room, nor even in Merlin or Arthur, but he could feel the shift in the air, as if he recognized it by instinct. 

My God. Lance drew in a sharp intake of breath. Merlin was standing mere inches from Uther Pendragon’s head… For a while nothing moved. Uther had never once stirred, not even at Merlin’s voice. Merlin’s hands stayed pressed flat to Arthur’s chest. At length, he let them fall to his sides and backed away one step. Then Lance noticed it. Over Merlin’s shoulder, the number on the pulse oximeter was slowly creeping up again. The green line on the monitor peaked, dipped, peaked, its rhythm smoothed out in regular beats once more. And Arthur stirred . He murmured something incomprehensible and shifted his head against the pillow. Merlin let out a tiny, shaky laugh and stepped back from the bed, burying his fingers in his hair. Lance let out a breath, scarcely daring to believe his eyes. Merlin laughed giddily again, spinning around on one heel, and in a split second the ear-to-ear grin vanished, and he blanched paper-white. He backed up a step, and his heels came up against the wheel of the hospital bed. And Lance realized with a jolt: Merlin was looking at him. 

“It’s not… Lance, this isn’t what it looks like—” No… it was exactly what it looked like. Something at play that he hadn’t previously understood. Collins had been right. 

“Merlin!” Lance interrupted him, holding up his hands as if in a gesture of surrender. “I know what it was. It’s alright.” Merlin stayed where he was, his mouth slightly open, staring at Lance. His chest was heaving, as if he were struggling to breathe.  

“You… you saw me…?” 

“Did you just cure him?” Lance interrupted. Merlin twisted his hands together uneasily. 

“What made him sick… it was the only way,” he said. Lance shook his head.

“Merlin, that was… it was incredible,” he breathed. He’d heard tales of magic being used for great and terrible things—murder, destruction, fire, chaos; but Merlin… he’d never had any hint before that the man had this kind of power at his fingertips: modest, quiet Merlin. He couldn’t believe for one minute the magic changed anything about him. And all he could think was, what a brilliant world it would be if magic could be used to cure other patients like Arthur—how many more lives could be saved? 

“You’re… not going to turn me in?” Merlin faltered. Lance almost laughed. 

“Turn you in…? You’re joking.” Someone would be in to check on Arthur soon enough… and there would be unanswered questions, but none of them mattered. Arthur was going to live, and even Uther wouldn’t ask the rhyme and reason for that blessing. No… no one was going to turn Merlin in. Not if he had anything to say about it. 

“No…” Merlin’s brow furrowed. “I thought—”

“Merlin, if it’s a crime to save a man’s life, you may as well report me too.” A tentative smile broke across Merlin’s face. “So he’ll be okay?” Merlin nodded.

“He should be.” They heard voices nearby and both froze. 

“ Merlin .” Lance started and turned to look at Gaius in the hallway. “What are you doing here?” 

“It’s alright.” Lance put a hand on his shoulder. “He missed visiting hours. I get it. I can show him a discreet way out.” Merlin shot Lance a look of raw relief. Gaius glanced between them, then nodded. 

“Call me,” he told Merlin as he turned to go. Merlin let out a breath, and Lance looked past him at the still figure in the hospital bed, tracking the numbers on Arthur’s stats as if to reassure himself he hadn’t imagined them. 

“You look tired. Come on… I need a drink and a night’s sleep.” Merlin’s shoulders sagged. 

“Can’t argue with that.” He sounded tired. Lance let the door shut softly behind them and steered Merlin towards an exit with one last look over his shoulder. It was a shame, he reflected, as he led the way out of the hospital at last, that Uther Pendragon didn’t believe in miracles, because at this moment there walked a living, breathing miracle at his side: a man who had just done Uther the greatest favor anyone possibly could. And Uther would never know it. 

Chapter Text

Freya regarded the pages of the book propped atop her knees with a slight frown. 

“It’s blank.” She turned puzzled amber eyes on Merlin. His grin widened. 

“Exactly. Watch.” He slipped the book from her hands and traced a finger down its spine before he flipped it open again. He watched her awe-struck expression with a smile as the words spread across the page. “It’s easy to hide things like this, if you know how.” Freya paused with her hand extended towards it and glanced at him. 

“Can I…?” 

“Yeah, it won’t disappear. Just has to be me who opens it,” he said, passing the book into Freya’s hands. “It’s not much, but it might be the last magic book left in the country for all I know. I can show you how to do a bunch of the spells. Some of them I think would be useful in teaching you to control it. And ,” He pulled out his phone while Freya turned over the pages of the book.  “We shouldn’t have any trouble getting out of the country.” Merlin tapped the little digital map on his mobile emphatically. “As soon as your final exams end, we can go. It’ll look like we’re off on holiday. We can get to Sweden easily. They’re already putting their amnesty laws through. Uther and his government have good relations with Denmark right now, so we can get a flight to Copenhagen, and Denmark doesn’t restrict sailing off the coast. We’ll take the train to Malmo, or a ferry straight across to Helsingborg.” Freya’s eyes dropped to the book again. 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“Why not?” he asked. Freya shook her head. 

“Merlin, I told you.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “I’m dangerous. It doesn’t matter where I go, I can never stay long. If I’m near people… I hurt them. I’m cursed.” Merlin let his phone fall into the grass and shifted closer to Freya. 

“It’s not a curse.” 

“Not for you,” she murmured. Merlin lifted his shoulders. 

“I thought it was for me too, when I was younger. I used to lose control and do strange things.” He smiled slightly. “I once brought down a tree by accident. It fell on someone’s car. Will—my best friend in school—he knew about my magic. I just stood there in shock, and he grabbed my arm and told me to run. Laughed about that for weeks. Never let me forget about it.” Freya smiled slightly, and Merlin was a touch reluctant to press on. “I also threw someone—like you did with Halig—a kid at my school. He was bullying me. I was afraid, and it happened in self defense. He hit his head when he fell and didn’t remember what had happened before the incident. That’s when my mum started looking into sending me to Gaius. I’ve had magic since I was too little to remember. But my mum was always there to help—to teach me to hide it when I was too small to know better. When yours started appearing, you were older. You were alone. You’d grown up believing it was evil, and you had no one to tell you differently. Of course you’re afraid.” Merlin cupped his hands together facing up and created a little flame, this time breaking it into half a dozen tiny ones and letting them dance in his palm in a little circle. “I was afraid of it too at first. I thought someday I’d slip up in front of someone else… I’d be arrested and killed. It just happened sometimes, when I was startled or afraid. My mother always told me it was a gift—that I’d find ways to use it well. When it grew too difficult for me to control, she sent me out here—to Camelot where my uncle lives, the one I told you about. After he helped me… I was able to control it–not to be afraid of it. And now… I can do the same for you.” He grinned as the dancing flames caught Freya’s eye. He used to play games with the fire like this, when he and Hunith were alone in the apartment. They would light several candles, and he would make letters and shapes with the tiny flames for her. It had been years since he’d done that—since he had anyone who watched and smiled. “The problem isn’t that magic is a curse,” he continued, “The problem is that you view magic as a curse and that you’re afraid of it. But it’s a natural part of you. That’s why it reacts to protect you when someone threatens. You have to accept it and learn to manage it, like you do your body and your emotions. It’s difficult, but you can do it.”  

“Your magic is different from mine,” Freya said softly, still watching the flames dance before her. Merlin dropped his hands and let the lights vanish, and he leaned forward to look her in the eye. 

“The only difference between your magic and mine is what you believe about it,” he insisted. “You’re a beautiful person. Your magic is beautiful too. You just have to make it your own.” Freya clasped her hands in front of her knees. 

“I wish I could believe that about myself,” she said. 

“I’ll keep telling you until you do.” Merlin slipped an arm around her back, and she leaned against him. “You haven’t had any trouble—police or Patroni or anything?” She shook her head. 

“I should have.” Merlin only caught the words because her head was resting so close to his ear He frowned. “It’s still my fault that he’s dead. You never did that with your magic.”

“No, but no one ever tried to take from me what he wanted from you.” Merlin’s voice hardened. “Don’t think I don’t know what he was trying to do.” As if he hadn’t seen the lust in the sick man’s eyes. He gritted his teeth angrily. Halig was gone. He shouldn’t still have a hold over Freya, but she couldn’t seem to let this go. “Come on. What do you think?” he asked after a minute of silence. “Sweden. I can get the money for a couple of tickets by tomorrow, and we’ll be out of this country by the end of the month.” 

“Merlin…” Freya tilted her head back to look at him. “What about your friend?”

“Arthur? He’s coming home this afternoon. I’ll have to go soon to get a few things sorted and help bring him back, but he’ll be fine.” 

“He’s better now?” The small smile playing across her face reached her eyes this time. Merlin nodded. 

“Yep. And bored out of his mind in his hospital room. He’s been terrible company since he woke up.” 

“ Merlin , you can’t blame him for that!” Freya chided, laughing. Merlin grinned, and she gave him a shove but turned to lean her head against his shoulder again. “I’m glad he’s alright. I like him. We had a class together. He’d always stop after lecture to talk with Professor Leod. We spoke several times. He’s very kind…” She tilted her head. “I wouldn’t have thought Uther Pendragon’s son would be at all like he is.” 

“No one does,” Merlin agreed, looking at her from the corner of his eye. She’d mentioned a class she shared with Arthur before. And he was fairly sure he knew which one. He could hardly forget about it after Arthur had worried over it so much when he was sick. “That’s Professor Leod’s modern history class, right?” he said thoughtfully. “The one that focuses on the recent civil war. I thought that class would be a bunch of anti-magic propaganda.” 

“Not really. Leod addressed it very factually,” said Freya.

“You mean he didn’t demonize us?” Merlin smiled. “I wonder if Uther knew his son was taking a non partisan class about magic.” 

“I’m sure Arthur wouldn’t tell him about it,” Freya mused. “I think he must’ve liked that class. He’s one of Leod’ favorite students.”

“Hmm.” Merlin pursed his lips. Arthur had certainly kept all this information to himself. He didn’t know Professor Leod himself. He had steered clear of the classes that touched on magic, cautious to keep anything about it detached from himself. He raised an eyebrow. “You never answered my question.” 

“What?” She blinked at him, and he huffed at her expression of feigned ignorance. 

“You know what I mean. Sweden.” Freya lowered her eyes.  

“I don’t want you to leave everything here just for me,” she said. 

“Hey.” Merlin drew back to look at her. “We’ve been over that. This is what I want to do. That’s not the question anymore. The question is, do you want to go?”

“I don’t think it matters. What I want never happens,” she murmured. 

“It does today,” Merlin insisted. “So… what do you say?” She looked down at her hands clasped tightly together, and nodded. The smile returned to Merlin’s face.“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Merlin stretched out on the grass and tugged gently at her sleeve. She smiled and laid back beside him, with Merlin’s book resting over her chest, one finger tucked between two pages as if she were marking her spot. 

There was a subdued expression in her eyes that worried Merlin a little. She was guarded and still unhappy. Perhaps, Merlin reflected, the guilt would fade with time. She would understand what had happened better as she learned to control her magic. He didn’t know how to help her right now. Outside a tiny laugh or fleeting smile Merlin could coax from her, she’d been quiet and withdrawn the last couple of days. So he did the only thing he could do for her and drew her close, enjoying the peace of the morning in quiet companionship. At least now everything seemed to be falling into place. He would have a chance to talk with Morgana later—tell her about his magic, before he and Freya left the country. Arthur was being released from the hospital shortly. He would have Morgana, Uther, and Gwen around to keep an eye on him. He would be fine. For now, Merlin had only half an hour with Freya. He didn’t know how they would start again, but he knew they would find a way. The only thing that remained was to sort out travel plans and tickets. Then he would have all the time in the world to help her… and they would be somewhere safe. Somewhere that perhaps they could one day practice their magic freely. 

It had taken an eternity for the hospital to release Arthur. Or so it felt, at least. He was deeply relieved to sink into the couch in his own flat and close his eyes for a moment, ignoring the bustle around him. Merlin was down the hall. His father and Leon were just outside the door talking, and he wished there were less people around, honestly. The hospital room had never been private, with nurses coming in and out every half hour. They’d kept him an extra day. No one understood how he’d taken a turn for the better, least of all Arthur. 

“D’you need a drink?” Merlin appeared at the end of the hallway. 

“I’m fine, thanks. Just need a little quiet.” He hauled himself out of the couch with a sigh. 

“Alright. Gwen’s coming over, though.” Merlin headed for the kitchen. He grunted and shrugged his jacket off to hang it by the door. 

“Tell her she’s welcome to come in. I just need ten minutes to make a call,” he said. Merlin made a face, glancing over at the open front door where Leon and Uther stood just outside under the awning, a cluster of security personnel outside circling the doorway in the misty rain. “Privately,” Arthur added.

“I’ll do my best,” Merlin said with an apologetic shrug. 

“I know. Thanks.” Arthur sighed and headed down the hall for his bedroom. As much as he appreciated Merlin’s help and his father’s concern, he was a little drained from all the poking, prodding, and hovering all day. 

He nudged his bedroom door halfway shut and reached for his phone. The room was a mess, just as it’d been when he was escorted to the hospital several days ago. He doubted his sheets had even been washed, and there was a musty smell to it. He nudged open the window, despite the pattering of rain outside, and took a seat on the bed, wrinkling his nose a little. It was at least quiet. He dug out his phone and leaned back against the headboard as it rang. 

“Arthur?” She picked up almost immediately. He smiled a little at that and settled in, tucking an earpiece in so he could listen without holding up the mobile. 

“Hey. Told you I’d call.” 

“You’re back?” 

“I’m back. Doing fine. Everyone’s fretting at me.” He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. 

“Of course they are. You were really sick.”

“So I’m told…” He wasn’t keen to discuss his illness. “I’m okay, Morgana… really. I just want to get back to my exams and move on from all this. I’ll have to revise almost everything again.” He could almost hear the smug little grin from her on the other end of the line.

“Hey, look on the bright side. Now you can blame any poor grades on this instead of your natural stupidity.” 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I might actually be brain damaged, you know.” 

“That’s assuming facts not in evidence, Arthur,” she retorted wryly. 

“You’re so supportive,” he deadpanned. 

“Always.” She chuckled. He tucked his hands behind his head.  

“What about you. How did your finals go?”

“Don’t even talk to me about finals, you lazy arse.” Morgana’s voice responded through the little earpiece. Arthur chuckled. “How are you feeling?” she added. 

“Better,” Arthur said. “They finally let me go back to the flat. Leon’s being assigned to me again though… I guess he’ll be checking in or something.” 

“Can’t say that’s entirely a bad idea. You attract more trouble than anyone else I know.” The reproach was tempered with that familiar smile in Morgana’s voice. It was good to hear. Arthur hadn’t talked to her in so long, he almost ached to think of it.

“I try,” he said tolerantly, smiling as well. “Morgana,” he paused but pressed on hurriedly. If he didn’t say it now, he was half afraid he never would. “Thanks… for coming to sit with me… and I’m sorry about last semester. I know it’s been a while since we talked.” 

“You can say that again,” Morgana replied. Arthur rolled his eyes a little. 

“Alright, no need to rub it in. You won’t get a second apology.” A soft huff from Morgana came back, though she didn’t say anything in reply. “Will I see you over break?” 

“I’m not staying with Uther over the summer if that’s what you mean,” she said, her voice slightly edged. Arthur sighed. He knew better than to push Morgana. She was equally as stubborn as his father and would clam up in a second if he emphasized the matter. And perhaps she was right; keeping some distance between her and Uther might be wise. 

“You should come and visit when you finish your exams,” he suggested. “I know Merlin and Gwen would like to see you too.” 

“Arthur, you idiot. I’ve been up there to see them loads of times. You’re the one who missed me.” 

“I know, I know,” Arthur said. “I’ll be there this time. I promise.” 

“Of course I’ll come.” she said.

“It was good to see you.”

“I’d say the same, but honestly, you looked pretty terrible,” she retorted.

“Thanks,” Arthur returned dryly. 

“I’m glad you’re alright.” Arthur closed his eyes. It had been one hell of a weekend… And out in the hall he could hear several voices gathering. He couldn’t stay here much longer before people started fretting over him again. He looked down at Morgana’s name on the phone screen. 

“Yeah… me too. Look, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you back soon.” 

“You’d better.” Her answer was firm, but not sharp this time. He reached down as she added, “Take care, Arthur.” 

“You too. Talk to you later.” He ended the call and lingered before he rolled off the bed to his feet wearily. He could hear his father outside speaking to Merlin… then the door closed, and there was quiet. He nudged his door open and stepped out into the hallway. 

Uther was standing in the entryway, still with his jacket and shoes on. He glanced up from his mobile as Arthur made his way into the kitchen for a glass of water. 

“Arthur.” The last few days had left their mark on him, even through the politician’s façade he always wore. Dark circles still showed beneath his eyes, and he wore a drawn, weary expression. It reminded Arthur each time he saw his father of just how grave things had been, and it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle uneasily. Everyone said he’d been very ill, but anything that could rattle his father was serious indeed. “I will speak with your instructors before I leave,” Uther told him briskly. “Your exams will be rescheduled once you’ve had time to relax and recover. Take as much time as you need.” Arthur’s eyes widened. His instructors… 

“You don’t have to do that—” 

“It’s no trouble,” Uther interrupted him. “I’ll reach out directly. You needn’t trouble yourself with it.” 

“I already talked to Professor Leod,” Arthur blurted out. Uther frowned at him, and he silently cursed his own stupidity. Of course he hadn’t. He’d only just gotten out of the hospital. “I mean… I asked Merlin to talk to him for me.” Arthur clasped his wrist with his free hand and rubbed a thumb over the dark bruise that had formed there from the IV and studied his shoes. Uther had scarcely left his side over the last several days. He remembered his father at his bedside when he’d been scarcely conscious, and later walking beside him when he was moved out of the ICU into a regular room. Even then Uther had rarely left the hospital for more than half an hour. And yet, in repayment he was standing here before his father, protecting a man he knew to be a sorcerer. He cinched his grip uncomfortably tight around his wrist. “I can take care of the other classes too. It’s fine. You’ve wasted enough time on me anyways.” Uther’s brows drew together, and Arthur fell silent under the look of sadness in Uther’s face. 

“It was not wasted,” Uther answered at last, his voice quiet but firm. “I would have taken whatever time necessary to see you safely through.” Arthur shifted his feet.

“You had more important things to see to than me,” he muttered.  

“Nothing in this world is more important to me than you.” Arthur opened his mouth, faltered, and looked up.

“Me…” He blinked in confusion. Uther knew better than anyone how easily his political image could be toppled—how hard he’d worked to get where he was today. England, Uther’s work to protect her; surely…“Your work. The country—” 

“Would mean nothing if I lost you,” Uther cut through his words firmly, meeting Arthur’s eyes. “I would have given my life if I thought I could have saved you by it. My time is very little in comparison.” The apartment door opened, and Arthur quickly looked away. Uther reached over the counter to put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Make sure you rest this week. I want you back in one piece. The exams can wait as long as you need to feel better.” Arthur nodded, lost for words. 

“I think he’ll make it,” Leon observed from the doorway. “It seems Arthur has a vigilant guardian angel.” 

“Good. He seems to need one,” Uther responded. Uther’s hand left his son’s shoulder, and Arthur glanced at him, a mixture of surprise and gratitude in his face. 

“I’ll see you in two weeks,”  he said. Any kind of declaration of emotion was utterly uncharacteristic for his father. It made the guilt in his gut gnaw uncomfortably. He bit his lip. 

“Leon will be coming back to check in and to help with whatever you need,” Uther told him. 

“Good to see you on your feet, Arthur,” Leon added with a smile before he turned to follow Uther. 

Arthur knew what that meant. It wouldn’t be Leon checking in . It meant he had a full time bodyguard again–just as he’d had before college. He had perhaps three days before Leon would be back, maybe less… and it would be the end of his freedom. He’d fought that battle with Uther when he first left for college, argued Uther down to subtle security sweeps, not wanting to stand out any more than he already did by having a constant bodyguard or detail surrounding him. Now, there was no question. He’d lost the battle and war both. His freedom was gone. All that, and Arthur didn’t even know what good a bodyguard would do him. He hadn’t been attacked anyways, had he? He’d been sick. 

Arthur watched them go, leaning against the counter until the sleek car pulled away and out of sight. It was only then that Merlin reappeared, still talking over his shoulder and apparently oblivious that there was anyone standing by the door.  

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Gwen. There’s something I really have to do—right now. Could you stay for a couple hours? Make sure—Arthur...” He broke off when he noticed the blond standing close on his left. He was clutching a piece of paper tightly in one hand. He shot Gwen a desperate look. Arthur sighed heavily, but Merlin clearly didn’t even notice his expression. He stuffed the paper in his pocket. Apparently Merlin for one wasn’t finished acting strange. “Arthur… I have to go. I’ll… I’ll check in with Gwen. She can stay a bit.” He darted a look at Gwen. 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Arthur said testily. Merlin’s eyes flitted back to Arthur. Normally, he’d have expected a quick-witted retort or at least a teasing grin from his flatmate. Neither came. Merlin merely shook his head distractedly. 

“Good job I wasn’t planning on babysitting you then,” Gwen said wryly. “That’s Leon’s job.” The comment didn’t even get a smile from Merlin. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to their conversation at all. 

“I’ll be back… some time. I think. Just… be careful, okay? Get some rest.” He didn’t wait for an answer but set off down the street at a sprint and left Arthur standing by the open doorway with Gwen. He stared after Merlin’s retreating figure. If truth be told, he was glad that most of the company was gone, but he wouldn’t have minded Merlin being there. 

“What… was that about?” he asked slowly. She shook her head and moved back so Arthur could come inside.

“I think he saw a reminder—something important he forgot.” Arthur shook his head. Merlin was a mystery—a closed book. He’d known his flatmate since early teenagehood and still didn’t understand half the things he did. He rested his hands on the windowsill and watched Merlin turn the corner, still running.

“He’s been jumpier than a stray cat these last few days,” Arthur commented.  

“He’s been worried,” Gwen pointed out. 

“I know,” Arthur muttered a bit crossly. “Everyone is worried . You’re all treating me like I’ll pass out if I walk down the block.” Gwen’s brows drew together. 

“You shouldn’t take it so poorly, Arthur. If we’re all fussing over you, it’s because we care. We thought you were going to die.” Arthur shifted his feet. It wasn’t as if he didn’t already know that, but the reminder made him feel cold inside. The conflicting emotions he could read in Gwen’s face spoke all too clearly of what they’d been through for him over the last few days. She was now avoiding his eyes altogether.

“Guinevere—” 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out before he could get any further. “For what I said to you—about Morgana. I know you care about her, and I shouldn’t have said anything.” Arthur stared at her. 

“No… You were right. Morgana’s my sister. I should’ve at least talked to her—made sure she was alright,” he said. “Don’t ever apologize for speaking your mind. Not to me. You’re always honest with me. I love that about you.” And so many, many other things… Gwen suddenly acquired an interest in the carpet. Arthur hesitated, then he reached out and brushed his fingers over her jawline, the lightest touch, turning her eyes back on him. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he told her. “I caused my fair share of hurt as well.” Gwen’s eyes met his. Arthur tilted his head down, his breath catching, and wondered… if he leaned down, just a touch… 

He drew his hand back and let it drop to his side. What was he thinking? He didn’t need to confuse things between them any worse than he already had. 

“We both did,” she replied with a small smile, and to his surprise she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re alright,” she murmured. Arthur closed his eyes, and he slipped his arms around her as well, allowing himself to press his cheek against her hair and hold her. He didn’t need someone to watch him, but he didn’t want her to go either. 

“Stay for dinner?” he offered. He relaxed his grip and pulled back, keeping one hand on her shoulder. 

“Of course,” she said, and the smile he got in return seemed to lift a weight from his shoulders. How badly he’d missed that smile.  It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if she was with Lance or not. It didn’t matter if she returned his feelings or not. She’d forgiven him. He had her friendship. That was enough. 

A heavy stormfront rolled in over London at the end of the day, and the rain started to pour down in sheets. Dressed in a thin jacket, Merlin jogged down the street, clutching a book under the shelter of his clothing. He followed a path down the streets that he knew by heart, walking them almost blindly.  His ears were ringing. His fingers were white-knuckled around the book’s edge. He tripped on the edge of a stair and nearly stumbled into the door as he reached for the knocker. His shaking hand brushed wet hair back from his eyes as he stood waiting, shivering on the doorstep. 

“Merlin?” The voice cut through the ringing in Merlin’s ears. Gaius had the door cracked open and pulled it the rest of the way wide to reach for his arm. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call? What’s wrong?” Merlin opened his mouth, but he couldn’t force out any words. He felt dizzy, his knees weak. “Alright… come inside.” Gaius’ hand clamped around his upper arm and he was being drawn inside into the warmth of the familiar apartment. He blinked and stumbled a little before Gaius steered him straight to the couch. 

“Gaius-- I….” he choked out the words. His breathing was ragged.

“It’s alright. Take your time. Come on… put your head down.” Gaius put a hand firmly on top of his head and coaxed him to lean forward over his knees. “Take a few breaths.” The book slipped from his hands, and Gaius gently moved it aside onto the coffee table. Merlin was leaning over his knees, elbows braced across them, and stared down at the carpet. Flickers of light danced across his vision and the piercing shrill ringing in his ears continued. The rain continued to patter noisily on the roof. He closed his eyes, breathed in and out, steady and slow. 

“That’s it. I’ll get you a drink. Deep breaths.” Gaius’ hand squeezed his shoulder. 

For a minute all he heard was the clink of Gaius’ mugs, the rumble of the water heater, the drum of the rain… and the noise in his ears gradually quieted. His chest still felt tight. He swallowed and sat up slowly as Gaius returned to put a mug on the coffee table before him. He took the dripping raincoat from Merlin as he shrugged it off his shoulders. The apartment was back in focus. 

“She’s gone, Gaius,” he said in a tight voice. Gaius stopped with the jacket over his arm. Merlin wasn’t looking at him, and he carried on, his words half lost in the somewhat slurred ramble that came forth almost of its own accord “I looked everywhere. Her flat, at her work… she’s gone. Everything was turned over at her flat, like someone had been through looking before me… she’s gone.” 

“Merlin,” Gaius left the jacket aside and the book on his table as he sat down next to his nephew. “Who’s gone?”  Gaius had never met her. It felt like another twist to the knife in his gut. His throat was closing again. He swallowed and struggled to force out the answer. 

“Freya… I… I met her at school. Gaius, she had magic.” Merlin’s voice broke on the last word. He looked down and away as his vision blurred and he felt the sting of hot tears that had been burning in his eyes since he huddled down in his seat on the train up. 

“They found her.” The Patroni. She’d been identified. It wasn’t even a question. “Oh, Merlin.” He felt his uncle’s arm wrap around his shoulders and squeeze firmly. He hunched over again, unable to force words out through his throat. “I’m sorry.” Gaius’ voice was quiet. “I really am.” He squeezed his eyes shut as Gaius reached past him to retrieve the book that had tumbled from his arms to the floor. His whole body was shivering as he kept his arms tucked around himself. 

He didn’t know how long he sat that way as Gaius gently removed his shoes and took his jacket. His ears were ringing, but through it he could hear his breathing, a little too loud, too quick, feel his heart beating a painful rhythm in his chest. He pressed the side of his face against the couch as the images of their faces crowded his mind–Freya drawn and anxious, tired, telling him it was okay…. Arthur, white as a sheet in a hospital bed. Kilgarrah’s luminous eyes blinking down at him… I thought she’d be okay. I was coming back. Arthur would have died. 

He’d had to go. He’d had to make his promise to the dragon. He’d had to be with Arthur. Hadn’t he…?

It was the last weak, troubled thought that worked its way through his mind before he drifted off with a blanket tucked around him and Gaius’ fingers touching his temple lightly. 

Beside his sleeping figure, Gaius crouched down and retrieved the book that had long since tumbled from his arms to the floor, and with it the sheet of paper that had slipped from between its pages. 

I wish there was something I could do to thank you for your kindness and all the time you spent with me. I know you wanted to help me, but I don’t believe anyone can. I couldn’t let you throw away all your friends and everything you had for me.

Please don’t try to look for me. It will be easier this way. And don’t feel any regret for my sake. You made me feel loved. 

Good bye, Merlin.   

Chapter Text

Nothing comes without a price… 

Merlin’s hands were shaking. He crouched beside the massive chain, feeling the hum of the spell on it the moment he touched one of its links. His fingers traced the engraved runes as his heart pounded heavily in his chest. Magic hummed deep inside of them, making the hair on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably. 

 It was ironic that Uther should hold his enemy captive with a force he so abhorred. But perhaps, he held to the belief that fire must at times be fought with fire. These spells were ancient, and likely they’d been used to ensnare dragons before—dragons who chose to break their peace as the Pure had broken peace with the world. 

Merlin extended his hand, palm hovering over the runes, and he glanced back at the dragon who inclined his head, eyes half-lidded. Merlin took a breath and began to chant the ancient words. The runes on the chain lit with a pale glow which threaded up the links all the way to the dragon’s feet. Their light grew brighter, still brighter, outshining the darkness in the cave… and ever brighter until Merlin was forced to squeeze his eyes shut against the glow. Heat was beginning to radiate from them… 

Fire burst in the cave, filling the space with intense heat. His great wings swept about Merlin, battering him with a gust of wind, heat, and smoke, then the dragon vanished. The darkness of the cavern was replaced by the garish orange light of flames dancing all around Merlin. He opened his mouth to shout after the dragon, and it filled with smoke. He coughed.  The cave had vanished in darkness, just like the dragon. 

“Merlin!” A voice was crying out to him. “Merlin!” He spun about, searching for the source of the voice. His heart twisted inside his chest. He knew that voice. 

“Freya? Freya I’m coming! Where are you?” He swung his head from side to site, this way and that, searching for an escape, for a sign of the woman who was crying his name, but the flames had leapt up around him again and were closing in, licking ever closer. He pulled his scarf over his face, trying to breathe despite the oppressive heat and smoke. There! He caught a glimpse of her dark head through the flames and lurched forward, stretching out his hand, heedless of the tongues of flame licking at it. Tears stained her ash-smudged face. He tried to call out a spell, push the flames away, smother them, douse them, anything—but his magic slipped from his grasp like water through his fingers. “Freya!” he screamed, his voice raw. The fire closed in on him, swift and merciless, and he backed away to the wall. 

Merlin started awake with a jolt, his throat convulsing in a strangled sob. He turned over so quickly he nearly tumbled off the edge of the couch. His hand hit the coffee table to his left, and the sharp pain forced him back to full consciousness. He scrubbed the tears from his face and sat up, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Gaius was gone, and he was alone in the living room with a blanket draped over his shoulders, wearing shirt, jeans and his worn red scarf. He could still taste the acrid smoke on his tongue as if the dream had been real, and his throat felt sore. Perhaps he had really been screaming. He hoped he hadn’t woken Gaius. He ran a shaky hand across his face. No peace in his dreams then, either. Both the dragon and Freya were gone. He’d never see Freya again, and as for the dragon... He hadn’t seen it since releasing its chains. Perhaps Uther had located and discretely executed it as well, like Freya. Perhaps  Uther’s sorcery ban had condemned them both to death in one week–the same week Merlin had saved the life of Uther’s only son. 

He took a deep breath and hauled himself to his feet, wrinkling his nose. The smell was stronger than before. He could feel the throb in his hand where he’d hit the edge of Gaius’ coffee table. He wasn’t still dreaming… Merlin left the blanket on the couch, shaking out his hand as he took a deep breath. No… that was smoke. It had to be. Something was burning. Step by step, he crept towards it, searching out the stronger smell into the hall. He reached for the door handle to his old room then jerked his hand back with a hiss. His hand throbbed where he’d touched the metal, and from underneath the door, a snaking trail of dark smoke was creeping across the floor. Merlin’s stomach dropped, as if he’d just been pushed over the edge of a steep incline. 

“Gaius!” He spun about and pushed past Gaius’ bedroom door, skidding to his uncle’s bedside. “Gaius, you have to get up. Gaius !” His uncle rolled over and blinked groggily.

“Merlin…” He pushed himself up on his arms, and Merlin half pulled him to his feet. 

“We need to get out. The apartment’s on fire!” he gasped. 

“What?” Gaius’s bewildered expression was beginning to clear, but it wasn’t fast enough for Merlin.
“We have to get out!” Merlin urged. He could taste the smoke in the air. He clasped Gaius’ arm and steered him towards the door even as the smoke began to billow, thick and pungent, down the hall from his room. Gaius recollected his senses when he reached the apartment door and put a hand on Merlin’s arm.
“Go. I’ll be right behind you.” 

“Gaius!” Merlin froze in the doorway. No way in hell was he leaving without his uncle. “No. No, we have to go– now !” He turned after Gaius, reaching for his sleeve, but Gaius was just out of reach, and he vanished behind the door of the clinic room where he took private patients.. Merlin tried to shout but inhaled a lung full of smoke instead and doubled over, coughing. Something creaked down the hall, and a blaze of fire leapt from the door of Merlin’s childhood room at the end of the hall. “Gaius! ” Merlin choked, stumbling towards the clinic door. His eyes were beginning to sting. He dropped to his knees and threw out a hand. “ Scildan! ”* The flames roared and licked against his invisible shield. He crouched, panting for a breath of air not polluted by the smoke. 

“Merlin!” Gaius had reappeared. His hand clutched at the younger man’s arm. Merlin staggered upright again, and Gaius pressed a couple of boxes into his arms along with the book of spells Merlin had left on the coffee table. “Go!” The fire was battering on Merlin’s shield spell. His lungs spasmed in protest at the polluted air. He gagged and staggered after Gaius. The flames were too high and too great. He let his shield-spell drop as they retreated out the door, and together he and Gaius made their way down the stairs and onto the street. There was no way he could protect the whole apartment, let alone the building.  

The street itself was an inferno. Uther’s house was ablaze as well. Tall flames danced against the pitch-black backdrop of the night sky, mocking the gathering crowd of onlookers. Merlin drew in great gulps of air. His throat felt scorched and raw, and his eyes were watering. The apartments adjacent to Gaius’ were already evacuating, and in the distance, Merlin heard the wail of at least a dozen different emergency vehicles. They had been called, but they weren’t here yet. This fire had to have started recently. 

A crowd was beginning to gather on the street. Several neighbors were on their mobiles, making emergency calls. Merlin caught a glimpse of his old school teacher Geoffrey Monmouth, who had his hands on a young girl’s shoulders and was speaking firmly to the teary-eyed little one,  trying to calm her. She looked a bit worse for wear from the flames—singed if not burnt, and was shivering. Close behind them was Thomas Smith, Gwen’s father, speaking to another bystander.   

The apartment building, already ablaze, suddenly roared, as if a great dousing of fuel had been poured atop it. The flames stretched higher into the sky and spread, and Gaius’ apartment was entirely swallowed in the conflagration.  

“Gaius.” Merlin glanced to the side to see that Geoffrey had come to stand with them, looking pale and gaunt in the light of the fire. “The Pendragons—”

“Arthur and Morgana were not home yet. Uther isn’t here,” Gaius affirmed, but his expression was grim. “He must be notified as soon as possible. He may be in danger. This is no natural fire.” He turned briskly to Thomas. “See that every house on the street is evacuated right away, and bring anyone who’s hurt to me.” Thomas nodded.  

“I’ll speak to the Patroni. A few of them are already here.” Thomas had scarcely turned to go when several people screamed. One or two bystanders jostled Merlin, shuffling backwards and clinging to one another. But Merlin stood rooted to the spot. His gaze snapped upwards in the direction that several hands were pointing. A dark shadow swept across the street. The fire was obscured by a massive figure. The great dragon soared above them, wings outstretched, and this time when the burst of flame swept the buildings beside Uther’s house, the dragon was in plain view. No… no! Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and reached for the dragon’s presence, seeking his consciousness far above in the sky. 

Why are you doing this? he cried out in desperation. The dragon made no reply, although Merlin was aware of its presence. It could not have failed to hear him. And he knew why. 

The dragon had told Merlin of his ‘destiny’, spoken of the Druids and the dragon lords who watched over his kin before the Purge, told Merlin tales of magic and history that no school would speak of.  He’d even given Merlin the spell to heal Arthur when there was no other hope. In turn Merlin had given the creature his freedom. For after all… the dragon believed in his and Arthur’s destiny. He’d thought so, at least.  He’d assumed that after so many days, the dragon would be far away by now, safe in some remote part of the country . He’d been naïve enough to think that the creature would leave the city, would seek refuge far from there, where he could breathe the open air and stretch his wings. Why had he not expected– known that the dragon would seek revenge…? 

You’re hurting innocent people! Merlin wanted to throw back his head and scream aloud to the skies. His magic stirred in panic, but he didn’t know the first thing about countering a dragon’s strength, and somehow he felt that his magic would do little good against a creature as powerful as this one. He opened his eyes, shaking. The dragon wasn’t just wreaking havoc—he was flaunting his power. He was bold. Even as he heard the thrum of helicopters in the distance, knew that there would surely be military fighter jets and anti-aircraft as soon as possible… The dragon didn’t seem afraid. And he had released the dragon…. He had done this. This was his fault. He felt sick. 

“Merlin!” Gaius hissed. His hand clamped on Merlin’s arm and Merlin realized that he was the only one left standing this close to the house. He snatched up Gaius’ boxes and shuffled back to rejoin his uncle, but his eyes remained locked on the place where the dragon had disappeared. “Are you alright?” Merlin clasped his armload tightly and nodded. A mighty groan announced the impending collapse of Uther’s home. Merlin shuddered.

“They’ll… they’ll kill him. He’s giving himself a death sentence. They’re coming,” he said slowly. Was he that dead set on revenge? Gaius shook his head slightly. 

“They won’t be able to find him,” he said. Even as he spoke, the dark figure swept low over the street, its growl rumbling like thunder, then the shadow circling over Uther’s burning home vanished, as if it had never been there, leaving only the roaring fire in its wake.  “Dragons have been able to evade technology since shortly after it was developed,” Gaius said, shaking his head. “Magic developed alongside technology. They learned to scramble signals or trick them with illusions. And the dragons… Dragon Lords developed spells to keep their companions safe from detection.” Merlin turned his gaze from the burning fire ahead and squinted at Gaius. 

“The dragon lords are dead,” he said hoarsely. And a spell died with its caster. 

“It would seem,” Gaius answered, without taking his eyes from the crumbling Pendragon house, “That at least one of them is not.” 

Despite concerted efforts from fire departments across the city, more homes were collapsing under the destructive heat of the dragon’s flames. The block was soon evacuated entirely and doused with a chemically enhanced liquid from fire-prevention helicopters, now only in hopes of putting out the wreckage. Jets roared overhead, searching the airspace, and the night was lit with powerful floodlights. Merlin was all too glad to escape the scene of the inferno and the panicking crowds near the gated neighborhood. He left Gaius tending as best he could to the injured, with the promise that he would rejoin Merlin in Oxford as soon as possible. The sirens within the city started up shortly after Merlin left. Normally, only the lights along major roads stayed on at night after curfew, but now all the streetlights were lit, a poignant sign of crisis, illuminating the road so more emergency vehicles could make their way to the scene of disaster. 

Once he caught the first possible train back to Oxford and could hear himself speak again, Merlin rapidly dialed Arthur’s number. He had to call three times before his flatmate finally picked up. 

“Merlin? Where the hell are you?” Arthur’s voice practically shouted at him. Merlin winced. His flatmate had an amazing ability to rise to an occasion, even ten seconds after waking up. “Why is everyone calling me? You disappeared with no explanation, and—”

“Arthur, there’s been a fire,” Merlin interrupted. “The entire block’s burned down–Gaius’ home, Uther’s… all of it.”

“What?” Arthur’s tirade came up short. “Was there another riot?” 

“No…” Merlin considered briefly trying to explain the situation to Arthur and cast the idea aside. “Listen, you need to get out of the flat. Just grab whatever you might need for the next couple of days and get out. Go to Gwen’s.” 

“Oh sure. I’ll just crop up in the middle of the night and invite myself in to stay the weekend. That’ll go over well.” Arthur sounded exasperated. “I can’t do that—”

“Fine, just… show up to stay for a couple hours. I’ll explain when I get there.” 

“It’s the middle of the night ,” Arthur repeated as if Merlin hadn’t heard the first time. 

“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was edged with desperation as well. He couldn’t discuss this now—not on public transportation where cameras and mics were everywhere. “I don’t have time to explain. You could be in danger if you stay at the flat. Please ; just do it. Gwen’s probably awake. She’ll understand. I’ll be there in about an hour and half.” He heard Arthur’s sigh clearly through the speaker. A rustle, and a clatter… then,

“You’d better have a damn good explanation for this.” The line went dead. 

[Be there in 5. You at Gwen’s?] Merlin’s text read. 

[Been there since 1], Arthur wrote back and stuffed his mobile into his back pocket, returning his attention to the news report on his laptop. Merlin might have explained where the fire was. Waking up in the middle to a panicked call from his erstwhile flatmate (whom he definitely hadn’t been worried about) was strange enough. Watching his old home burn on the media screen… That was surreal. 

“What does it say now?” he asked, squinting over Guinevere’s shoulder. She shook her head. 

“Nothing. There are no casualty reports yet.” Her eyes lingered on the red ‘breaking news’ bar where there was a scrolling synopsis of the facts as so far reported.

“I’m sure everyone is fine,” Arthur said, as much to reassure himself as Gwen. He wasn’t sure at all. “Merlin and Gaius were in the first house to catch after my father’s. If they got out on time, the others did too.” Her frown didn’t change. 

“I heard from my dad… what about yours?” she asked, looking back at him. 

“He’s in Wales, negotiating some debates about their educational policies,” Arthur answered. That at least had never been a concern when he saw the fires. Gwen nodded and tore her gaze from the screen to fetch a couple of mugs. 

Arthur leaned over the back of Gwen’s chair and began to scroll through the reports from the news. None of the news sources seemed to know any more than he’d already read. All recounted the same stories—but one image caught Arthur’s eye: the blurry picture of a serpentine, winged creature above his old home. He clicked it, now ignoring the text that framed the embedded video. It was a blurry recording—probably taken from a smartphone. Arthur expanded it and tapped the volume up key. 

“Guinevere,” he called over his shoulder. “You may want to see this.” The video clip was a low quality phone recording with still worse sound, wavering with the motion of the unsteady hand that held it. The fire consuming Arthur’s old home leapt into the sky, then across it swept a dark shape—grainy, but unmistakable. Gwen, now standing at Arthur’s shoulder, gasped. Arthur stared at the screen. It can’t be… He replayed the clip a second time and froze with the figure in a visible position, displayed against the backdrop of the flames. 

“That’s… not edited, is it?” Gwen whispered.  

“I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “Not on a news source like this one.”. Dear God… Gwen leapt up when she heard a knock on the door, and Arthur spun about on the spindly office chair as she hurried to the door. 

“Merlin!” Gwen backed away to let Merlin trudge in through the door. 

“What happened?” Arthur couldn’t keep the shock from his voice when he caught sight of his flatmate. Merlin’s face was smeared with ash, his hair sticking up at all odd angles, and his clothes both dirty and rumpled. Merlin shrugged. 

“I stayed at Gaius’s,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand across his eyes. That only succeeded in smearing the ash further. But why…? Arthur stared at him. Merlin paid him little heed. He gave the laptop with the live report a cursory glance. “It’s a dragon. I saw it,” he said. Arthur somehow felt his heart sink even lower at Merlin’s confirmation. 

“I thought they were all killed,” Gwen breathed. She reached for Merlin to try and coax him into a seat.  

“Can’t they take it down?” Arthur asked as the video-clip replayed for the dozenth time. Merlin exhaled heavily. 

“If dragons couldn’t hide themselves from modern detection, don’t you think they’d have all been killed years ago?” he asked in a monotone. 

“So we just watch while it burns the city at will?” Arthur muttered. His heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice-grip. There was a lengthy pause. Merlin had let Gwen usher him to a seat and accepted the warm mug of tea she offered. He bowed his head over it.

“Gaius said there is a man… the man who was bound to this dragon years ago, who cast a powerful enchantment years ago to keep it hidden from detection.” 

“A sorcerer?” Gwen asked, staring at Merlin wide-eyed.

“How does this help us?” Arthur asked, heartily agreeing with Gwen’s audible alarm. 

“A dragon lord,” Merlin amended. “He and the dragon are bound by an ancient magic… If he threatens to end the spell that keeps the dragon hidden from detection, he can stop the attack on the city.” A sorcerer. A ‘dragon lord’. It made no difference to Arthur. The man had magic, and that made him questionable. Didn’t it? He couldn’t see why a sorcerer would want to stop this attack. But with the city burning as they spoke, it didn’t appear that they had much of a choice. He pursed his lips and glanced sidelong at his friend. 

“Where is he now?” Merlin shook his head. 

“I don’t know. He probably went into hiding with the Druids long ago. Nobody knows where they live.” Nobody… that was except the Druids themselves. 

The idea presented itself unbidden. Arthur traced a finger over his computer’s touchpad. His father would be livid if he knew what was going through his son’s mind at this moment. But then, Arthur had crossed that bridge the day he recognized the Druid’s familiar face and chosen not to report him. The country was burning, and Arthur would be damned if he sat idle and watched. Arthur shut the laptop lid as he rose to his feet.  

“I think I know someone who can help.”  

“You know a sorcerer…?” Gwen’s voice was soft as she jogged to keep step with him, still visibly shocked. 

“Not… exactly.” Arthur pursed his lips. Leod hadn’t ever explicitly said he was a sorcerer. 

“Arthur, we should really wait for Gaius,” Merlin fretted. “You shouldn’t be out. It could be dangerous.” Arthur quickened his pace with half an eye on his phone screen. Destination on the left in 50 feet, it read.  

“You can go back,” he said, counting off the address numbers as he walked.

“I can’t leave you out here alone!” Merlin protested. 

“I’m not alone. I’ve got Gwen,” Arthur said wryly. He caught the eyeroll from Merlin. 

“What’s Gwen going to do if that dragon sweeps down out of the sky?” Merlin said huffily. 

“What are you going to do?” Arthur retorted. “Ask him nicely to let me alone?” Merlin set his jaw. 

“Fine, if you’re going to be a stubborn prat, would you at least tell us where we’re going?” There! Arthur stopped, and Merlin’s shoulder collided with his. Gwen’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. He turned to look at them both. Gwen looked anxious but determined, and her hand stayed where it was, a steadying presence. Merlin… there was something more to his expression–an anxiety in the tightness around his eyes. 

“I need you not to freak out when I tell you… alright?” 

“Why would I freak out?” Merlin asked, eyes narrowing. Gwen pursed her lips. 

“Look…” Arthur shifted his weight to the other leg and frowned at him. “This person—you know him. He’s one of the professors.” 

“Am I supposed to freak out now?” Merlin asked sardonically. Arthur rolled his eyes. “So we’re going to drop by a professor’s house at an ungodly hour of the morning. Great. How exactly is he going to help?” Merlin added. 

“Let him finish.” Gwen cut in, shooting a glance at Merlin. She rolled her eyes at their banter sometimes, but right now she looked more concerned. Arthur couldn’t help sharing that feeling. Merlin looked rattled already, and he had a habit of scurrying off the moment magic was mentioned. Arthur tucked his hands into his pockets.

“He’s not just a professor…” Merlin looked back at him expectantly. “He’s a Druid,” Arthur said all at once. 

“He’s a what ?” Merlin yelped. Gwen opened her mouth, stared, then closed it soundlessly. 

“Shh!” Arthur hissed and put both hands up. “See? This is why I didn’t tell you!” 

“Oh, so you thought I’d be more calm about it if you waited till we were outside his door to tell me?” Merlin said in a high-pitched voice. 

“Stop panicking! Merlin, it’ll be fine—” 

“I’m not panicking!” Merlin retorted. His voice dropped. “I just… you… you knew he was a Druid?” 

“Of course I knew! I’m not stupid.” Arthur responded. Merlin stared at him. Then he let out a bark of laughter, startling Arthur. “Oh, don’t even start that now,” he growled, because there was a definite gleam of amusement in his friend’s eyes.

“How long?” Gwen cut in, finally finding her voice again.  

“I…” he hesitated. How long had he really been sure? “I thought I recognized him, but I couldn’t put a finger on it until recently.” He glanced between them. “Remember Mordred?” A heavy moment of silence followed. 

“Of course,” Gwen answered. 

“I wasn’t sure if you did,” Merlin said. Arthur pursed his lips in a slight frown. 

“Yeah, well… Professor Leod. He’s the man who came to pick up Mordred, when we helped him escape.” Gwen’s fingers squeezed gently around his upper arm. There was something warm in her expression that made him want to reach up and cover her hand with his. Merlin was still frozen in place, though. 

“And you… Arthur, you…” Merlin faltered. “You didn’t turn him in.”  

“Astounding observation,” Arthur deadpanned. “And if you don’t want me disowned and turned out on my ear, you’ll keep it to yourself.” Merlin started twisting his scarf around his hands again. Still nervous then… “Look, Merlin—” He stopped speaking when Merlin lifted his head, because he had caught Gwen’s eye, and he was smiling —a smile brighter than he’d seen on Merlin’s face in weeks. He looked happy? Merlin--who was spooked at the mere mention of magic. How had the panic pulled up so short? 

“I could be convinced to keep my mouth shut,” Merlin said, smile firmly in place. Arthur blew out a breath. 

“Merlin, no amount of money has ever made you shut up,” he retorted. Gwen scoffed.

“Are we done here?” she asked, pulling on Arthur’s arm gently before he could reach up to cuff Merlin. 

“Yeah. Come on.” He leaned into her touch a little with a smile and ushered them both up the steps. 

Arthur had almost expected that they wouldn’t be able to wake Leod merely by knocking on his door. Less still did he expect the older man to look so alert when he answered. He was wrapped in a robe—clearly not expecting visitors, but very awake and his eyes as sharp and observant as ever. 

“Arthur,” he sounded puzzled, but then his gaze settled on Merlin, and the dark haired man went rigid. There it was… Arthur pursed his lips with a touch of impatience. The curly-haired professor was really one of the least intimidating people he knew—alongside Merlin himself. Come on, Merlin. Calm down. 

“Professor, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t bother you if this wasn’t serious. We need help.” Leod stepped back. 

“Come in, please,” he invited brusquely. Arthur prompted his shell-shocked friend forward, and Merlin recovered himself a little as they came inside; he might be spooked by the situation, but Merlin was no coward, even if acted like it at times. He’d be fine. Arthur gestured to his companion. 

“This is my friend Gwen Smith and my flatmate—Merlin Astur.” Leod smiled. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Gwen. Merlin I know.” Arthur gave his flatmate a narrow eyed sidelong look. Merlin hadn’t mentioned meeting Professor Leod before. The professor’s eyes turned on him, scrutinizing. “You’re feeling better, Arthur?” He nodded, and Leod turned on Merlin who still looked rattled. “And you…?” Leod said with a concerned look. Merlin hadn’t cleaned up too well. There was still a smear of ash on one cheek, and he hadn’t changed his clothes. Merlin blinked and nodded as Gwen looked his way with the same worried frown as before. Arthur hurried to intervene, as much to get to their business as to take the pressure off his nervous companion.

“You’ve heard the news.” Leod nodded. 

“A little.” 

“We need your help. We’re looking for someone,” he said. “A dragon lord. We have reason to believe he’s staying with the Druids.” 

“A dragon lord?” The Druid’s brows lowered, and his eyes darkened seriously. “So you believe the Great Dragon is free again, is he?” 

“There’s footage of him,” Gwen put in quietly. Leod sighed. 

“The dragon lords were executed in the Purge. Surely you must know that,” he said, frowning back at the three of them. 

“Not all of them, professor.” Arthur glanced sideways at Merlin who had spoken up for the first time since entering the house, and his jaw almost dropped. 

“Iseldir, please,” the man said. Merlin inclined his head with a dignity entirely uncharacteristic to him. Gone was the shell-shocked, fearful demeanor Merlin entered the house with. He’d gathered a completely different air about himself, standing straight and tall, meeting the Druid’s eyes evenly. Arthur was going to get whiplash watching his friend change moods like the weather. 

“Iseldir,” Merlin echoed. “If all the dragon lords were dead, the dragon would no longer be a problem. He is still under the protection of a sorcerer’s enchantment. We’re looking for his dragon lord. And any condemned sorcerer who survived the Purge would have sought refuge with the Druids.” Silence followed his words. Iseldir’s gaze turned on Arthur, and suddenly it was Arthur who felt uncomfortable. 

“There is a place where sorcerers have been able to hide—those of us who have run foul of this country’s laws. They have lived in peace and safety for many years,” Iseldir said quietly. “I can tell you where to look, but I would be putting their lives in your hands.” 

“You wouldn’t need to... You could go yourself,” Arthur suggested tentatively.  

“I don’t believe he would listen to me,” the Druid answered with a wry, humorless smile. And he will listen to us? Arthur wondered. He shifted, drew his shoulders back, and forced himself to make steady eye contact. He was still leery of trusting the Druid. Iseldir was, it seemed, a powerful sorcerer. He could still turn on them, or perhaps try to use Arthur for his own ends. So it was perhaps fair that it seemed that Iseldir did not entirely trust him either. He couldn’t blame the man. Arthur was now and always Uther’s son. Such was the lens through which many people viewed him. Not a week had passed since he’d made the decision to protect Professor Leod from his own father’s laws. It was reasonable enough to question whether Arthur would offer that same clemency to a whole community of sorcerers. 

“If you choose to trust me with that information... then I should hope,” Arthur said, choosing his words with great care, “That my actions both now and in the future will never add to the innocent people who have died these last many years.” At that, Iseldir’s expression changed, and the look in his eyes might almost, almost have been a smile.

“You will do more than hope,” he said. Arthur swallowed, but nodded. “The place you are looking for lies beside a landmark named Spinster’s Rock. That is where he lives. But you will be lucky to find Balinor living anywhere near the other residences. He prefers to keep to himself.” Balinor . Arthur repeated the name several times in his mind. They had a name and a place… They would be able to find him.
“Thank you,” he breathed. 

“Do not make me regret trusting you,” Iseldir answered. Arthur nodded slowly, feeling the hair on the back of his neck prickle. It was a serious decision to make, but in the end, Arthur felt as if he’d already made it many years ago: there was only one right decision. He felt Gwen’s fingers gently squeeze his arm again as Merlin spoke for him, and his voice was full of conviction: 

“You won’t.”  

Chapter Text

“Arthur is not giving any statements.” Merlin’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp. Gwen kept her hand on Arthur’s arm, trying to keep her chin up as he pushed past a sturdy young man with his camera. Even being around Arthur, she had rarely encountered a flurry of media like this. Having Leon around had its perks; the bodyguard knew how to chase off tenacious reporters. Right now, Guinevere wished he were there. How had the press found Arthur here anyways? 

“Are you speaking for him, Astur?” Some attention had been diverted to the dark haired student. Merlin might not have any fame of his own, but the media knew his name from years of friendship with Arthur. 

“It looks like you’ve seen some of the action,” another interjected. “Can you tell us anything about it?” Merlin’s face was still smudged with ash, and he looked nearly dead on his feet. But his blue eyes were still flinty.

“No comment,” he bit out as Gwen gently tried to shoulder the speaker aside. 

“Let’s go,” she murmured as Merlin clamped a hand on Arthur’s opposite arm. The sooner they got out of this crowd, the better. 

“Arthur Pendragon,” a voice rose over the others. Gwen gritted her teeth. A single reporter—slim woman several inches taller than Gwen, placed herself brazenly in front of the three students, and she lifted a pair of startlingly blue eyes to Arthur’s face, a small, secretive smile sparkling in them. “There is a dragon alive in England. A dragon seems a difficult creature to miss.” Gwen slipped her arm through Arthur’s and tried to move around the woman, but she stepped sideways to block his way. “People are claiming that your father has let his guard slip—that there should be a more interrogations—that those under suspicion should be apprehended before other incidents like this occur—”

“No.” Arthur cut over her abruptly. “Whatever we may think of sorcery, that would be an injustice. We cannot consider people guilty without proof.” 

“Arthur!” A flurry of activity followed the statement. Half a dozen voice recorders surged closer.
“Can you give us a statement on your father’s execution of—”

“Do you believe the policies on—” 

“No comment!” Merlin’s voice was short and clipped, but it carried. There were still shouts, calls for Arthur’s attention, and far too many people crowded about them. 

“Come on.” Gwen gripped Arthur’s arm tight. “They can’t follow you inside,” she whispered, trying to navigate Arthur past them before they plied him with any more questions. 

“Mr. Pendragon!” The blue-eyed woman reached out to catch Arthur’s other arm and stop him from leaving. Gwen didn’t even see the movement. Before she knew what was happening, Merlin had placed himself between Arthur and the reporter, and his fingers encircled her wrist in a strong grip. Every tense line of his body screamed a threat, and his eyes were alight with a fire Gwen never imagined seeing in his expression. 

“Leave him alone.” His voice was low and laced with potent warning. 

“ Merlin ,” Arthur hissed and grabbed his friend by the back of his shirt. Merlin let the reporter go, never taking his eyes from her face. Gwen expected a startled look in the young woman’s face. Instead, she was meeting Merlin’s eyes with a matching look of open hostility that made the hair on Gwen’s scalp prickle. It was as if they knew each other. Arthur cinched his hold on Merlin tight, and Gwen never let go of his arm until she’d steered them both inside the apartment building. 

Gwen shut the door firmly behind them, and she and Arthur let out a simultaneous breath of relief. 

“Merlin…” Arthur turned on him with a frown. “I know they’re bloody annoying, but you can’t treat reporters like that. They’ll prosecute if you grab them.” Merlin ignored him and headed straight up the stairs for Gwen’s apartment. His eyes had lost none of their fire, and every line of his body read tension and anger. Arthur and Gwen exchanged a glance and followed him up. “They’re not going to break the door down. I promise,” Arthur told Merlin, sinking onto the couch while Gwen hovered anxiously by the door, watching her two friends. Merlin didn’t even make it there. As soon as he’d shot the deadbolt home, he leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, his body slumped, as if he might slide down to the floor after a moment. 

“Merlin?” He opened one eye halfway. Gwen put a hand on his arm and steered him away from the wall, her brow creased with concern. What had Merlin been doing that left dark circles like this under his eyes?  Why had he left for Gaius’ home that evening with no warning? “There’s a towel under the bathroom sink,” she told him. “Go get yourself cleaned up. There should be a box of Elyan’s stuff here. You can borrow some clothes, and I’ll see what I can find for you to eat when you get back,” she said gently. Merlin was in poor shape to argue with any offer of assistance. He gave her a tired but grateful smile. 

“Thanks, Gwen.” She squeezed his arm and sent him towards the bathroom with a gentle nudge in the right direction. 

Why is it never so simple with you? Gwen wondered, turning her attention back on Arthur. He didn’t look as worn as Merlin, but something was troubling him. He sat with his head propped on one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to stave off a headache. She crossed the room quietly and sat down on the couch beside him. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. Arthur sighed heavily. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” he murmured. “That–what I just said… it’ll be all over the news tomorrow.” 

“You said nothing wrong, Arthur.” He shook his head.

“I’m never supposed to make statements related to my father’s current or future policies. If he chooses to initiate another series of interrogations now, I’ll be quoted everywhere.” 

“You should be,” Gwen said firmly. “If you believe that your father’s policies are wrong, you should speak against them. You wouldn’t do so if it wasn’t important.” Arthur turned his head just a fraction to look at her, and the expression in his eyes tugged at her heart. “Arthur.” She reached out and her hand touched his wrist. He went very still, and she wondered whether she should pull her hand away again. Things had been more comfortable before—when they used to sit and talk for hours: outside, at cafes, over dinner. Arthur had grown more relaxed with her. She’d listened to his troubles so many times, as he’d often listened to hers, and other times they’d taken silent comfort from the companionship, if it were only a hand to hold or a shoulder to lean on. Even if Arthur said their brief romantic relationship had been ‘nothing serious’, she was a friend to him. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Let me help. His eyes lingered on her hand resting over his. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he said quietly.

“Tell me,” Gwen said, withdrawing her hand again. She watched as his brow furrowed, waiting almost with bated breath. 

“Merlin didn’t come home last night,” he said at last, his voice dropped low although she could hear the shower water running down the hall. Merlin wasn’t listening. 

“He went to see Gaius,” she inferred. At least so he’d said. 

“He didn’t tell me.” Arthur shrugged slightly. “I’m not saying Merlin’s got to tell me where he goes every night, but… it’s not like him to disappear without a word.”  He lifted his shoulders. “I thought he might’ve gone out with that girlfriend Gwaine was telling me about, and he was just out late, so I didn’t text him. Figured… you know, good for him. I didn’t want to interrupt. Went to sleep, didn’t think anything of it until he called at some ungodly hour of the morning telling me to get out of my flat.”

“Then he came back here, covered in ash and talking about sorcerers and dragon lords,” she finished. Arthur rubbed his eyes, nodding faintly. She looked down the hall at the closed bathroom door. “Maybe he just wanted to be near family,” she said. “He took it hard, you being sick.” 

“Maybe… but why didn’t he tell me, then? I wouldn’t have thought anything strange about him going to visit Gaius,” Arthur said. Gwen shrugged. Merlin was easy to get along with. He was high energy, could be a little high strung, but he was warm and friendly, and she’d always found him fairly open. It was strange to think he would be so private about a visit to his uncle with Arthur. They all knew and loved Gaius. She and Arthur had grown up with him almost like an Uncle to them as well. 

“He’s probably just a little worn out,” she said. Honestly, she hadn’t thought about finals next week since Arthur was admitted to the hospital. It’d been impossible to think about school with Arthur’s deadly illness looming over all their lives. “So Mordred,” she said slowly. “Who would’ve thought his name would come up again now?” She reached for his hand again, and he met her halfway, curling his fingers over hers. She was still reeling from the revelation that Arthur’s professor was a Druid–and one with contacts in the current hiding sorcery community. And he was the same man who’d fetched Mordred. She hadn’t thought about the Druid boy in a long time. That week had been a nightmare. Uther’s anti-sorcery task force, the Patroni, had been all over the neighborhood. And Aredian, the Patronus whom the neighborhood had none-too-fondly dubbed “The Witchfinder”, had his sights on Merlin’s uncle Gaius. It had chilled Gwen to the bone, remembering all too well how Aredian had accused first Gaius then her own father of being sorcerers. 

“I’ve known for a while.” Arthur lifted his shoulders. “I… just wanted to try and ignore it, but… Gwen…” He gave her a look, brows drawing together slightly. “He and Merlin. They looked at each other like they knew each other.” 

“They might,” Gwen pointed out. “They could have met around campus before.”
“Maybe.” Arthur sounded unconvinced. His thumb brushed along Gwen’s knuckles slowly. “He gave us the answers we needed,” He said. 

“Spinster’s Rock,” she said, nodding. Arthur was going. She didn’t doubt that, much as he worried her. They both worried her. “I have to stay here,” she said reluctantly. “My dad is coming to stay. He’s lost almost everything.” Arthur slid his hand into hers and squeezed. 

“I’m sorry.” They were quiet a moment. 

“You and Merlin are going, then?” He nodded. 

“Do we have a choice?” Arthur sighed. “We’re only back here now because Merlin wants to wait for Gaius.” Gwen’s mouth thinned to a line. 

“I don’t know,” she said. The dragon seemed to know what he was doing. He’d disappeared now that the skies were full of drones and fighter jets, but he was indetectable, as Merlin said. He would be back. “We don’t know what else the dragon is capable of.” 

“I know… We have to try,” Arthur sighed. “Merlin seems very certain that this will work.” 

“But you’re not,” Gwen confirmed. Arthur lifted his shoulders.

“This dragon lord… he’s a sorcerer, Guinevere. How can we possibly trust him? You know what magic can do. Just look at what the dragon has done already.” He pressed his fingertips to his temple. “And the Druids… I promised I’d keep them secret: a whole community of sorcerers. My father’s been looking for them for years. Our country is at war with them, and now I know where they are, and I’ve promised not to give them away.” He shook his head. “What have I done?” Oh Arthur… Gwen gently let go of his hand to pry the other one away from his face. 

“What you’ve done is the right thing. These people—these refugees… they could be like my father, or like Gaius; men who were falsely accused and forced to flee.” 

“And what if they’re not?” Arthur hunched his shoulders, inspecting his hands which he’d settled on his knees. “What if my father is right?” 

“He’s not,” Gwen said firmly. Sometimes she hated Uther for this—for everything he’d taught Arthur that made the man doubt his own good intentions in this way. “Arthur,” she laced a hint of insistence into her voice. “How could he be right?” she insisted. “How can he assume that every person who has this ability–every sorcerer–is a killer… a criminal. That they’re all killers, and none of them deserve freedom and agency? When in the history of the world have those kind of blanket assumptions been true?” She put a hand on Arthur’s cheek and turned his head so he met her gaze. “Is that what you believe? You think that Mordred would kill you if you met again? I remember how you felt about Mordred when we found him… You were the one who wanted to help him escape.” 

“No… I don’t think he would.” Arthur took a breath. Gwen smiled back. Arthur was ever the eloquent and staunch defender of justice. Even at thirteen years old, he’d been ready to hide the younger boy he knew his father would have arrested, possibly executed. 

“I know you don’t believe what your father says. That’s why you were willing to give Mordred a second chance,” she said firmly. “It’s why you didn’t turn in Professor Leod. And it’s why you will give the Druid refugees and this ‘Balinor’ the benefit of the doubt,” she said quietly. “You have a good heart, Arthur. You shouldn’t ignore it.” 

“You believe that?” Arthur asked slowly, the faint smile still lingering on his face. 

“Of course I do,” she said. And as if those words were the permission he’d been waiting for, Arthur leaned forward, and pressed his lips to hers. 

Gwen didn’t get a chance to respond. It lasted barely a second before he drew back. 

“Is that what you meant?” he said. Gwen drew in a tiny breath. Everything she’d thought or meant to say had flown out of her mind, and she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. A tentative question was written in his face, the half-masked fear that he’d made a mistake… and yet it was accompanied by the small, endearing grin she was so familiar with. She felt a pang deep in her chest. She’d missed this—missed him . She laughed and threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him close, and kissed him back fervently. Arthur let out a soft hum of contentment; his free arm wrapped around her waist, and she tilted her head back as he deepened the kiss. 

Clink . 

Both of them broke apart, breathless and startled. In the doorway to the kitchen, Merlin froze. He cut a ridiculous figure, dressed in sweats clearly a little too big for him, his dark hair standing up in unruly, wet spikes and a damp towel draped around his neck. Gwen felt the heat rising to her face and a cursory glance at Arthur revealed the same reaction. Merlin, on the other hand, didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. He resumed his previous occupation and took a casual bite of the sandwich he’d fished out of the fridge. 

“Don’t mind me. You two just carry on,” he said over the mouthful, lifting the sandwich in a gesture reminiscent of toast. 

“Merlin!” Arthur snarled, and a couch pillow spun across the room towards his friend’s head. Merlin somehow managed to duck it without dropping his cup and plate in the other hand.

“What?” A characteristic impish grin broke across his face. “I was hungry! I set the kettle on to boil if anyone else wants a cup of coffee.” His eyes gleamed. “Anyway, I was just going to go down and look for Gaius. He’ll be here in a moment.” 

“Wh—Gaius is here?” Arthur’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Just did,” Merlin said brightly. Arthur made a dive for the book perched on the back of Gwen’s couch. 

“Arthur!” Gwen reproved, snatching the book away from him, but Merlin, with instinct born from years of living with Arthur, had already made his escape around the corner. He peered around briefly to add, 

“Can we call a cease fire? I need to rescue Gaius from the media.”

“Don’t worry, Merlin. I’ve got him.” Gwen laughed, wrapping her arms around Arthur. Merlin still kept a suspicious look on Arthur as he sidled through the room and opened the door. 

“Glad you two finally figured things out,” he added, poking his head back around the door. “I was getting tired of Arthur moping around about Lance.” Arthur squirmed free of Gwen’s grip and, deprived of the book, lobbed the remaining pillow at Merlin. He was gone instantly, and it hit the door with a heavy thump . Gwen couldn’t help it. She burst into a fit of laughter clung to Arthur, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. 

“Guinevere—” Arthur’s tone of voice was enough to make Gwen smother her mirth briefly and peer up at him. His eyes were wide with unexpected gravity and a touch of guilt. “What about—” 

“Lance?” Gwen interrupted, sobering. Arthur blinked and nodded mutely. Gwen pursed her lips. It wasn’t as if she’d never thought about it, but things had never been the same with him… he and Arthur were simply so different.  “Lance is a very dear friend. I've been talking to him, because I was considering medical school next. But going out for coffee a couple times doesn’t make me his girlfriend.” The tension drained out of Arthur’s shoulders. 

“Oh.” He looked so utterly relieved that it made Gwen smile again. 

“Oh.” She echoed, trying not to start laughing at his expression, but when she looked at him, she saw her own amusement reflected in his eyes. Arthur leaned forward so his breath tickled the strands of hair around her ear.

“And… does this?” 

“ Arthur ,” Gwen put her hands on his chest and shoved him back, trying to ignore his charming little smile and gleam in his eyes. Much as she wanted to keep him here—to talk so many, many things out that they’d left unsaid for a long time, there were more pressing matters at stake. “You and Merlin can take my car. It’s round the back,” she said, standing. She heard Merlin and Gaius’ voices in the hallway outside the door, just audible but not clear enough to make out words. They both sounded agitated.

“Gwen,” Arthur put a hand on her arm. “What about the reporters? And Leon? He’s been messaging me that he’s on his way down.” 

“We’ll go out the back—through the fire escape. You and Merlin can take the side streets and avoid the reporters,” Gwen improvised. She reached down to take his hand, suppressing a wave of anxiety as she let her thumb graze the dark bruise on his wrist from the IV. “Leave Leon to me and Gaius. You just focus on what you need to do.” 

“Why was I never told?” Merlin struggled to keep an even voice. His hands were curled into fists inside the pockets of his blue jacket. His whole life—his whole life he’d never even heard the name Balinor.  

“Merlin, we didn't know whether he was dead or alive. Hunith was afraid you might try to look for him. It was a risk we preferred not to take. It’s better that you aren’t tied to names like his.” Names like his… Merlin’s jaw set. It made his father sound like a common criminal… and yet it was true. He would never have gotten his travel papers to stay with Gaius if he’d been acknowledged as the offspring of a known sorcerer. 

“Arthur!” Gwen reappeared to clamber down the fire escape, holding a thin book in her hand. “It’s right here.” Merlin clenched his teeth in frustration. That was his cue. Gwen had brought maps to avoid using a possibly bugged wireless mobile phone for directions, and she’d handed Arthur the car keys. But Merlin lingered a moment longer. 

"Why are you telling me now?" he asked. 

“You are his son.” Gaius put a hand on his nephew’s arm. "But more importantly, you are Hunith's son. I see so much of her in you... and that may be your only hope of changing his mind," his uncle added softly. And there it was… the reason why Iseldir had been so sure that they should go in his stead to see Balinor. Had Iseldir know that? Or was it simply because Iseldir believed he was Emrys ? When Merlin didn’t answer, Gaius’s hand shifted to rest on his shoulder. “Merlin, I’m sorry.” The warlock bowed his head. He wasn’t going to part ways with Gaius on poor terms, but it rankled a little that he’d been kept in the dark this long and about so many things. 

“It’s fine… it really doesn’t matter.” Hollow words; Merlin knew his expression spoke otherwise. His uncle smiled and gave him a half hug, squeezing his shoulder.   

“We'll have time to speak later. You should go.” His expression became serious. “Arthur really shouldn’t be going anywhere. He’s supposed to be recovering.” Merlin’s gaze strayed to Arthur’s blond head bowed over the map next to Gwen’s curls as she helped plot out their route. 

“You try and talk him out of it,” he said with a small shake of his head. Once Arthur took psychological responsibility for a situation, there was no stopping him from seeing it through. 

“Are you sure he’ll take this well?” 

“He will,” Merlin answered quietly with a surge of pride. He’d never been more sure of anything. “He’s the one who found our Druid after all.” He wondered whether the frown that creased Gaius’ brow was concern for Arthur’s actions or his health. But the physician only put a hand on Merlin’s arm and smiled. 

“Be careful then. And look after him.” 

“I always do,” Merlin said, smiling back. “Don't worry. We'll be back by afternoon.” 

“Merlin!” Arthur tossed the map book at him out the window of the car. “Are you coming or not?” Merlin fumbled it and rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, yes,” he grumbled and picked it up off the ground. Gaius patted him on the shoulder. 

“Go on—before those reporters get the bright idea to come exploring around the apartment.” Gwen reached through the open car window to squeeze Arthur’s hand. 

“If your dad calls or messages, you’re in Cambridge visiting Morgana,” she said with a smile. Morgana almost never spoke to Uther after all. She wouldn’t out him. 

Despite his best efforts, Merlin still felt a twinge of biting jealousy as he climbed into the car and watched Gwen’s fingers slowly disentangle themselves from Arthur’s so he could pull out onto the street. Ironic, that it had taken Arthur’s near death for the two of them to see what they had been too blind or stubborn to recognize. He’d been blind too… but not as lucky. 

“So,” Arthur broke the silence minutes after they’d left the apartment, Gaius, and Gwen behind. “Are you going to explain why you vanished yesterday in such a tearing hurry?” 

“Nope,” Merlin replied in a clipped tone. A long silence followed. “You’re turning right at this cross street.” Arthur acknowledged the instruction with a nod and flicked his turn signal on. 

“Something’s been bothering you, hasn’t it?” 

“Maybe.” Drop it, Arthur, please . Of course, Arthur didn’t. 

“Your exams?” he suggested. Merlin huffed. “I know, it was stressful for you and Gwen and… everyone—me being sick on top of everything else.” 

“I think you got the short end of the stick on that one, Arthur,” Merlin said dismissively, but a slight smile curled at his lips. It was almost like an apology. 

“I don’t know about that. I got an extension on my exams, Morgana’s talking to me again, and Lance says I’m a walking miracle for recovering this fast after being so sick.” Merlin’s smile grew, and he allowed himself a small rush of pride. 

“A walking miracle?” Merlin echoed. “I think I’ll have to talk to Lance. Your head’s big enough without Lance inflating it.” Arthur shot him a fleeting scowl. 

“You know what I mean. It doesn’t make sense. Dr. Collins and Gaius both said I was too far-gone. I shouldn’t have come back.” Merlin shrugged. He didn’t like to think about how close they’d come to losing Arthur. He hadn’t recognized the woman in the bar at first. He remembered her now. Gaius had talked about her. Nimueh was an old enemy of Uther’s, and one who knew how to be a social chameleon, rebuild her identity and operate in society  without being caught. He was damned if he’d let her near Arthur again—secretary, waitress, reporter, or any other guise she appeared in. 

“Magic,” he said offhandedly. He snapped his mouth shut at once, feeling foolish, but Arthur only let out a small laugh. 

“My father at least believes that exists. He always said he didn’t believe in miracles.” Merlin shifted in his seat to study the blond though still with a hint of caution, encouraged nonetheless by Arthur’s good humor. 

“If it was magic—” Arthur exhaled, a derisive, incredulous sound, but Merlin quickly pressed on before his courage had time to trickle away. “If some sorcerer—like… Iseldir maybe—had come to heal you… what would you do?” Merlin stuffed his hands under his legs to keep himself from toying with his scarf as he was wont to do when the subject of magic came up. Arthur’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel and he blew out a breath. 

“I suppose,” Arthur said slowly. He paused, and Merlin bit his lip, trying desperately to tell himself that Arthur’s answer didn’t mean anything to him… didn’t matter at all. “That I would say thank you,” Arthur finished. The warlock beside him had to keep himself from letting out a half-euphoric, half-hysterical little laugh of joy. He turned his face towards the window to hide the smile that spread across his face. You’re welcome, Arthur. 

Just under three hours was more than long enough for Merlin, tired as he was, to doze with his head tucked against the plastic door-siding. He drifted out of consciousness a few times when he wasn’t giving Arthur directions. The map made him want to close his eyes and let himself sink into a deep, soothing sleep. He was tantalizingly close when Arthur interrupted him for the final time. 

“There it is.” 

“Hmmm?” Merlin lifted his cheek from the car door and rubbed it. “Are you sure?” It was rather anticlimactic all things considered. Arthur pulled the car over to the roadside.

“You’re on navigation,” he retorted. Merlin rolled his eyes but flipped the map open obligingly for Arthur to inspect. 

“Yeah… this is the spot.” He pursed his lips.

“People live here?” Arthur intoned, and he leaned out the window to peer at the spectacle across the road from the little monument. 

Merlin had the impression that once, many years ago, Spinster’s Rock had stood by a picturesque little neighborhood—one built beside a tame little road lined with hedge, the houses alongside it neat and clean, interspersed with a couple of barn-sheds, gardens tucked up against the residences: a rural neighborhood, but a well groomed one nonetheless. 

Now the houses were old, some tumbledown and with vegetation clambering around and over them. The sheds had fallen into disrepair, the hedges untrimmed and growing wild in all directions. A whole patch of the hedge between the Neolithic monument and the road was trampled almost flat. The old chambered tomb alone stood, one great capstone propped solidly atop the three supporting rocks, stolid in the face of time and its neighbors’ changing fortunes.

“I don’t think so. It looks abandoned.” Merlin scanned the houses and shook his head. It was far too quiet, and Iseldir told him this was a refugee location. The broken windows, crumbling walls, and caved-in roof nearby spoke for themselves. “But Iseldir said they were at Spinster’s Rock…” Merlin stepped out of the car and crossed the road half-way towards it. 

“Maybe he was lying.” Arthur’s voice had an edge to it. Merlin made no response. Arthur had changed a lot of opinions over the years, but it was his natural inclination to be suspicious of sorcerers. 

Arthur went the other way to wander in between the houses, and Merlin crossed the old road to circle the ancient dolmen on the other side. 

“They’re not hiding in the grass, Merlin ,” Arthur called back. Merlin ignored him. If Iseldir said to go to Spinster’s rock, then the rock was important. Otherwise he could’ve just given them an address. 

Maybe it’s a gateway, Merlin mused to himself. ‘ Follow the key, Emrys.’ Those were the Druid’s words to him as they parted ways, spoken softly in his head just as the dragon spoke to him sometimes. It even sounded so much like something the dragon would say. Merlin wondered whether all those who possessed magic liked speaking in riddles. A key could be more than one thing, though… and perhaps Iseldir meant a key in the sense that one said a map had a key: something that would decode the landscape for them. 

Merlin stepped up to the dolmen and put a hand on one of the vertical stones supporting the top-slab. He didn’t need to feel the presence of the magic to know that a powerful spell was at work. At the edge of his consciousness, faint voices murmured, muffled and quiet but present nonetheless. The Druids were here, but he didn’t know how… He let his hand trail over each stone support in turn and paced a full circle around the landmark. His fingers brushed something on the surface of the rock. A triskelion was etched into the stone. 

“Why don’t you walk around it a few more times?” Arthur suggested from across the road. “Maybe it’ll collapse like the walls of Jericho.” Merlin froze with his fingers on the three-spiral symbol. A huge grin suddenly broke across his face. 

“That’s it!” He rubbed his thumb over the triskelion, tracing the spirals, his eyes brightening with excitement. In the very center of the triskelion was a triangle-shaped wedge, like the massive rock that capped the dolmen tomb, and around it were the three spirals. “Arthur, look!” He beckoned eagerly to his companion. Even from this distance, Merlin could see the look of exasperation on his friend’s face. 

“Merlin, give the bloody rocks a rest. They’re not going to help,” he grumbled. 

“Not if you don’t know what to do with them,” he retorted. 

“What are you going to do—push them over?” Arthur asked. Merlin waited patiently for Arthur to trudge across the road, looking rebellious. 

“It’s a doorway,” Merlin said, gesturing at the structure. “It’s just not… activated.” 

“Oh. Is that the button then?” Arthur asked in obvious sarcasm, flicking a hand at the triskelion under Merlin’s fingers. 

“Of course it’s not a button.” Merlin tapped the rock. “It’s more like a… key.” Arthur gave him an uncomprehending look, and Merlin traced the symbol in the air with his hand. “It tells you how to open the doorway: three circles, like the spirals of the triskelion.” Arthur’s brow furrowed, but Merlin grabbed him by the sleeve. “We have to go around it.” 

“You’re not serious,” Arthur griped, but he let Merlin drag him along, if not with a great deal of grace.  

“Just… humor me, alright?” Merlin gave him a little push and Arthur sighed heavily. 

“This is ridiculous.” Lucky for you this doesn’t require enthusiasm. 

“Now…” Merlin stopped in front of the triskelion after the third circle. Arthur folded his arms. 

“Now?” he challenged. Merlin bit his lip. 

“It’s a doorway. You go through.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” Merlin gave him a shove, and Arthur had to duck quickly to avoid knocking his head on the capstone. He gave Merlin a withering glare and stooped under the stone to the other side. 

“Alright. I went under the rock. Are you happ—”

His word ended on an oddly high tone. Merlin straightened up beside him, and his breath caught in mute amazement as well. A grin spread across his face. It is here! The old homes across the road suddenly didn’t look run down any longer. Their roofs were repaired, the walls were strong and firm, the gardens around them lush and growing abundantly. And now, Merlin could hear the voices, no longer just in his head but aloud. All of this… hidden by one intricate and powerful spell. It was truly incredible. 

Arthur was drawn taut as a bowstring. Merlin’s glance traveled to him and he shifted closer. It unnerved Merlin a touch if he was honest. Dolmens had been used as tombs. It was a little eerie to walk under one to get to the druid camp, as if one were crossing over into the land of the dead. But Arthur wasn’t superstitious about that sort of thing

“Could’ve made the doorway a little taller, couldn’t they?”  Merlin said, patting the top stone. Arthur let out a small chuckle, looking a little sick. For him, the prospect of walking straight into a community of magic users was probably making his skin crawl. Yet Arthur had known what he was signing up for… and here he still stood. That thought alone made Merlin feel a rush of pride for his friend. Merlin smiled encouragingly and nudged him. “Let’s go.” The blond squared his shoulders, and close by Merlin’s side, he stepped onto the old road. 

Over the sound of speech and activity in the neighborhood, one young voice rose in greeting: not aloud, but curious and friendly inside Merlin’s mind: Hello, Emrys.

Chapter Text

“Cab’s here!” Morgana called from the window and flicked the blinds shut. The wheels of a heavy trunk rumbled on the flat’s wooden floors. “Can I carry anything for you?” she asked, hovering by the door. 

“I’ve got it, thanks.” Morgana’s flatmate set her trunk upright and smiled at her. “You’re going to be brilliant. They’ll love you,” she said resolutely. Morgana steeled herself against the weird fluttering, squirming feeling in her stomach and smiled back. 

“Thanks, Sefa.” She gave her flatmate a hug. “I’ll let you know how it goes. You go on. Don’t keep the cab waiting.”  

“Good luck. I’ll see you in October!” 

“Be safe!” Morgana called after her. She lingered by the doorway while Sefa’s things were loaded into the boot and waved when the car pulled out, but the tension didn’t leave her figure until her flatmate vanished down the street in the cab. She exhaled shakily and turned on her heel to hurry back into the main room. 

The morning had been utterly surreal thus far, and Sefa leaving was just one thing on the list of changes and unusual events today. She’d woken to a veritable onslaught of texts and calls. There were three missed calls: one from Gwen and two from Arthur, and both of them had sent her messages about the attack on Camelot. Images of Uther’s burning street were plastered across the internet and stories ran on every channel from radio to television. There was a message from Uther too. She hadn’t opened it. Amidst all of this, there was no contact from Merlin, and that worried Morgana. She’d communicated with him fairly regularly over the last months. 

Here in the silence of her flat, it was easy to feel that the burning neighborhood was no more than digital images playing across her phone screen; that her lost friend was only words in a message… that none of it was really happening. Because right now, Morgana’s reality consisted of more pressing things—things that were happening here, now, today: her interview for the position at the law-firm in Cambridge—the one that might help her pay her rent for the summer and stay out of Uther’s home… and Morgause. 

The ex-MP had been extremely vague about her reasons for calling—only saying that she needed to come speak with Morgana in person and as soon as possible. Hence, why Sefa’s cab being late had nearly driven Morgana to distraction. 

She’s gone, Morgana projected the thought to Morgause cautiously as she collected stray items from the living room—books and papers from the final papers she’d recently finished. The answer startled her with its alacrity:

I’m here. Morgana took a breath and turned around as Morgause materialized in the room. It sent a shiver of mixed fear and excitement through her. One day , Morgause promised, she would teach Morgana all of it. The young woman put the books she’d been tidying down on the coffee table beside her. 

“What are you doing here?” The question had been on the tip of Morgana’s tongue ever since Morgause contacted her early that morning. “Sefa could’ve seen you, or the cab driver. Someone could come visiting… We can’t—” Morgause took her hands with a soothing smile. 

“No one but you will see me, Morgana. Don’t worry.” Morgause shifted her hands to Morgana’s arms. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social visit.” 

“Something’s happening,” Morgana inferred. Morgause’s smile returned. 

“You promised me you’d be ready when this time came,” she reminded her. Morgana’s heart fluttered. She nodded. 

“I’m ready,” she replied confidently. A lot of things had changed in the last term, especially now that she knew who she was… and what she was. The knowledge burned deep inside her fueled by the built up frustrations of many years.

“You’re sure?” 

“Of course I am.” Morgana’s eyes glowed with fierce determination. “I want Uther out of power. I want us to be free.” 

“Good. I knew I could rely on you,” Morgause smiled, and the warmth and pride infused in her voice made the young woman’s heart soar. “Listen carefully. We don’t have much time. Cenred and Alvarr will be here within the day. I’m going to be in the city where we’ll occupy the important locations and find Uther’s own forces before they can regroup and counter us. But I need you to be elsewhere. I have something far more important you must do for us.” Morgana nodded attentively. “You need to find Uther.” 

“Find Uther?” Morgana stiffened, and her expression fell. Morgana squeezed her arm lightly. 

“I know you can do it. He’s been lying low ever since the dragon’s initial appearance, and he’ll go to ground the moment he hears there’s been an attack from us. It’s essential that we know where he is if we are to succeed. He’ll want to keep you safe—close to him. You can be a perfect inside source for us.” 

“I…” Morgana glanced down at her hands and hesitated. “He won’t… I’ve barely spoken to him for the past… year.” 

“You’re his loving daughter,” Morgause said with a smile full of smug sarcasm as she emphasized ‘loving’. “He’ll welcome you back with open arms.” Morgana bit the inside of her cheek and looked down as Morgause took her hand. “Uther lied to you,” she reminded her quietly. “To Arthur, to everyone he knew. You will only be setting things right. It’s time someone took the power out of his hands.” Morgana nodded again and took a breath. She couldn’t hesitate now of all times. This was important.  

“I don’t know where he is. He’s not going to tell me,” she added in a last weak attempt at protest.  

“You know someone else who does know where he is, and he will tell you,” Morgause asserted. Her tone made Morgana falter. For the first time a tiny flicker of fear crept into her heart when she met Morgause’s dark eyes. Not him. No… I can’t bring him into this. 

“Please…” She lifted her head, and her voice was edged with worry. “I don’t want Arthur hurt.” 

“Morgana,” Morgause’s voice sharpened. “Whose side are you on? Are you with Uther, or are you with me?” 

“With you, of course!” Morgana was quick to answer. 

“Then you must trust me.” Morgause released her hand. “Arthur is far too important to harm. I have other uses for him.” Her words still made Morgana’s insides twist with uneasiness and a tiny touch of protectiveness. 

“Why? What is Arthur important for?” 

“Look at the news–that statement he made this morning. He’s a voice everyone listens to,” Morgause said. “Like you, Morgana. And I believe… he only needs the right touch of persuasion to be brought about.” 

“Persuasion?” Morgana echoed softly.  

“He must know the truth.” 

“About me?” Morgana paled.

“Arthur has many pressure points, Morgana. You are one of them. Yes, certainly he must be told what you know about yourself—of your true parentage.” Morgause smiled. “But most importantly, he must know the truth about his father—and of course about himself. He is not as unfailingly loyal as he would have the world believe. You must have heard what he said about sorcery to the media.” Yes… she’d seen that too. Morgana’s eyes strayed to the counter where her purse lay. She kept the paper there—the knowledge that only she held now—proof of Uther’s lies and hypocrisies. Arthur might have some reservations about his father’s policy, but he would take this hard… very hard. And yet… It’s for the best. For all of us… What could be better than having her own brother—her brother both in blood and upbringing—stand at her side when they brought about the change that the country so desperately needed? Arthur would come around. She could make that happen. But first… they needed to break the iron grip of the tyrant. She lifted her chin. 

“I’ll find Uther.” 

Merlin didn’t recognize the lean, tall figure at first. An elderly, gray haired woman rose to meet them and placed a hand on the arm of the teenager beside her. The young Druid seemed entirely unfazed by the appearance of two outsiders, and when he met Merlin’s gaze, his eyes sparked a memory poignant enough to remain, as keen as though it were yesterday. It was Arthur who spoke first. 

“Mordred?” he asked, his voice rising in disbelief. The smooth, childish curves of the boy’s face had sharpened into a young man’s fine, chiseled features. His hair was thick, curlier, and as dark as Merlin’s own, and he was nearly of a height with the warlock now. His eyes, though, still the same brilliant and inquisitive blue-gray, gleamed with lively curiosity, no longer quiet and subdued as they’d been when Merlin first met him. The boy couldn’t have been more than ten—eleven at most—when Merlin and Arthur first met him. Now, he was a teenager, sixteen perhaps, with a voice already changed, and he had the stature and bearing of someone far older than himself. The smile that broke across his face, though, was full of youthful excitement. 

“Hello, Arthur.” The shock in Arthur’s face broke into a small smile in response. 

“It’s good to see you again,” he said, extending a hand to take Mordred’s. 

“Come on another errand for Gaius?” Mordred’s apparent guardian enquired, regarding Arthur with a curious if guarded expression. If possible, the blond’s eyes widened even further, and for a second, he looked as lost as a fish out of water. 

“I… no,” he stammered at last. “I don’t really run errands for Gaius… you know that.” The skin around the woman’s eyes crinkled with amusement, and Merlin blinked. Arthur knew her? Was he supposed to believe that his friend, the son of magic’s greatest persecutor and detractor, had been consorting with not one but two Druids? Three, counting Iseldir. More than that… Arthur looked guilty–an expression confirmed as he recollected himself and added,. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you’re here.” The woman shook her head.
“I can think of worse places, Pendragon. I made my choice. It wasn’t your fault,” she replied. She extended a hand to Merlin. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Brigid Fyr.” Merlin opened his mouth and faltered for a split second. He took her hand, recovering himself quickly. 

“I’m Merlin Astur.” 

“Gaius’ nephew,” she said with a smile. 

“She was the uh… pharmacist,” Arthur supplied. “The one who gave us your cure when you were sick.”

“Because I saved your arrogant ass,” Merlin replied, smiling to himself now. That was the week he’d met Arthur–an arrogant bully of a boy. Arthur had been harassing his classmates with an airsoft gun. He’d earned himself a fiery rebuke from Merlin for shooting the back of Merlin’s book as he was reading under a tree. 

“Better arrogant than a stick-in-the-mud,” Arthur said with a huff. 

“Agree to disagree,” Merlin said wryly. “Arthur tells me you saved my life,” he added, looking back at Brigid. 

“As you did his,” she replied. The Purge had still been in process, and… Arthur had been the target of a couple attacks–one by a sorcerer with a knife that had turned out to be poisoned. Merlin–fool that he was–had stepped in to protect his classmate. It became the first of many moments he’d stepped in to protect the other boy. He never had been able to ignore a situation like that–even when it had come at the risk of exposing himself.  

“Well… thank you,” he said slowly, offering her a hand to shake as well. There seemed to be a lot of life-saving going around. Perhaps they were always meant to converge–four people whose lives had in moments depended on one another’s protection. 

“It was my pleasure.” Her face and tone both radiated interest and something else: something akin to respect which made Merlin stare in bewilderment. 

“It’s him! I told you it was him!” Mordred cut in enthusiastically. The boy was fairly bouncing on the balls of his feet, grinning with barely restrained excitement. Ah. She knew the name–the one Merlin had tried so hard to stamp out. Merlin felt a spike of panic. He absolutely couldn’t afford for Mordred or Brigid to call him ‘Emrys’ in front of Arthur. He released her hand and fumbled desperately for something to direct their attention away from himself.

“We’re here looking for—”

“I know why you’re here,” the woman interrupted. “We’ve heard of the dragon’s attack as well.” 

“You know Balinor?” Arthur asked, voice rising hopefully. 

“Yes. And Iseldir might have saved you the trip.” 

“Why?” Merlin tensed. 

“Balinor doesn’t live among us. He prefers to be alone, and he certainly won’t help you.” Her gaze shifted to Arthur. 

“We won’t know until we try,” Arthur replied stubbornly. “Can you at least show us where he lives?” 

“I can show you.” Mordred offered instantly. “It’s only a ten minute drive from here. I bring him supplies. Maybe if you talk to him—”

“Mordred,” Brigid’s voice was edged with warning. Mordred pulled free of her grip. 

“Arthur saved my life. I want to help him.” 

“Great!” Arthur already had his keys in hand and was turning to go with Mordred at his side. Merlin could feel the Druid woman’s gaze heavy on him, and he felt her consciousness brush against the edges of his own as she spoke quietly into his mind: 

I trust Mordred will be safe with you, Emrys. Merlin tried to ignore the use of the prophecy name. 

He is safe with Arthur. I would pledge my life on that. He had half turned to go when he stopped abruptly to avoid running straight into a small boy with curly blond hair whose head was tipped back as he looked up at the warlock with lively curiosity. Suddenly Merlin became keenly aware of countless eyes on him. He hadn’t realized there were half a dozen other Druids who had stopped to look at him—old and young, one white haired man looking at him from the porch of an adjacent house, a tall blond woman kneeling in a garden patch, but most appearing from around the corner of a house or standing in a doorway… as if they’d come merely for the purpose of seeing him . A movement in the window of the nearest house turned Merlin’s head, though, and he looked in time to spot a young face and a cascade of dark hair before the figure was gone. 

“Merlin!” Arthur’s call almost didn’t register. Merlin stopped, rooted in place, staring at the now vacant window. He heard the blond’s footsteps returning, then a hand was waving in front of his face. “Merlin?” Arthur flicked him on the ear. “Anyone in there?” Merlin shied away from Arthur’s hand. “Did one of the Druids scare you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Arthur observed with a smirk. 

“I think I did,” Merlin said slowly. Arthur snorted. 

“Don’t tell me you’re getting superstitious now,” he scoffed. “Let’s go. We’ve got a dragon lord to find.” Merlin shook himself almost angrily and turned to go, and he saw the curtain twitch. He let out an impatient breath. Arthur was right. He was being ridiculous. 

“Balinor lives up here, just beyond the edge of the trees.” Merlin leaned forward between the two front seats and looked where Mordred was pointing. The house looked more worn and unkempt than the rest of the Druids’ homes, its siding faded in color and its windows dark and unwashed. Arthur pulled onto the shabby road amidst the trees close to the old house. “You shouldn’t mind what he says too much,” Mordred said, pausing with his hand on the handle of the car door. “He’s not used to visitors—especially not ones from… from outside,” he said slowly. 

“We won’t overstay our welcome,” Arthur assured him. Mordred looked a little ill at ease still, but he led the way to the door. Mordred didn’t need keys to the house, of course. Merlin saw the young Druid’s eyes flicker briefly when he put his hand on the door handle. The lock clicked softly. It didn’t look like Arthur noticed. Merlin looked at his friend from the corner of his eye, and he saw Arthur list sideways almost imperceptibly. The blond quickly stepped backwards and shifted his weight to re-balance, but Merlin wasn’t fooled. He dropped back a step to let Arthur enter before him. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Fine. Just a bit tired,” Arthur muttered and quickened his pace to keep step with Mordred. 

The tang of cigarette smoke hung in the air, even back by the doorway. Mordred led the way down a short hall and through a door to the left. The room was lit by a small desk lamp. Beside it a dark figure was seated in the ancient looking armchair. He had his back to the three arrivals, and all that could be made out was the outline of his shoulders and his black hair generously sprinkled with silver-gray strands. A ripple of smoke snaked through the pale halo of the lamp and billowed towards the ceiling, mixing with the haze in the room. Merlin wrinkled his nose against the smell.  

“Mr. Lynch?” 

“What do you want, Mordred?” Merlin’s chest contracted. It shouldn’t have mattered; he’d never known the man. He had no real connection to this Balinor except what Gaius had told him mere hours ago, and yet he found himself unable to stop analyzing every tiny detail from the second he heard the man’s rough, rasping voice. 

“Nothing,” Mordred answered. “I only came to check on you. And I’ve brought some visitors.” 

“I don’t want to meet any more newcomers,” Balinor growled. “You were helpful. No one else needs to come here.” Merlin stepped forward. 

“We’re sorry to disturb you, but Iseldir told us you could help.” The new voice caught Balinor’s attention. A weighty pause followed before he rose from his seat and faced Merlin, his movements stiff and slow. Shrouded in shadows though he was, Merlin made out a long face with dark brown, deep set eyes and a thick beard that matched his gray-streaked hair. His dark eyes narrowed in evident displeasure. He lowered his cigarette, pinched tightly between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Mordred, what is this?” he demanded. 

“Iseldir sent them,” Mordred replied patiently.    

“Iseldir can go to hell,” Balinor snarled. “Can’t he let a man die in peace?” Merlin clenched his teeth over a surge of bitter disappointment. He was beginning to understand what Brigid had told them. 

“He will. We’ll all burn if you don’t help us,” he said through his teeth. The cryptic comment didn’t even pique Balinor’s curiosity. He only laughed hoarsely. 

“If a sickly old man is your only hope, then you had better accept your fate, boy.” 

“We understand that you’re more than that,” Arthur interrupted. “You are the dragon lord, aren’t you?” Balinor’s heavy brows drew together, and the shadows under his eyes seemed to deepen. Recognition kindled in his tired face.  

“Mordred, tell me: has Iseldir gone senile?” Mordred looked neither amused nor perturbed. He was plainly accustomed to Balinor’s caustic personality.

“No, sir—” 

“I want them out,” Balinor growled. Mordred shook his head, a stubborn gleam in his eyes. 

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Arthur. He saved my life, even when he knew that I was a Druid. I think you should hear him out.” Balinor’s scowl deepened. He leveled Arthur with a look of barely sustained tolerance. 

“What do you need from a ‘dragon lord’, then?” His voice contained a trace of poorly veiled mockery. Arthur’s eyes narrowed. 

“A dragon was sighted attacking Camelot,” Arthur said. He closed his eyes briefly and took a long breath. Merlin could tell that his patience with the man was worn as thin as his strength. “I realize,” he resumed carefully, “You’re under no obligation to help, but you may be the only one who can stop him. I doubt I need to tell you what that creature can do if it chooses.” Balinor studied him in silence for a long moment. 

“His name,” he said at length, “Is Kilgharrah. And he does not act blindly. He knows how it feels to lose every member of his kin—everyone and everything he cares about… to be treated worse than the dirt beneath another being’s feet. I can’t blame him for seeking vengeance.” He turned his back, and his hand rose to his lips again. The end of the cigarette glowed softly in the dim room. Hunith hated smoking, Merlin thought hollowly.

“Vengeance?” Arthur echoed, and a spark of anger lit in his eyes, and Merlin didn’t even try to stop him as he launched into an angry response. “The country is burning to the ground as we speak,” Arthur said. “Homes are being destroyed. Innocent people are dying. Vengeance solves nothing. It’s wrong enough on its own, but blind vengeance is insanity!”

“What would you understand of vengeance, Pendragon?” Balinor turned about sharply, eyes flashing in the pale lamplight. “You who were raised to be privileged, protected, taught what to think and see and do from the moment you were born?” He fixed a burning glare on Arthur. “I had a home in Ireland—a woman I loved. I worked a quiet job, minded my own business. I was doing no harm. It was men like me whom your father killed.” The scorn in his voice was nearly palpable. “Tell me, did your father ever speak of the Purge to you—of the hundreds upon hundreds of people he rounded up and slaughtered like animals? Did he tell you how he lured the dragons and their sorcerers to him with false promises of protection, tales of peace and safety—how he murdered the sorcerers when they were at his mercy then hunted the defenseless dragons down one by one? Did he tell you how he hunted us—the men who escaped, and how he had each of us murdered, forced us to come out into the open by threatening our families, then killed offspring to ensure that the dragon lords did not pass on their legacies? God knows it was fortunate for the poor woman I loved that we weren’t legally bound, or she’d be dead too.” That was why. Merlin shuddered. Hunith hadn’t dared to breathe the name Balinor for fear of seeing her son murdered. Arthur was utterly silent, his expression a pained frown. Balinor’s face twisted in a sneer. “I don’t know if you’re truly blind or if you choose not to see it. Perhaps it’s a Pendragon trait. Keeps you sane as you step through the streams of blood that have stained your hands.” 

“This has nothing to do with Arthur!” Merlin interrupted angrily. “You don’t know anything about him.” 

“I think I know enough,” Balinor returned. “He’s asking me to help Uther—to protect the sick, twisted country his father built.” Merlin’s mouth went dry. 

“He’s asking you to help the people who live there—innocent people who are suffering for another man’s crimes,” he said. “If you don’t, you are damning them all to death.”  

“So be it,” Balinor replied. “Let Uther know what it feels like to watch his people suffer. Maybe he’ll feel some guilt for once.” Balinor crushed out the red glow of his cigarette amidst a small collection of other stubs in the tray. “I’ve heard them out. Mordred, they can leave now.” 

“You’re content to let innocent people die to settle an old score?” Arthur’s voice was thick with disgust. “Do you have a conscience ?” 

“You should ask that question,” Balinor replied in a low voice, “Of your father.” Arthur turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Merlin didn’t budge. He felt hollow inside. He didn’t know what he’d expected to find when Gaius told him this man was his father… but the person he faced right now was far from anything he’d imagined.

“If you let this happen, you are no better than him,” he said quietly. Balinor stilled. 

“Don’t waste your time, Merlin!” Arthur shouted back, and the door clicked shut behind him. Merlin ignored his friend. He knew he had Balinor’s attention, at least for a second or two. He took a breath. 

“My mother works as a nurse in Armagh.” He saw Balinor’s shoulders tense. No doubt the name was familiar. “She always taught me that life is precious—that it would be wrong even to stand back and watch a man die when you knew you could help.” 

“Don’t preach to me of morals,” Balinor warned, his previous attentiveness now dissolving into anger again. 

“I’m not,” Merlin said. “I only thought…” He shifted. “You spoke of a home—a life in Ireland that you had before the purge.” He hesitated. There was no point. The man didn’t seem to care about the innocents involved—the lives that could be lost… but he had nothing to lose. “My uncle Gaius told me who you are–who you were to my mother, Hunith. I was hoping you’d be more like her. She really admired you.” Balinor didn’t say anything. Merlin ran one of his scarf tassels between his fingers, biting his lip. “I wish I understood why,” he said. He turned, unable to look the man in the eye any longer. The atmosphere of the dark room and smell of the smoke were suffocating him. 

Mordred was waiting by the door.

“I’m sorry…” He followed Merlin out to the car with his eyes on the ground. “I thought we might be able to persuade him.” 

“It’s alright. You did everything you could.” Merlin said heavily. Arthur was sitting in the back seat of the car with the door open, and his head rested on the seat back. He shifted his head just enough to look up at Merlin from the corner of his eye. 

“That’s it then.” Resentment and exhaustion colored his voice. “We can’t afford to patrol the airspace 24/7. It’s… just a matter of time. The country will burn.” Merlin shook his head. 

“We’ll find a way. We’ll stop him,” he insisted. There had to be a way to break the enchantment. If his book didn’t have it, perhaps one of the Druids here would. Arthur closed his eyes again, and Merlin crouched next to the car and put a hand on his friend’s forehead. No fever or signs of illness, though the fact that Arthur wasn’t protesting concerned him. He pursed his lips. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he demanded. Arthur grunted noncommittally and lifted his shoulders. “Gaius was right. You shouldn’t have come.” 

“I’m fine.” Arthur sat up, fumbling for his keys. 

“No you’re not. I’ll drive,” Merlin said firmly. “You can lie down in the back seat. You haven’t had enough sleep.” He shrugged his coat off and bundled it up. 

“You don’t have a license,” Arthur pointed out. 

“Yeah, and I think I’ll still do a better job than you right now,” Merlin retorted, handing Arthur the makeshift pillow. Arthur rolled his eyes. 

“Fine.” It was proof enough of how worn out he was that he gave up so easily. He fished the keys out of his pocket and passed them to Merlin. “Knock yourself out.” Merlin gave him a suspicious look when he pulled his legs into the car and stretched out over the back seats with his eyes shut. 

“Is he…?” Mordred shifted a step closer. 

“He’s fine. He just needs rest. Come on. I’ll take you back.” Merlin shut Arthur’s door gently and settled into the driver’s seat, crushing a spark of apprehension. He’d had next to no training in driving… but he’d seen Gaius drive places before. He’d figure it out. He put the key in, turned it, and made a face. It was an old car. He’d never driven one like it. He touched the gearshift with a frown. 

“I think,” Mordred offered from the passenger seat, “You’re supposed to put the clutch in first.” From the back seat, Arthur snorted, and Merlin scowled at him. He stopped trying to twist the key into submission and put the clutch down. This time the car hummed into life when he turned it. Okay… clutch off, gas on. This can’t be so hard. He jiggled the gearshift experimentally and pushed it up and left, into first gear. So far so good... Then the car shuddered, and the engine went off with a clunk. Arthur’s jacket rustled in the back seat, and he opened the door. 

“Maybe you should let Mordred drive,” he suggested dryly. Merlin turned a withering look on his friend, opening his mouth to deliver an irritable retort, but the words died in his throat. 

“Lie back down, Pendragon. You’re in no shape to be driving.” Arthur stood up so fast, he narrowly missed knocking his head on the roof of the car. 

“You’re… coming with us?” 

“It doesn’t look like you’ll be getting anywhere without me,” Balinor replied. Arthur’s brow furrowed. He seemed caught somewhere between hope and disbelief. “You were right. I would be condemning the country if I chose to turn a blind eye to this. The fault does not lie with its people… nor with you.” Arthur let out a shaky breath and sank back onto the seat. 

“Thank you… I… can’t promise you any reward, but I’ll do everything I can to ensure your safety.”  

“I don’t do this for payment,” Balinor returned. “I’ve little enough left here to live for. Don’t trouble yourself on my account.” Merlin stood, keys in hand, and strayed a glance at his half-lucid friend.  

“Can you…?” 

“Of course.” Balinor reached for the keys. “You took your mother’s last name?” Merlin paused, and he glanced back at Arthur again, wary, then nodded. 

“I’m Merlin. Merlin Astur.” 

“Well… Merlin,” Balinor said quietly as took the keys from him. “I wish I understood why too.” 

Chapter Text

Oxford University had suffered during the Purge, both from riots and protests—far more volatile than those it experienced in recent months—and live military action, including some bombing and a brief period of complete military occupation. The Christ Church College was one area of the city which had taken a merciless beating. Merlin had seen it in pictures and films as it had been before the civil war—the massive courtyard surrounded by tall regal walls, whole and undamaged. Like much of Oxford, the architecture was reminiscent of a medieval castle. Crenulations and proud spires topped it, and tall arcades graced the walls within the courtyard. Christ Church was that much more iconic today because of its fate. It was all but abandoned now. The caved-in roofs and crumbling walls featured in many documentaries and articles about the damage caused by England’s civil war. The worst of the wreckage was gone, but Christ Church’s ruins remained unrepaired, a symbol of the atrocities that had occurred during the Purge and everything that Oxford itself had endured. 

The courtyard, unoccupied, open, and still walled in by the damaged buildings, would serve well. The buildings around it were tall enough and the courtyard large enough for the dragon to move about. No one would see him here once he revealed his form. 

Arthur was pacing up and down along the neglected courtyard path a couple feet from where Merlin sat, mobile in hand. Arthur’s voice was low and tightly controlled, and Merlin could see a brewing storm in the rigid set of his shoulders and his brusque step. Whatever he was hearing on the other end of the line, it wasn’t good news. Beside Merlin, Balinor stood straight with his hands clasped before him, and his demeanor nearly matched Arthur’s, including the trace of masked weariness. 

“What is he doing?” he asked in a low voice. Merlin shrugged. He registered the stiffening of his companion’s shoulders. 

“You can trust Arthur,” he added. Balinor didn’t look too certain of that, but neither of them said any more on the matter. They hadn’t had much chance to speak since leaving Dartmoor. The man remained leery of Arthur’s intentions and said nothing that might incur suspicion for Merlin, even though to all appearances Arthur had slept the whole ride back. Merlin, in all honesty, was as nervous as he was curious about Balinor, and hadn’t known how to start a conversation if he’d wanted to. Now, they kept quiet while Arthur ended his call and stalked back towards Merlin on the stone steps at the courtyard’s edge. 

“Gwen called. I have to go.” Merlin raised an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable outburst. “My father had my mobile rigged with a tracking chip,” Arthur snarled. Merlin swore under his breath. Great. 

“How does Gwen know that?” 

“Morgana blew our cover. Apparently, she came down to Oxford looking for me, and called him.” 

“Morgana called Uther?” Merlin’s eyes widened. Arthur shook his head in exasperation. 

“Now of all times, she decides to reconnect…. He wanted to know where I was then, and Leon went after my signal. He’s on his way here right now.”
“Ah,” Merlin said. Balinor shifted, enough to tell Merlin he was listening. Balinor might not know who ‘Leon’ was, but he could surely hear from the tone of their voices that this wasn’t good news. 

“Apparently, there are some unconfirmed rumors about a renegade military force forming in London, and my father wants me somewhere safe ,” Arthur continued angrily. “So Leon has been sent to fetch me.” Merlin breathed out slowly. Rebels in the city was just what they needed right now… “Look, Merlin…” Arthur flitted a worried look at Balinor then back to Merlin, as if he expected his roommate to protest. “Leon can’t be here for this. Can you—” 

“I can stay,” Merlin preempted the request, and despite Arthur’s annoyance, he felt a flood of relief. He trusted that Balinor could manage the dragon, but nonetheless he was glad Arthur would be safely out of the way. “Go. Just head him off before he sees us here.” Balinor had his back turned to them, though Merlin was sure he was still listening. Arthur’s gaze darted to him, and he stepped back. 

“I can ask Gwen to drive out and pick you two up.” Merlin exhaled impatiently. Arthur was still under the annoying impression that he was afraid of magic.

“We’ll be fine. Go, before he gets here!” he urged. Arthur looked conflicted, but at an anxious gesture from Merlin he turned away and jogged across the grass and out of the courtyard. 

Without Arthur, the empty, silent courtyard suddenly felt unbearably tense. Merlin buried his hands in his pockets and tilted his head back to stare up at the sky to avoid making eye contact with Balinor for the time. With every second his heart beat louder and his breathing seemed a rude intrusion to the serenity of the old buildings. He closed his eyes and reached out, searching for the dragon’s presence. He could feel it now, distant but rapidly approaching, and wondered if Balinor felt it the same way; if he always felt it… if he could speak to the dragon through his mind as Merlin had many times now. Arthur had been skeptical, but Merlin didn’t doubt the dragon lord’s word for a second when he said he could summon the dragon to himself. 

“How does it work?” Merlin asked tentatively after what felt like an eternity of silence, curiosity winning out over his initial diffidence. Balinor looked at him. 

“Magic?” 

“I…” Merlin scuffed the heel of his shoe against the bottom step. He wanted to tell Balinor—tell his father— that he had magic too; that he understood it; that they had something in common. But something kept the words in. He still barely knew the man. “I meant… being a dragon lord,” he said. The man’s brow furrowed in thought. 

“There’s no simple answer to that. I couldn’t reach Kilgharrah from the Druids’ refuge. I didn’t even know that he was still alive, or I would have searched for him long ago. Perhaps Iseldir’s wards protect us even from the detection of other sorcery.” He was quiet for a moment. “From here I can contact him. I can feel his presence somewhere in my consciousness and call him.” 

“So… someone taught you how to speak with him?” Merlin asked, looking up. 

“It’s not something you’re taught,” he answered slowly, head tilted slightly as if considering. “It’s a sacred gift, handed down from one generation to the next. Not everyone with the ability is paired. That is a bond of trust built between the dragon and sorcerer,” Balinor explained quietly. His eyes rested on Merlin, and underneath his scrutiny Merlin held perfectly still. He could tell that Balinor understood what he’d meant earlier, and yet it went unsaid between them still. “As the Druids tell it, years ago when it became necessary to protect dragons from mankind, the sorcerers made a pact with them. In return for our help in keeping them hidden, dragons used their magic to protect and hide us as well. Certain sorcerers were bound to a dragon from birth. But as a dragon outlives many generations of humans, the dragon lord’s gift passed to their children. It was preserved for men for a long time, but there were women with the ability. Only a few were able to foster bonds with dragons before the Purge happened. As far as I know, I’m the last one now. As for the protection spell, it is now so old that even the Druids scarcely understand how it works… it is a powerful magic which few would dare to tamper with.”  

“So,” Merlin blinked, struggling to process the information. “Does that mean I should have the ability too?” 

“Theoretically.” Balinor gave him a curious look. “But it would be hard to know. Kilgarrah is still bound to me for now. No one knows of any other living dragons who might be willing to foster the bond.” Merlin nodded and resumed staring at his hands, not sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved by that revelation. He heard the scratch-and-click sound of a lighter flicking on and looked up from the corner of his eye. Balinor paused with his thumb on the wheel, and Merlin quickly dropped his gaze again, but Balinor had already lowered the lighter with a soft huff. “Your mother used to give me that look when we first met,” he mused. Merlin stilled. “She made me quit, of course,” the man added with a faint trace of warmth in his voice.  

“Why start again then?” Merlin asked. It came out a trace more challenging than he meant. The warmth in Balinor’s tone was gone as quickly as it had appeared. 

“Passes the time,” he answered gruffly. Merlin shifted. He had a feeling it might be more than that. For a man who cared little if he lived or died, the damage done by the cigarettes wouldn’t matter.  

“You won’t have to,” he said. “Not anymore.” 

“This isn’t going to change things.” Balinor replied, returning the lighter and cigarette to a pocket. For some reason that made Merlin relax a little. “Your Pendragon friend may not turn me in, but I’ll still have to hide.” Merlin lifted his head and looked the dragon lord in the eye.

“Arthur has already spoken out against some of his father’s harsher policies. He could help change things,” he insisted.  

“Ever the hopeful one aren’t you?” Merlin blinked, but there was no sneer in Balinor’s words—no scorn or annoyance. “I see her in you.” For the first time, a small smile crossed Balinor’s features and gleamed briefly in his eyes. “You have her determination… and her kindness.” Merlin looked down at his shoes with a matching, tentative smile. 

“She’ll be glad to hear you’re well,” he said, unsure how to answer the praise personally. 

“More or less.” Balinor’s tone darkened. Merlin flitted a glance up at him. His eyes were fixed on a distant point. Did he mean himself or Hunith? He opened his mouth, but Balinor straightened up and raised a hand for silence. Merlin stood as well, quelling a surge of disappointment. They’d gotten few chances to talk thus far… But he followed his father’s gaze, though he could see nothing above them in the clouds. Balinor shifted back into the shadow of the damaged college’s walls and fell silent, catching the snatches of two voices in conversation. Arthur and Leon. He fervently hoped Arthur was busily in the process of getting Leon away from the courtyard. Arthur wouldn’t deliberately lead Leon towards them, but his friend was a poor liar at best… 

“He’s here.” Balinor’s dark eyes narrowed. 

“Arthur won’t bring Leon in here. He wouldn’t do that,” Merlin said under his breath. Balinor shook his head jerkily. 

“I don’t mean the bodyguard,” he returned. Merlin’s head snapped up, and he sensed the presence, but a split second too late. 

The impact seemed to shake the very ground under Merlin’s feet. Yards away from Merlin and Balinor, the arch where Leon and Arthur stood trembled, then crumbled—whether from the dragon’s magic or the dragon’s brute force, Merlin didn’t know; the dragon remained invisible. 

“Kilgharrah!” Balinor’s voice rang out, surprisingly loud over the sound of the arch’s collapse. It was accompanied by a burst of curling flames. Merlin heard Leon’s warning shout, and he was already sprinting towards them before both Leon and Arthur vanished from sight. Balinor called after him, but he didn’t even hear the words of his father’s shout. His heart was hammering a panicked rhythm inside his chest, and his veins coursed with adrenaline. Leon and Arthur were over there somewhere, amid the rubble and flames. And Arthur was already tired and worn and shouldn’t have been going anywhere to start with. 

As quickly as he had struck, the dragon appeared in the air above the destruction he’d caused. Merlin didn’t once stop to heed the massive creature wheeling over his head. He kept running, ignoring the growing ache in his lungs.

“Arthur!” Merlin’s scream was lost in the rush of air that accompanied the dragon’s massive wingspan. 

“Merlin, get down!” The voice sent a stab of ice-cold fear through Merlin’s heart. Leon… Leon was staggering to his feet, and bits of stone tumbled from his jacket and hair, weapon leveled to fire. 

“No!” Merlin flung out a hand, but already the flames were billowing towards the young bodyguard who was standing straight, taking steady aim with his weapon. The bullets glanced uselessly away before even touching the dragon’s hide. Kilgarah parted his jaws to engulf Leon in flames. Merlin’s protection wrapped around the bodyguard a second too late. Leon crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and Merlin doused the fire on his clothing with a rapid spell, but the dragon was already turning away from them. 

As Kilgharrah wheeled about, Merlin dove for the chaos that was the collapsed arch, forgetting momentarily about Leon in his single-minded mission. He scrambled over the rubble, heedless of his raw, scraped hands. He didn’t need to search. A magic as instinctual as that which had first guided him to Kilgharrah led him straight to Arthur, luckily having caught only glancing debris from the collapse. Merlin fell to his knees amid the rubble. Arthur was near the edge of the fallen debris, unconscious. Merlin sent the wreckage around him tumbling away with a careless burst of magic. He pressed a hand to Arthur’s chest, feeling it rise and fall. His own breath came in short, sharp gasps. Arthur’s shirt was singed, and his shoulder and arm were red and angry. The flames hadn’t touched the rest of his body. A trickle of blood ran from his temple, and a dark bruise colored his cheek. He was certainly alive, hopefully not too much the worse for wear, so far as Merlin could tell. The warlock lifted his head and faced Kilgharrah as the dragon lit on the ground before the wrecked arch, snaking out his neck towards the two young men.  

“Don’t touch him,” Merlin warned. He didn’t need to raise his voice. He knew well how keen the dragon’s hearing was, and his own voice was laced with all the authority and force he could muster. Kilgharrah snorted disdainfully at the command, and Merlin raised a hand when a tongue of flickering fire danced from between his teeth. “I thought you believed in us,” he said. “In our destiny! You told me when I first met you that he was destined to be a great leader—a man who would unite the two peoples of this country in peace. Was that all a lie?” Above his head, he heard a quiet rumble of thunder. He hadn’t even noticed the storm gathering. The dragon’s voice followed the thunder, low and level.

“I have never lied to you, Emrys .” It was the first time Merlin had heard anyone use that name with a trace of disdain, and irrationally, that made him nearly as angry as the dragon’s unscrupulous use of the prophecies. 

“What then? I’m the Emrys of prophecies. Has that ceased to mean anything to you?” he snarled. “My destiny, Arthur’s—the future we’re supposed to bring about. Was that a lie—all a ridiculous trick to manipulate me—or have you simply decided that the whole world can burn to satisfy your pain?” 

“I will find Uther Pendragon. You are the only one standing in my way just now,” Kilgharrah snarled. He laughed bitterly. “And what does it matter if you are Emrys or not? You have ever refused to heed my warnings about your future. You never believed a word I told you of your prophecy. Of course, you would conveniently choose to remember that conversation now when you stand at my mercy.” The dragon’s lip curled, revealing rows of pointed teeth, and Merlin raised his hand again, and his eyes narrowed, flickering a dark, threatening golden-yellow. 

“I am not at your mercy ,” he replied, rising to his feet. Behind him, the thunder rolled ominously again, and the clouds swelled at his back as he placed his body between the dragon and his friend. “ This is your doing. You told me yourself, I am the greatest warlock ever to walk the earth. Arthur Pendragon is under my protection, and I will not let you hurt him.” 

“Do you really believe that your petty magic can hurt me?” the dragon returned in a voice thick with scorn. 

“Would you like to find out?” Merlin turned his hand over, lighting a tongue of white hot flame in his palm that grew as he looked squarely back at the dragon. Kilgharrah stepped closer, and his tail whipped dangerously behind him, sending several great blocks of stone tumbling away. 

“Do not test me, Merlin. I care nothing for either of you. You have betrayed your kind.” What? Merlin gaped at him, momentarily. How…. “I will give you one chance to decide now. You can tell me what the Pendragon has done with my dragon lord, or I’ll burn you both.” What Arthur did with… Merlin’s eyes widened in shocked understanding. He thought… Balinor was held captive too? 

“Uther doesn’t have him… not Arthur either. They never—”

“I’m right here, Kilgharrah.” Balinor’s voice interrupted. Merlin heard the crunch of boots on the rocks behind him and exhaled shakily. The dragon’s head swung about. Balinor picked his way stiffly over the rubble to Merlin’s side. “Let them be. I came of my own free will.” Every line of the dragon’s form relaxed at the sight of his dragon lord. “What happened to you, old friend?” Balinor asked quietly, stepping past Merlin, closer to the dragon. “I never took you for the type to strike a man when he’s down.”

“What mercy does a Pendragon deserve from either of us?” The dragon bared his teeth again, and his great golden eyes shifted to fix hungrily on Arthur again in a way that made Merlin tense and brace himself warily. 

“What Uther did has nothing to do with that boy. He was scarcely more than a baby when those crimes were committed.” A step behind Merlin, Arthur stirred and groaned. Merlin shuffled backwards, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off of Kilgharrah. 

“No, but he still has his uses. He knows where the coward is hiding.” The dragon leaned closer. “There are ways to make him talk.” A jolt of fear surged through Merlin’s chest. 

“ Don’t ,” he said, and the fire he was holding between his palms now leapt and flared as lightning flickered quietly behind him. He looked into the creature’s eyes, his heart pounding fit to burst out of his chest. He couldn’t fight a dragon. One swipe—a careless flick of the dragon’s claws—and his body would be left broken on the ground. His eyes darted frantically to Balinor, and his fear deepened when he saw the dragon lord still and quiet… thoughtful. He wasn’t going to allow this, surely? The dragon turned his gaze on Merlin’s father, and his tail swept the ground behind him in an impatient lash. Merlin set his jaw, and the thunder rolled softly behind him. 

“You saw them too—lying in their own blood after he had them slaughtered,” the dragon snarled. “This is our chance. We can avenge them: rid the country of the tyrant.”  

“And accomplish what? If you kill Arthur—by your fire, you accomplish nothing,” Merlin snapped. Balinor was looking at him, his expression as unreadable as ever. “Arthur doesn’t know where to find his father. And if you want to hurt him, you’ll have to kill me first,” Merlin said firmly, locking eyes with his father. He wasn’t even sure if that was true. Arthur might have ways of reaching Uther. But he didn’t want to put his friend in that position. Please… please don’t do this. Kilgharrah turned on the warlock with a snarl. Merlin could feel the dragon’s breath hot on his face. 

“So be it,” he growled. “You have chosen your side.” 

“No.” Balinor cut in, quiet but firm. The dragon’s burning golden eyes turned away from Merlin, leaving him shaky and breathless. “Merlin has only chosen to protect the innocent. You have forgotten who you are, Kilgharrah. You’ve caused enough harm already. I can’t let you continue this.” Merlin’s knees felt weak with relief. The fire between his hands flickered and vanished as the thunder in the distance growled softer than before. He sank onto the pavement beside the half-conscious Arthur and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

“Lie still, Arthur. You’re alright,” he murmured, but even as he moved, the dragon arched his neck with a snarl of unbridled fury. He turned on Merlin and Arthur again, and praying that Arthur wasn’t conscious enough to understand what was going, Merlin instantly threw up a protective shield around them and Balinor as well. He didn’t need it. The dragon bared his teeth at the three of them and spread his wings in a dramatic sweep. 

“You’re making a mistake, Balinor,” he growled. Merlin huddled over his friend as the dragon rose into the air, and within seconds, he vanished into the air and was gone. Merlin kept his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and looked warily up at Balinor. 

“Is he…?” 

“He won’t come back.” Balinor slowly knelt down beside Arthur and brushed his fingers over the raw, angry burns on the young man’s arm. “I’ll speak to him again, outside the city. He won’t cause any more trouble.” Merlin nodded, and Balinor bowed his head, murmuring a few soft words. The blisters and redness on Arthur’s arm and shoulder faded away, and Arthur’s breathing evened out and he lay still again, quiet. He looked up as Merlin finally let his protective shield vanish and his eyes flickered back to their usual blue. Balinor looked at him curiously for a moment, then climbed stiffly to his feet, using Merlin’s shoulder for support. 

“Thank you,” Merlin whispered hoarsely, as much for Arthur’s sake as his own. 

“I’ve only done what little I can to ease the pain,” Balinor said.  “Iseldir is better at healing burns.” Burns . Merlin surged to his feet all at once.

“ Leon,” he breathed, and his heart sank like a rock.

Leon had been far worse off than Arthur. Merlin had to swallow down his fear as well as the bile that rose in his throat seeing the burns across Leon’s face and torso. But Iseldir was efficient and calm. He’d asked no questions when Merlin called him on the way back to his and Arthur’s flat. He hadn’t even blinked at the tattered but still distinguishable remains of Leon’s uniform but set quietly to work, evening the man’s breathing and easing the pain to reduce the inevitable shock of such traumatic and extensive injuries. Merlin had left the man in Iseldir’s hands briefly to help Balinor bring a semi-conscious Arthur in and settle him on the couch as comfortably as possible. When the warlock returned to hover in the doorway of the room where Leon was situated, he could see the gruesome burns fading away and the skin smoothing out again, still red and painful looking, but whole once more. Leon’s eyes flickered open, and Merlin’s breath caught, but Iseldir’s only reaction was to speak a murmured reassurance to the confused young man and slip a hand under his head to help him take a drink. When Iseldir stood again, Leon’s eyes were closed again, and he was resting peacefully. Merlin backed out of the doorway as Iseldir approached.

“He’ll be fine,” Iseldir told him. Merlin exhaled shakily. 

“Will he remember this?” he asked.  

“Perhaps. I can’t say.” 

“He won’t turn you in,” Merlin promised instantly. He’d see to it himself if he had to. He didn’t want to see Iseldir punished after all that he’d done to help.

“No. I believe he won’t,” Iseldir replied. Over on the couch, Merlin caught sight of a flicker of movement. Arthur was half-sitting up on the couch. He wasn’t sure how long his friend had been up, but Arthur had located Merlin’s mobile phone on the table next to him and was propped on his uninjured arm, typing out a message. “Don’t worry about me,” Iseldir said. “You’ll know where to find me if anything happens.” 

Arthur didn’t appear to have noticed Iseldir or Balinor who were now in the kitchen talking quietly. Merlin slipped past when Iseldir began speaking to his father and fetched a glass from the kitchen before he took a seat on the low table next to the sofa. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, offering the glass of water to Arthur. The blond looked up from Merlin’s mobile. He still had a hazy look in his eyes, but he was fully conscious now, and clearly feeling the pain that came with it. 

“Like I’ve been fried to a crisp,” he grumbled.

“Apparently you were feeling well enough to remember my passcode,” Merlin observed, arching an eyebrow. A grin tugged at Arthur’s lips. He ignored the complaint and took the glass, greedily swallowing down its contents in a couple of long gulps. Merlin gingerly pulled the blanket back. Balinor had done a skillful job of mitigating the burns before they coaxed Arthur back to consciousness. What had been raw, blistered skin was now only red and inflamed, more like a common burn than the result of dragon-fire, much like Leon’s burn was now, though Arthur’s only covered the shoulder and part of his arm. “It looks pretty good to me. You’re fine, prat,” he said, but for once he refrained from giving Arthur an elbow to the ribs or a shove. It might not be a second-degree burn anymore, but his friend was still in a lot of pain. 

“Easy for you to say. You didn’t get roasted for a dragon’s supper,” Arthur groused. 

“I don’t think he was planning to eat you, Arthur.” 

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” Arthur asked, giving him a baleful look. Merlin shrugged. 

“I thought it was.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Arthur grunted, settling back down onto the pillows, lying on his stomach with his head resting on his arms. Merlin smiled and draped the blanket over Arthur’s shoulders as gently as possible.  

“Excuse me. This idiot saved your sorry backside today,” Merlin informed him loftily. Arthur turned his head enough to look at Merlin from the corner of his eye. 

“Why didn’t he fry you?” he asked, squinting. Merlin smirked, recalling Arthur’s words from that morning. 

“I asked him not to. Nicely.” Arthur rolled his eyes, and Merlin lifted his shoulders. Clearly he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He couldn’t altogether blame Arthur for that. 

“Balinor stopped him,” he said. “He did what he promised. We tried to get to you in time… I’m sorry.” Arthur’s expression was difficult to read. He pursed his lips, considering the answer, and Merlin looked over at the doorway beyond which he could hear the soft sound of Iseldir and Balinor’s voices.  

“Merlin.” 

“Hmm?”

“Do you think it’s true…? The things he said about the Purge?” Merlin’s breath caught. He fixed his eyes on the doorway, willing himself not to give anything away. 

“I… wasn’t really around for that either,” he said slowly. 

“I know that,” came Arthur’s mildly annoyed reply. He could feel Arthur’s gaze burning into his back and took a breath. 

“I heard tales in Armagh,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter. There was a long pause. He heard Arthur shift slightly behind him. “They weren’t good. Lot of people lost family members or friends in the early years–some of them… Some of them said they saw it happen. They only talked about it in whispers.” Or not at all, like his mother. As Gaius had said, you couldn’t risk those names being connected to you. He set his jaw. “Being tied to a person like that–it was dangerous. Put you in the crosshairs. But the Purge… I’m not sure it ever truly ended. Just got less public.” He bit his lip and fidgeted uneasily with the ends of his scarf, starting to wind them around his fingers. “My best friend Will was accused of magic when I was eleven. He disappeared after that.” Silence. Then,

“That late?” Merlin turned to look back at Arthur. He was sitting up, his expression tight, and Merlin wasn’t sure if it was from the burns or his discomfort at what Merlin had told him. 

“Still happens today,” Merlin said flatly. He could feel the ache in his chest as he thought of Freya. “You just don’t see it.” Arthur’s gaze traveled to the doorway. Iseldir and Balinor had gone quiet. 

“I’m sorry,” he said at last. Merlin bit his lip, then shrugged and let go of the scarf’s ends. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said. But… it was somehow still good to hear.  

Somewhere nearby, Merlin heard the front door clicking shut, and he barely got to his feet to see who it was before Gwen had her arms around him in a fierce hug. 

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” she breathed. Merlin grinned and hugged her back. 

“Yeah. Me too.” Gwen released Merlin and let out a shaky breath. 

“Oh, Arthur…” Merlin had to admit, he cut a pretty pitiful figure between the raw, burnt shoulder and arm and the gash on his temple, but he brushed it off. 

“He’s fine, Gwen. He’s been busy insulting me,” Merlin told her, rolling his eyes at Arthur’s theatrically slow attempt to sit up. “ Oof! ” A heavy pillow caught him full in the gut. He glared at his grinning friend. “I’m glad you’re feeling better too, Arthur,” he said sarcastically. Gwen seated herself on the couch and put a hand on his cheek, eyes full of concern, and Arthur leaned into her touch, eyes drifting shut contentedly. “All yours,” Merlin said breathlessly, glaring at the blond as he backed out of the room. 

Iseldir was gone. He must have slipped out at some point while Merlin was talking to Arthur. Balinor was seated at the tiny kitchen table, hands folded atop it, and his pack of smokes sitting just inches from his fingers. 

“Iseldir said he’ll come back tomorrow to check on your friend and pick me up,” Balinor said. Merlin nodded his acknowledgement and stood a moment in anxious silence until Balinor spoke again. “It seems you inherited something from me.” Merlin nodded. 

“Yeah… I have magic.” It felt good to say the words aloud. 

“I can teach you the spell I used to heal Arthur.” Merlin strayed a look over at the blond and he nodded again, feeling excitement stir inside him at the thought. Healing magic was still a little beyond his grasp.

“I’d like that.” 

“How are they?” Balinor asked, following his gaze. 

“Leon’s alright now… and Arthur,” Merlin tilted his head slightly towards the living room, indicating the two figures on the couch, and his eyes gleamed with amusement. “He’s enjoying the attention,” he said with a smile. Arthur’s blond hair stood out against the dark curls on Gwen’s shoulder. They were involved in their own quiet conversation, and Gwen paused to rest her cheek against his hair, eyes closed.  Balinor nodded and folded his hands over the table again, looking at the pack of cigarettes. Silence fell again. Merlin took his wallet out of his pocket and sat down at the corner near his father, turning it over in his hands. “I…” He paused, half reconsidering his offer. “I thought you might like to have this.” He could feel the man’s eyes on him and quickly slipped a little photograph out and pushed it across the table. Balinor’s expression changed in a heartbeat. His eyes softened, and he picked it up gingerly, as though it were the most precious thing in the world. 

“I always knew she’d make a good mother,” he said quietly. Merlin smiled tentatively. 

“You can come visit her—when all this is over. I’ll find a way to get you there. We can go together,” he said. The older man shook his head, and his expression spoke of weariness far beyond his years. 

“I’d love to see Ireland again… but I don’t think that my body will bear much more travel, Merlin.” Merlin blinked. 

“You’re sick?” he asked. He’d noticed the way Balinor moved and how tired he looked, but… 

“Cancer… so they tell me. I have maybe six months or so left,” Balinor answered calmly. It was as if the ground dropped out from under Merlin. He swallowed to even out his voice before he spoke again, then the words came so fast they seemed to stumble over one another;  

“We’ll figure something out. There must be something I can do. I cured Arthur when he was sick. I can find a way. Perhaps Kilgharrah knows—”

“Merlin,” Balinor interrupted. Merlin closed his mouth, realizing he’d been rambling. “Magic cannot cure everything. This,” he touched his sternum with a small, tired smile, “Is my body destroying itself. It isn’t something you can protect me from.” Merlin blinked rapidly, and his voice broke on his next words;

“Can’t I do anything?” The smile reached Balinor’s eyes, and he put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. 

“You’ve already done more than I had any right to ask. I know… I haven’t been much of a father to you, but for what it’s worth, I’m proud to call you my son.” Merlin breathed out slowly, stared at his hands, blinking rapidly. He didn’t know how to answer that… what to say… even how to feel. He bit his lip. 

“Can I at least come back and see you?” he asked at length in a small voice. The hand on his shoulder tightened. 

“I’m counting on it.” 

Chapter Text

Leon’s hand was a little unsteady, and Merlin watched the glass of water with a keen eye. He knew the young man wouldn’t like to be pampered any more than Arthur, but he was quick to take the glass when Leon finished his drink. 

“Can I get you anything else?” Leon shook his head the tiniest fraction and leaned back on the pillows. 

“Where am I?” he asked.
“You’re in a safe place,” Merlin promised. “A friend of mine agreed to put us up.” It wasn't long since the young man had regained consciousness after they situated him in Iseldir's home. Moving Leon had been less than ideal at the time, but the onslaught of media attention had worried them all. If reporters gathered outside Arthur's home, others would find him too—like the blue-eyed woman who Merlin was all but certain had caused Arthur's sickness earlier.

“Arthur.” Leon’s voice was rough, but he was smiling faintly, shifting his head to look to the side of Merlin. Arthur had come into the room, silent as a cat, to stand close behind Merlin’s shoulder. “You alright?” Leon rasped, squinting up at him in the dim light from the half-closed blinds. Arthur’s forehead was creased, and Merlin didn’t think it was from the pain this time.

“You’re asking me ?” he laughed weakly. There was a mixture of confusion and relief in his face. 

“I’m not the one who got buried under a pile of rubble,” Leon said—his words painstakingly slow, but Merlin was reassured to hear that they were no longer slurred. Arthur lifted his uninjured shoulder in a half-shrug and touched his bruised temple. 

“I’m fine... You’re the one who put yourself in the line of fire… literally.” His brows drew together. “You shouldn’t have done that for me.” 

“Arthur, that’s my job.” Leon offered him another small, thin smile. Arthur shook his head. 

“It shouldn’t be. I’m certainly not worth dying for.” 

“We’ll have to agree to differ on that point,” Leon murmured. He closed his eyes and Arthur shifted back a step. He glanced sideways, and Merlin gave him a reassuring nod. 

“I suppose we will,” Arthur allowed. “I’ll be safe. Don’t worry about me.” Leon might well not have heard the last words. Merlin gestured towards the door, and the two of them moved out into the hall. 

“He’s still running a low fever from the burns, but that’s normal. He just needs a couple days to rest and heal from the trauma,” Merlin said in a low voice. “It won’t—” Arthur’s hand closed on his arm, stopping him from going back into the living room. Merlin turned back to give Arthur a questioning glance and suppressed a groan. He knew that look. 

“What happened, Merlin?” Arthur demanded. “What are you not telling me?” Merlin looked down at the hand clamped around his bicep. 

“Does it matter?” 

“I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t.” Merlin looked through the doorway at Leon, and Arthur followed his glance. “Tell me what happened to him.”  

“Nothing. The dragon tried to… ‘fry him to a crisp’… like you,” Merlin said haltingly. 

“Merlin, I’m not an idiot.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “I saw how Leon looked in the car on the way back, and he was a hell of a lot worse. People don’t survive those kinds of burns without serious medical attention, and Leon’s not even in the hospital. Now are you going to tell me, or do I need to call Iseldir?” Merlin licked his lips nervously. He had rather hoped that Arthur was too out of it to have noticed Leon’s injuries. Iseldir had gone, driving Balinor out to speak with Kilgharrah somewhere beyond the city limits before taking him back to the Druids’ refuge. The last thing Merlin wanted to do was stir up trouble for the Druid before he returned home.  

“Arthur…” He stared at Arthur’s fingers on his arm with a growing feeling of apprehension, wishing he could simply escape the conversation as he so often did when magic was brought up. “Leon’s alright now. Isn’t that the important thing?” he asked miserably, no longer meeting his friend’s eyes.

“Did he use magic?” Arthur asked. Merlin’s throat convulsed. The question hung in the air for a while before he nodded. “Did he use it on me?” Arthur pressed. 

“No,” Merlin said instantly. Arthur’s eyes bored into him. “Balinor did,” he admitted. “Your… shoulder looked pretty bad.” The grip on his arm loosened. “They only wanted to help,” Merlin added, biting his lip. As little as he wanted to acknowledge it, a mounting nausea rose in his throat at the thought of looking up into Arthur’s eyes, afraid of what he might find there. “Arthur, Leon would have died . It was his only chance!” 

“I know that, Merlin. For God’s sake,” Arthur cut over him impatiently, finally letting go of his arm. “I just want to know what happened. No one’s going to execute you on the spot for talking about it,” the blond said in exasperation. An uncomfortable pause followed his words. Arthur put a hand on the doorframe and bowed his head wearily. “Leon can’t come with us,” he said at last. Merlin nodded. Both of them understood well that Arthur couldn’t stay here either. They needed to leave—today if possible. 

“He can stay with Iseldir,” Merlin suggested. 

“Perhaps… that would be best,” Arthur agreed heavily. Merlin’s eyes widened a touch. After hearing that Iseldir had used magic in his own apartment, he couldn’t help being surprised that Arthur would accept the man’s help again. “Leon has my father’s location. We need to discuss the safest way to reach him, and Leon can rejoin us when he’s on his feet again.” Down the hall, there was a knock at the door, and Arthur straightened up. “That’ll be Morgana.” He turned briskly and strode to the door. Merlin closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. When Arthur wanted to know something, he was utterly incorrigible. Over the years Arthur had noticed Merlin’s reticence about discussing magic… so of course he made it his mission to grill his tacit roommate every chance he got. At least Arthur seemed to assume Merlin was afraid of magic, rather than afraid of being found out. Merlin wished that it didn’t make him so nervous—or at least that he was better at hiding his discomfort. His reaction still only made the blond more curious. 

It took him a couple of seconds to register what Arthur had said, and when he did, his eyes snapped open just as Arthur headed for the door to let the new arrivals in. Morgana? 

“Afternoon, princess!” Merlin pulled himself together at the sound of a familiar but unexpected voice. That was definitely not Arthur’s adoptive sister. The greeting was followed by the sound of several feet shuffling in, jackets rustling, and other voices joining the greetings. The first person he saw was Gwen, and it looked like she’d brought a crowd with her—at least three, and probably more as they moved through the doorway.

“Arthur.” That was Lance… Behind the med student was a tall, burly man just removing what looked like a uniform jacket, though he was in civilian clothing. He stood close to the med student, and his eyes roved the inside of the building. Merlin didn’t recognize him. “You look a little worse for wear,” Lance observed, taking in the burn which crept a little ways up Arthur’s neck. 

“Been better,” Arthur commented. Gwaine tilted his head, inspecting the reddened skin. 

“I heard you were in the hospital, but not for a burn,” he commented with an expression equal parts suspicious and curious. 

“Is everything alright?” Merlin startled. He hadn’t noticed Gwen approaching until her hand lit gently on his arm. 

“Yeah,” he said tersely with a jerky nod. Morgana was there, sure enough. She’d interrupted Lance, Arthur, and Gwaine brusquely and was saying something in an urgent, hurried voice to the blond, but he couldn’t make it out from here. He’d had no chance to speak with Morgana since Arthur was hospitalized, and there was something up with her. He knew that.  

“You’re sure you didn’t get hurt yesterday?” Gwen asked, frowning. Merlin reluctantly tore his attention from Arthur and his adopted sister to answer Gwen who looked anxious. “You look tired,” she added. 

“Really, Gwen. I’m fine, I promise.” Merlin summoned a forced smile in reassurance that convinced Gwen no more than Merlin himself. But she smiled back and squeezed his arm in silent promise of support before letting the matter drop. Gwen wasn’t one to push when someone didn’t want to talk. Unlike Arthur , Merlin reflected. He was lucky for now that Arthur had so much on his mind. Perhaps he was lucky that the others had arrived to redirect the blond’s attention. Arthur was listening to Morgana still, nodding slowly with a concerned expression, and he almost didn’t even turn when Gwen moved to his side. 

“So…” Lance interrupted Merlin’s thoughts. “I heard some rumors of a dragon sighting here in Oxford.” There was a knowing gleam in his eyes. Merlin’s smile widened a little, genuine now, and he felt a rush of gratitude towards his friend. He lifted his shoulders. 

“I wouldn’t know,” he said mildly. 

“Of course not.” Lance inclined his head in silent recognition. I really didn’t have that much to do with it… Merlin reflected that he’d have to tell Lance the whole story some time. It was liberating, really, to have someone safe to speak with about this. 

“What brings you here?” he asked. 

“Same thing as you,” Lance said, lifting his shoulders. “A friend in need.” Merlin’s glance wandered to Gwen. Arthur was seated on the couch now with Gwen close at his side, both with their heads bowed over her mobile while she pulled up a map. The emotion in Lance’s face was one Merlin understood all too well. He bumped Lance’s shoulder gently with his. Some connections didn’t work out. Freya was gone. Gwen was out of reach… he understood the ache. 

“Merlin.” Arthur looked up from his consultation with Gwen. “We don’t have time for chit-chat.” Merlin rolled his eyes a little at Arthur, but he recognized the trace of urgency in his friend’s voice. Everyone else had gathered in the living room. Even Gwaine had wandered over and was leaning on the back of the couch, waiting for him and Lance. The med student smiled briefly at Merlin and beckoned to the newcomer who was standing quiet and withdrawn close to the door still. Merlin had almost forgotten he was there. 

“Arthur, This is my friend Percival. He’s former military. He’s been in touch with some of the operatives dealing with attacks on the communication centers. Just arrived here from London.” Arthur rose to greet him. He extended a hand. Arthur was no small person, but Percival, who towered over him by several inches, still appeared to envelop his hand entirely in a handshake.

“London?” Arthur said. “Morgana tells me there are rumors of a renegade military force there run by some rogue general.” 

“Thomas Cenred.” Percival confirmed. “The rumors are true. I’ve seen him in the city.” Arthur’s brow creased at the name. 

“Thank you for coming. I appreciate all the warnings I can get right now.” Percival nodded grimly. 

“They’ve got magic users on their side. London’s communication systems are starting to fail. They’ve targeted cell towers and internet hosting sites. People are panicking.” It should’ve harnessed his attention, but Merlin was only half-listening. His eyes strayed to the figure standing beside the couch. “When she sets the movement in action, I want to be part of it…” Not if. When. The day he’d had coffee with Morgana, before Arthur fell ill, Morgana sounded like she was waiting for Morgause to set these events in motion. How could it be that Morgause was not part of this? If the charismatic young politician hadn’t already started moving, she certainly would soon, because this was the perfect moment. And with a general heading up the attack against London, she had in addition the perfect ally. 

Morgana was typing out something on her mobile, but she raised her head, perhaps sensing Merlin’s gaze burning into her, and looked back at him, a long, hard look. What are you doing here, Morgana? Merlin wondered. There was a spark of apprehension in her gaze. She knew he remembered their conversation… Perhaps she was even afraid. He shook his head just a fraction—an unspoken warning, and his fingers flexed instinctively as a prickle of wariness shivered through him. She broke eye contact quickly. 

“They all have magic?” Merlin’s head whipped about at the word. Arthur’s brows had drawn together in concern. Percival was shaking his head. 

“Not all of them. No one really knows. Several of them clearly used magic when they were moving through the streets, so it’s dangerous to approach anyone. Altogether it’d be best if we avoided London.” Arthur nodded, and he studied the transit map with a somber expression. “I think this is the safest plan for all of us. We can rendezvous near where Leon has located Uther. I know a secure location. The rest of us can lie low while Arthur connects, and we’ll get in touch on the next steps after that.” 

“Right.” Arthur looked up. “Merlin, Guinevere, Morgana… All three of you are associated with me. They could be looking for you too.”

“So we’ll go in groups. We’re less likely to be identified if several familiar faces aren’t together,” Morgana suggested, returning her mobile to her pocket. “We’ll arrange a meeting point and reconnect once it’s safe.” 

“Arthur is first priority,” Percival said. “He knows the most, and he’s the highest profile individual. We'll get him there first if possible.” Arthur looked like he wanted to argue with that pronouncement, but he probably knew as well as everyone else that it made sense.  

“You three are coming too,” he said firmly. “I don’t want anyone using you against me.” 

“Of course we’re coming,” Gwen agreed. “We’ll work it out.” 

“You should go in Percival’s car,” Morgana said to Arthur. “It’s the least likely to be identified by plate number or otherwise. You can pick a station some distance out of Oxford and take a train from there. As long as you keep your head down you’ll be fine. Most people don’t pay attention to other commuters.” 

“Lance and I can take his car,” Gwen offered. Arthur’s gaze darted to the young med student and back to Gwen. The worry was plain in his face. Gwen slipped her hand into Arthur’s, squeezing it and giving him a reassuring smile.  

“I can accompany one of you,” Percival offered. “Arthur is right. No one should be traveling alone right now.” Morgana nodded her agreement. 

“Gwen’s with Lancelot, so Merlin can go with you.”

“I’m going with Arthur,” Merlin said quickly. Morgana stopped short and stared at him, reminding Merlin poignantly of Arthur’s usual reaction when he’d been told ‘no’. Both of Uther’s children were born and raised leaders, unaccustomed to being gainsaid. 

“Merlin,” Arthur sighed. “You’ll be safer with Percival. If I get caught—”

“Yeah, you probably will if I’m not there.” Merlin interrupted. Arthur’s eyebrows rose. 

“I was starting to wonder where you’d left your sense of humor,” he said, and a faint smile twitched at his lips.

“Look, we can’t have three of the identified people going together,” Morgana said, her voice dropping to a lower tone in annoyance. Merlin looked back at her, and her expression unsettled him. He wanted desperately to believe that Morgana wanted only the best for Arthur. She’d been by his side when he was sick, and she’d never failed to come through for him when he was in need… But he couldn’t allow someone with known associations to Morgause to travel alone with his friend—not now when Arthur’s life hung so delicately in the balance. 

“You’re the best known of us next to Arthur,” he reasoned. “You two will attract too much attention by yourselves, let alone together. You should go with Percival.” A tense silence ensued. Morgana stared him down across the table, and Merlin met her gaze unflinchingly.

“Arthur—” she began to argue. 

“No, it’s fine.” Arthur cut her short. “Merlin will come with me. Morgana, you’ll go with Percival. That leaves Gwaine.” 

“Considering how much trouble you and Merlin get up to, I think you could use an extra pair of eyes to watch your back,” Gwaine said. “You’re the one who’s in the most danger.”

“That’s that, then.” Arthur said decisively. “It’s better if as few of us as possible know exactly where my father is. We’ll start with Percival’s location, then keep a meeting point in Cardiff where we’ll reconnect if the communication lines are down. Once I’ve talked to Leon, I’ll meet with Uther first then make sure you’re all brought safely in.” He stood. “Merlin, is Leon well enough to talk to me for a few minutes?” Merlin nodded. “Good,” Arthur said brusquely, rising to his feet. “We’ll leave as soon as Iseldir comes back” 

Perhaps, Merlin thought guiltily, he’d misjudged Morgana. Her expression showed genuine concern when she gave Arthur a fierce hug before they parted ways. She cared about Arthur. Merlin knew that. She’d been willing to forget all previous quarrels when Arthur was ill. Certainly she'd come through better than Uther whose first assumption was that Arthur had brought it upon himself. Right now everyone was on edge. The renegades might be a tiny splinter group, or they could be a second iteration of The Pure. No one knew right now, and they couldn’t afford to take any risks. Morgana now faced a threat from both sides, should the one find her and use her against Uther or the other discover her magic. More than that, she was traveling with Percival, a former soldier, now finished with his tour of duty. He doubted that was much comfort to Morgana who’d harbored a dislike for uniformed men since the incidents with Aredian “the Witchfinder” and his terrorizing accusations of sorcery during their childhood. It couldn’t be easy for her.

Regardless, Merlin felt a little easier once Morgana was well away from them. Gaius would be with Uther. His uncle would have gone to find the Prime Minister as soon as he and Merlin went their different ways. Gaius had known Morgana for much longer than Merlin had… and he always seemed to know what to do—how to keep everyone safe. He would surely have answers. Merlin didn’t want to be making the decisions alone anymore. He felt stretched thin, trying to watch out for everyone at once. He’d failed Freya. He’d set the dragon loose on the country. If he failed again—if it was Arthur this time…? 

But that he could ill afford to focus on. For now, he had a task, and he couldn’t be fatalistic about it. He jogged a couple steps to catch up with Arthur’s long strides and reached over to tug Arthur’s hood forward so it cast a shadow over the blond’s eyes and covered his bright colored hair. 

“Keep your head down,” he muttered. “If someone is tracking us, we don’t want your face on CCTV footage.” Arthur pulled a grimace, but he bowed his head.  

“Do you think we should’ve waited?” he asked, and his voice betrayed a hint of doubt for the first time since their conversation back in Oxford. “Someone could be looking for Leon too.” 

“Leon will be safe where he is,” Merlin promised him. “Iseldir wouldn’t have saved his life only to throw it away a day later.” He shook his phone impatiently, watching the little loading signals on the screen. “Signal’s slow,” he grumbled, scrolling through the half-loaded article on recent renegade movements in London. The murmur of voices filled the silence between them for a while and echoed about the high-ceilinged station. On the platform nearby, a train hissed as it pulled out of the station on its way to London.

“Anything new?” Arthur asked close to Merlin’s ear, peering over his friend’s shoulder. Merlin nodded. 

“It looks like General Cenred released a statement, but I can’t get it to load. Haven’t got enough bars in here.” 

“Give it a sec. Everyone’s trying to load it right now,” Arthur said. A slip of paper slid over Merlin’s screen, blocking the view. 

“Mission accomplished,” Gwaine announced brightly, raising his voice to be heard over the sudden increase of noise inside the station. “If we catch this next departure, we should make it to Cardiff before dark,” He offered the third to Arthur. 

“What the hell is all this racket about?” Arthur demanded, frowning at the station doors. There was some shouting outside, entirely indistinguishable from where they stood. Gwaine shrugged. 

“Crowds make noise, princess. That’s a fact of life. Come on. We’ve got a train to catch.” 

“Can you load that on the train?” Arthur asked. 

“Yeah.” Merlin stuffed the phone in his pocket and jogged after his friends, heading for the stairs down to the station platform. Bang . Merlin’s head snapped about. He wasn’t sure what had collided with what, but someone was running across the station floor, and he was followed by a couple of other people picking up their pace. The sound was followed by another—that of shattering glass. “Arthur?” He sought out his friend on instinct. Arthur was standing on the step just above him, the tips of his fingers touching the metal stair rail, frozen. The blond’s eyes were fixed on the station doors.

“Oh hell,” Gwaine breathed from the step behind them. Every muscle in Merlin’s body went rigid. For a split second he took in the black-clad figures pouring into the station, masked, many of them armed with sticks and other bludgeons. One of the glass doors was now merely a metal frame, its panes smashed to tiny pieces on the floor. Angry voices rose inside, blending into a wild commotion so Merlin couldn’t make out any of the words, screams, and challenges. Other doors slammed through the station and remained shut. The figures positioned themselves, some in front of the exits, and others advanced menacingly through the crowd, nameless and faceless, identified only by the white mixture painted over their faces (1). They weren’t professionals, nor were they armed with high-powered weapons, but Merlin didn’t need the spike of mixed fight-or-flight adrenaline and defensive magic to tell him that they meant serious harm. 

“ Arthur! ” he hissed. The blond darted a glance at Merlin, mouth open as if to say something, but Merlin put a hand on his head, and forced his face down before any of them might recognize the Prime Minister’s son. 

“Get out of here. Go!” Gwaine urged, giving Merlin a shove. The exact same thought had crossed Merlin’s mind. He didn’t wait for Arthur to respond but seized his friend by the arm and prompted him down the stairs. They weren’t the only ones who had started moving with renewed urgency. A mass of people poured down the stairs behind them, jostling against one another, tripping and stumbling over each other’s feet and legs. Merlin didn’t have a chance at keeping track of Gwaine or spotting any of the others for the second. He clutched Arthur’s arm tight, dead set on keeping hold of his friend in the press, and a second later Arthur’s arm turned in Merlin’s grip, and his fingers curled tight around Merlin’s wrist with the same intent.  

The platform swarmed with panicked commuters. Merlin’s eyes flickered for the barest second, allowing his magic to help guide him on the easiest path through the press. Still keeping a grip on Arthur, he plowed his way through and prompted the blond in front of him into the nearest car. They squeezed inside the over-packed space, both breathing hard. Merlin turned in tandem with the small warning in the back of his mind, just in time to see several of the dark figures, sticks and weapons raised, coming after them. ‘ Protect Arthur. Protect him,’ was the only thought Merlin could hold onto for the moment. He shuffled backwards a bit, forcing Arthur away from the doors with him and pushing the other passengers back an inch as he did so, trying to position himself in front of his friend to block the advancing men. He bowed his head ever so slightly, and whispered an incantation, tripping one of the protestors and sending him sprawling at his companion’s feet. As they scrambled to regain their footing, the train doors shut with a hiss. Someone screamed. Other commuters were crowding at the edge of the platform. Several hands reached for the windows. Some pressed against them as if they might be able to push their way into the train. Amidst the cacophony of panic, a quiet chime sounded and a cool, calm female voice softly announced departure, then they began to move. As they slipped away, several faces stared in through the windows, wide-eyed and terrified. The chorus of fearful voices on the subway drowned out the voices outside now, but he could still see what was happening between the heads of two other people closer to the door. Just as the train pulled out of the station, Merlin caught a glimpse of armed Patroni arriving at the station, efficient and faceless, equipped with their own masks. A thick cloud of grayish-white smoke billowed across the platform, and Merlin was unable to repress a shudder. He’d seen that smoke before, in Armagh during the protests. He knew how it felt, prickling at the nose, eyes, and throat. As the cloud reached some of the unlucky commuters who didn’t make the train, they crumpled to the ground, covering their faces, huddling together, and suddenly Merlin wasn’t so sure he knew whose side he was on in this war. 

Then the station lights went out. 

The train flew away towards the open country. 

“They’re shutting off power,” Arthur muttered. His voice was drawn as taut as the rest of his body. Arthur’s fingers still didn’t uncurl from Merlin's wrist. Why they’d shut off power in the station, Merlin couldn’t say, unless the protestors were sabotaging power lines. Right now, he didn’t know how to reassure his friend. He wanted to back into the darkest corner of the train and stay there until his heart stopped racing and his body stopped trembling from fear and adrenaline. “Gwaine’s back there,” Arthur added quietly. Merlin swallowed. 

“They’re not looking for him… he’ll be okay.” God, he hoped that was true… A small, shaky breath from Arthur alerted him to his friend’s ghostly pale face and drawn expression. The reminder of an immediate problem—something he could at least deal with right now—grounded him a little. 

“Hey… are you alright?” Merlin twisted about to look at him. Arthur’s grip on his wrist was tight enough that it was beginning to hurt. 

“Fine,” Arthur breathed. He closed his eyes tightly. Merlin sighed. 

“Is it your arm?” Arthur nodded, and Merlin pulled his wrist free from his friend’s grasp. “Here.” He pushed past Arthur, swapping their places, and situated himself so he could shield his friend’s shoulder from the jostling of the other commuters. “Put your arm around my shoulders.” Arthur looked askance at him. 

“Why?” Merlin rolled his eyes. 

“So people won’t bump it. I’m trying to help, you prat.” 

Arthur sighed, but he did rest his injured arm delicately over Merlin’s shoulders. For a while they were quiet, listening to the murmur of anxious conversation around them amidst the other passengers.

“Do you think…” Merlin looked sideways at his companion. “Did they know I was going to be at that station?” 

“They couldn’t have,” Merlin said firmly, infusing as much confidence as he could into his voice. “No one knew where you were except the people who were at Iseldir’s home. That was just bad luck.” 

“Not just bad luck… that means they could be anywhere.” 

“They’re not, and the Patroni had them under control. We’re going to be fine,” Merlin insisted. He didn’t know that. Not for a second. And he wasn’t sure he wanted the Patroni to have them under control. But he didn’t know what else to say.   

A few strands of dark hair brushed Merlin’s ear, and pressed his face into it, drawing some comfort from the familiar scent and her arms around him.

“Will he be alright?” Freya asked softly. He closed his eyes.

“I don’t know.” There were a thousand things he wanted to tell her, about the dragon, Morgana, the spell… everything. But not with this many people around. He hadn’t been able to find a way to get to Arthur inside the hospital yet, and somewhere inside rankled the fear that it wouldn’t work… He felt guilty going outside the hospital for a minute, let alone going to his flat or elsewhere. More than that, he felt guilty for being afraid to try—afraid someone would see him healing Arthur. Guilty that he was letting Arthur suffer right now because he had to wait for the right opportunity when no one else was in the room. But God… he wanted someone to talk to. Freya’s fingers threaded through the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. He knew she was only here to stop by, but just for a moment—a bare few seconds, Merlin let himself lean on her, draw comfort from someone else.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly in his ear. “I wish I could stay.”  

I wish I could stay… 

Stay… 

“Merlin!” Merlin jolted awake as the train pulled to a stop, wondering when he’d fallen asleep. 

Someone was shaking him. “Wake up you lazy arse.” 

“Hmmm…” Merlin sat up and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. They burned like he hadn’t slept in days. The train had emptied more than half its occupants at a station somewhere between Didcot Parkway and Cardiff. All the people who’d boarded to escape the protest.  “Wh-” He paused to yawn. “Wha’s going on?” he asked, trying to shove his dream out of his mind. He saw Freya’s face every night in the few precious moments of rest he managed. Sleep hadn’t come easily since the fire in Gaius’ apartment. Neither had consciousness. Either way, his mind persistently turned over every precious second he’d had with Freya, as if he could’ve done more to help… as if he’d done something wrong. 

“This is our stop,” Arthur said, pulling his hood back up. Merlin heaved himself to his feet as the overhead voice announced Cardiff. Arthur’s arms were folded, and his eyes narrowed as Merlin ran a hand over his face and yawned again. “When’s the last time you slept in a bed?” Arthur asked dryly. 

“Dunno.” Merlin grunted. 

“Idiot,” Arthur muttered. Strange how Arthur could express concern with an insult. 

“I’m fine,” Merlin huffed as they left the train, heading for the station doors, but his protest died on his tongue. He’d had a lingering feeling of wrongness —imbalance; one that had stuck with him ever since he’d lost Freya. He’d thought it was something within himself at first, but it felt like something tied to the world around him. Like his magic bound him to something greater than himself, and that something was troubled. Most of the time it lingered somewhere deep in the back of his mind, but now, it wrapped itself around his heart with icy fingers 

“Arthur,” he grabbed a fistful of his friend’s sleeve, stopping him before he opened the door. “Wait.” His heartbeat quickened as he tried desperately to scan the area for the presence he felt—the warning that was ringing in his very being. 

“Merlin, we can’t stay here,” Arthur pointed out. 

“I don’t think we should go out there,” Merlin blurted, then bit his lip. 

“Why?” 

“I… just… a funny feeling,” Merlin said. 

“A funny feeling ?” Arthur’s eyebrows rose skeptically. He gave Merlin a nudge towards the door, sighing impatiently. “Come on. We’ve got half an hour to catch a city bus before curfew.” Curfew. Of course curfew was back. It had been in place when they were children, but with all the attacks.. That made sense. Merlin scowled and brushed past Arthur to go through the door first, wondering when he’d started making an occupation out of protecting a stubborn man who couldn’t be bothered to listen to anyone else. 

And there, waiting just outside the door, was a familiar figure—though one Merlin had only ever seen before in the media. He stopped in the doorway, and Arthur shouldered through only to stop at his side, frozen. How…? Merlin’s heart sank into his boots. He didn’t need to ask. Morgana . She’d sold them out. He didn’t bother saying ‘I told you so.’ He’d already caught the look on Arthur’s face. This was it… they’d come this far only to see Arthur cornered like a hunted animal. 

“Arthur Pendragon. I’ve been looking for you.” Morgause smiled. Arthur stiffened. 

“Everyone has,” he said through his teeth, ramrod straight and tense. His eyes blazed with cold anger. “Would you prefer me dead or alive?” 

“I’ve never wished you any harm.” The woman held up her hands. “I’m unarmed and unaccompanied. I’m not here to threaten you. I only want to talk. I want you to know the truth.” Merlin’s eyes flitted to the street around them. There were very few other people nearby, most moving away on their own errands, but he didn’t quite trust Morgause’s word. 

“I don’t need any of your truths,” Arthur returned. 

“No, I can’t imagine you’re used to the truth, Arthur Pendragon,” Morgause said. Arthur stiffened, but she carried on in an even and calm voice. “I only want what justice for the wronged people of this country. If I spoke against your father, it was out of no malice but for the sake of thousands of innocents who live in fear in this country and the hundreds more whom he slaughtered like animals. Your father has done us a great wrong.” Arthur’s mouth twisted into a frown. Merlin knew she’d touched on a subject for him already delicate. But perhaps… Morgause knew about Arthur’s doubts and conflicts with Uther. Morgana might have armed her with the knowledge of that chink in Arthur’s armor.  

“We have nothing to talk about,” Arthur said tersely and turned to go. 

“Haven’t you ever wondered why Uther never speaks of your mother?” Morgause asked softly. Arthur stopped. “Did he tell you that Ygraine was his reason for beginning his mass genocide of magic users?” 

“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice was low. Whatever Morgause wanted to say, it couldn’t be good for either Arthur or Uther. He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and tried to prompt him towards the street again, but Arthur was already turning back, and Merlin’s heart sank at the expression on his friend’s face, guarded, but also curious, and worse still… hopeful. 

“You knew my mother?” he asked. Morgause inclined her head. 

“I knew her very well.”  

Chapter Text

“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice prompted. Arthur didn’t look up, eyes fixed on the papers in his lap. Even the single word seemed unnaturally loud in the silence that had followed Morgause’s departure. Gwaine, behind Merlin, shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, hands tucked into his pockets. 

“I have the feeling I missed something important,” Gwaine put in, looking from Arthur to Merlin in search of some explanation. He’d been shy of an hour behind them, arriving shortly after Morgause vanished down the street. Even his indomitable cheer had faded to quiet bewilderment on relocating the two. Merlin didn’t seem keen on offering one any more than Arthur at the moment. Arthur looked down and rubbed the pad of his thumb over the letters on the thick, legal paper. The feeling sent shivers down his spine. 

“You don’t even know if what she said was true,” Merlin said.  Don’t I? Arthur clenched his teeth over an angry retort. Merlin didn’t seem to fully understand the import of what Morgause had just given him. This kind of scandal… This was the sort that politicians thrived on: the kind of thing they tried to destroy one another with. It would be so easy to dismiss the whole story as a lie, and yet she had come to him —not to the press. She wanted him to know, to see what had happened. She intended no harm to him, even though she, knowing his location and being face-to-face with him could have hurt him, even killed him or turned him over as collateral to the rebels. Instead she had spoken to him, as one reasonable person to another, with the supreme confidence that she knew the truth. This was not a public attack on Uther: it was personal. 

“What do you call this then?” he said tautly. He let the papers fall to the bench and stared down at them. Proof of at least part of Morgause’s story… he himself was exhibit A: more tangible than any ghost of the past Morgause’s words could have conjured up. 

After a moment’s silence, the papers rustled as Merlin picked them up and sat down beside him.

“All that you know for certain,” he said evenly, tapping the papers now in his lap, “Is what the legal documents tell you. Your mother filed for divorce, and Uther is Morgana’s biological father.” Arthur clenched his teeth. He’d faced a bloody dragon and come out of it with equanimity, and somehow this had created a fault-line in his world and shattered his finely crafted veneer of composure. 

“The two have to be connected,” he said.  

“Most likely,” Merlin agreed. “But that doesn’t mean the rest of what Morgause said is true.” 

“Do you think she was lying?” Arthur asked and turned his head to look at his friend. He caught a split-second’s glimpse of Merlin’s face before the man rearranged it, quick to assume an expression of indifference. But Arthur had already seen the small frown and the familiar crease between his friend’s eyebrows that meant Merlin was uncomfortable, worried, or both. 

“I don’t know,” Merlin admitted. Ever the optimist, and often the first to sniff out something wrong, Merlin would have been the first to doubt… should have been the one to doubt and seek the positive side of the situation. That he did not this time was enough to make Arthur’s heart sink like a stone.

“Everything she said matches with what I know,” Arthur said hollowly. “What little Gaius said of my parents’ marriage… and why dad refused to talk about her—about anything that happened the year I was born.” He took a breath, trying to quell his rising disgust and anger. “He knew about magic—all the time when the rest of the country was dealing with the shock of its revelation, he’d known of it for years… and tried to use it for himself.” From the corner of his eye he saw Gwaine’s eyes widen, though he thankfully held his peace. Merlin on the other hand, raised his voice in something like a mixture between annoyance and insistence. 

“Arthur, even if everything Morgause said is true, your father’s conclusion may still be a logical one. From his perspective, it looks like this sorceress—Hierea—was manipulating your mother against him. She uncovered his affair with Vivienne Cornwall. Your mother left him as soon as she found out. A day later your mother served him with the divorce papers, and when he went to speak with her, he found her dying in the home of a known sorceress. That doesn’t look good.” Arthur rested his hands on his knees. Nimueh Hierea was one of the thirty archons who named themselves The Pure. Merlin couldn’t fail to recognize the name. She was also known as the infamous traitor: former trusted advisor and friend to the Pendragons. In the stories Arthur had heard though, his mother’s death had never been blamed on Nimueh. In fact, Uther spoke of her still less than he did of Ygraine, and that alone seemed strange. 

“That still doesn’t excuse what he did. He and my mother had known Hierea for years—long before The Pure rose to power. They were good friends. If my father asked her to use magic for them–to give them a child… why would she use that opportunity to kill my mother? If anything, it should have been in her best interest to stay on the Prime Minister’s good side and hope he could affect some change on behalf of her and other magic users.” 

“Your mother had just died, Arthur. I doubt he was thinking reasonably.” 

“Reason has little to do with it,” Arthur said through his teeth. “He chose to blame magic for what happened rather than face his own guilt . He asked Hierea to make sure I survived. I don’t know what to think of that except that he wanted a living child and was willing to jeopardize my mother’s health and safety for that.” 

“You don’t know any of that,” Merlin insisted. Arthur hunched his shoulders and looked pointedly away. He recalled a conversation long ago when he was much younger, speaking in hushed tones with Gaius, as if Ygraine’s very existence were a taboo topic. Gaius was the only one who had ever spoken of her, and even he had offered very little by way of information: only enough to quell the anxiety of a motherless child. 

“I know that my mother’s first two pregnancies were difficult for her, and both ended in stillbirth. No one could have expected the third to be easier… or safer. She was always high risk. Magic or no, he knew things could go wrong.” He leaned forward, pressing his fingers to his forehead. “I should never have been born. She would have been alive… This whole war wouldn’t have happened.” Gwaine let out a derisive snort, and Arthur looked sharply up at him. 

“With all due respect, princess, I may be missing some context here, but I do know that’s not true. Can’t be your fault. This war is a hell of a lot bigger than you. If it hadn’t been your father causing a stir or this Hierea woman, someone else would have started it. Your country was a powder keg with that many angry, powerful sorcerers living in it. You were just one match outta a whole box. If it hadn’t been you, it’d have been something or someone else.” Merlin fervently nodded his agreement. 

“None of it is your fault. Your mother’s death was likely an unintended outcome. Your father, whether through choice, guilt, or ignorance, made a drastic move, and Nimueh Hierea took things the next step further. You were caught in the middle of it all.” Arthur leaned his face in his hands and scrubbed at his eyes, swallowing hard. 

“And let me just get this straight,” Gwaine added. “From what you two said, it sounds like you and Merlin just had a run-in with Morgause Fox who just happened to be in the same place as you at the same time, which means someone is keeping track of your movements; nothing suspicious about that. On top of that, she—your father’s most prominent political enemy—has presented you with a bit of evidence that there’s more to your family story than you knew and painted a picture which presents your father in a negative light. Fox is a shady character at best. There’s a whole lot of evidence tying her to recent terror attacks—the cell and internet outages caused by explosions, and that riot we just saw… that wasn’t exactly isolated.” Arthur gritted his teeth hard enough that his jaw ached. “Look, I’m not exactly your father’s biggest fan, but I think you should at least hear the other side of the story. At least you can get both sets of circumstances—maybe it’ll explain some of this.” Gwaine said. 

“Explain what ?” Arthur interrupted. “Whatever my father believes about this whole incident, he’s told the same lies so many times by now he probably thinks they’re true.” 

“You don’t have to speak to him, then,” Merlin relented. There was a slight trace of anxiety in his voice now that set Arthur on edge. Merlin always seemed to find a way out of these tight spots. If he was growing antsy, that couldn’t be a good sign. “But at least talk to Gaius. You can trust him to tell you the truth of this. Until then, you can’t afford to dwell on it. You told me that your father always believed his actions were always in the best interests of the country. Whatever other factors influenced his decisions regarding sorcery, The Pure certainly made it appear a threat to the populace by their actions. Your father is not the only one who feels this way about it.” Arthur managed a tiny, mute nod in reply. In some ways it almost didn’t matter how much of the story was accurate. Parts of it rang true: enough that he could see there was something wrong. From early childhood he’d recognized that Gaius disapproved of Uther’s policies on sorcery, quiet though the older man was about them. That alongside Uther’s silence made Morgause’s tale unnervingly plausible… Everything he knew of magic, from the injured, frightened boy he’d rescued back in London to Brigid Fyr to Iseldir whose magic had saved Leon—a Patronus, one of the men sworn to hunt down and kill him… all of it pointed to a conclusion so very different from what Uther had taught him all his life; that Nimueh had never intended harm to his mother; that Uther had chosen to blame and persecute magic rather than face his guilt over his illicit affair that drove Ygraine away and his desperation to have a living son of her; that magic users were just one more group of complex people—good, bad, and everything in between—whom Uther had hunted and killed in a ruthless genocidal frenzy.

“We need to get moving.” Gwaine interrupted his reverie. “If you don’t want to meet with Uther yet, we can start by talking to your sister. She might help you put some of those pieces together.” Morgana. Did she know she was Uther’s biological daughter? Did he want to saddle her with that knowledge right now? Arthur heaved himself to his feet again and tried to shove his lingering doubts and fears about Morgause’s words to the back of his mind for the moment. It would certainly be better if they got off the street before the lights went out. He didn’t even make it one step. Merlin had come up short. His figure went rigid, and Arthur’s eyes slid downwards, following the sound of crumpling paper. Merlin’s fingers were curling into the documents Morgause had left him. He frowned and tugged the papers out of his friend’s hands. 

“Merlin?” Arthur nudged him with his shoulder, alarmed at how pale he suddenly looked. 

“Did you tell Morgana where to find Uther?” Merlin asked, his voice tight. 

“Of course I did,” Arthur said. “Merlin, what—”

“We need to find your father,” Merlin interrupted, “ Now .” Arthur suppressed a surge of alarm and tried to school his face into an expression of annoyance. He could read the urgency in Merlin’s figure and tone as plain as day, but the man wasn’t making any sense.

“Merlin, we don’t even know if we’re still being followed by Morgause. I’m not going to—” Merlin shook his head in impatient frustration.  

“Arthur, I need you to listen for a moment, and I really need you to trust me on this.” The look on Merlin’s face was enough to tell Arthur that he wasn’t going to like this. His eyes narrowed. 

“I’m listening,” he said, although his voice adopted an edge of defensiveness. Deprived of the papers, Merlin’s hands had taken up their old habit of wringing the ends of his worn scarf which he insisted on wearing, seasons notwithstanding. Even if the man hadn’t looked almost sick with anxiety, Arthur would have recognized the familiar habit. As far back as he could remember, Merlin had tugged on the scarf whenever he was uncomfortable—particularly when he was talking about something he didn’t want to discuss– like damn near every time someone brought up magic in his presence. “Spit it out, Merlin,” Arthur prompted with a frown.

“Everything you just heard from Morgause, Morgana already knows,” Merlin said in a rush. “She’s been in contact with Fox ever since she started her involvement with the amnesty movement.” 

“How…” Arthur stared at him. Morgana… wouldn’t… surely she wouldn’t… “How do you know that?” 

“Because she told me last time we talked!” Merlin said impatiently. “I told you I was worried about her. You didn’t listen.” Arthur opened his mouth, blinked, and shook his head. 

“That doesn’t mean… no… this is ridiculous. She wouldn’t—” 

“How do you think Morgause got the material to run this DNA test?” Merlin asked, jabbing a finger accusingly at the paper Arthur was holding. 

“She could’ve gotten a hair or something without Morgana knowing,” Arthur argued. “My father is at a lot of public events.” Merlin’s eyes widened in evident exasperation. 

“Do you think that Morgause running into you in Cardiff was an accident? Someone tipped her off that you were going to be on that train, and I don’t think it was Gwen. Arthur, I know you don’t want to believe this, but I heard it from Morgana’s own mouth. She told me herself she wanted to be part of Morgause’s movement, and Morgause has been waiting for this chance for years now—ever since she was driven out of the country with a warrant out for her. I don’t know how far Morgana would be willing to go for this, but she has chosen her side. You can’t trust her.” Arthur turned the incriminating top-sheet of paper to look at the lines of neat print across it. Why… why would she have been there in the hospital, then? He couldn’t make himself believe that her concern had been false. Hers was the only voice he remembered from the worst day of pain; her voice, and her fingers laced between his as she squeezed his hand encouragingly, urging him to hold on. Morgana had always been so staunch an advocate for what was right… but surely that wouldn’t mean stabbing him in the back. Why would she betray her own friends—her own family ? 

“I’m not sure if my input is particularly helpful here,” Gwaine started. 

“It’s not,” Arthur said through his teeth. 

“But,” Gwaine continued, entirely unperturbed, “Based on my approximately fifteen minutes of acquaintance with your… sister, I’m rather inclined to agree with Merlin. She was glaring daggers at Merlin when he insisted on going with you instead of her. If that doesn’t tell you something about her intentions, then Merlin’s word ought to.” Arthur exhaled and tried to steady himself, shaking his head half-angrily. 

“She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t betray us,” 

“She already has,” Merlin returned. “If she trusts Morgause enough to tell her your location, she could have told her any other information that you passed on. She used you as a pawn, Arthur. What do you think she might do to your father now she knows where he is?” Arthur let the silence linger heavily between them for a minute. 

“ He’s used us both as pawns long enough,” he said at last in a rough voice. “I don’t want to be part of his war any longer.”

“You don’t want him dead either,” Merlin asserted. Arthur didn’t answer that. He stared down at the paper a moment longer. Morgana, his father… he didn’t want either of them dead. He certainly didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a war between them as he so often had… yet never before with the stakes so high. 

“Morgause came here looking for me. If I stay here, perhaps you can get by to my father with a warning without leading them straight to him.” 

“I’m not leaving you,” Merlin responded without a moment’s hesitation. 

“Merlin—”

“We’ll go together or not at all,” Merlin said stubbornly. Arthur glanced sideways at Gwaine and the American gave him a small, lopsided smile. 

“All the interesting stuff happens when I leave, so I think I’ll stick around this time.” 

“If we’re being followed—”

“We’re not,” Merlin said with an air of utter finality. Arthur gave his companion a long, hard look. 

“How can you possibly know that?” Before Merlin could answer, he clenched his teeth over a sigh. “Don’t tell me. Another funny feeling ?” The wide-eyed look he received in response told Arthur that this conversation was far from over. There had always been something about Merlin—something that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Now, he had an inkling that he was touching on it. Merlin could be observant, but how the man simply knew things—like Morgause’s presence, or when something was off kilter or a threat, Arthur couldn’t guess. But there was something Merlin wasn’t telling him: something that gave his feelings an uncanny accuracy. “Come on,” Arthur turned on his heel, towards the main road. Whatever else Merlin knew that he wasn’t telling, it would have to wait. “We haven’t got much time before the cabs stop running too.” 

“He’s not responding.” Morgana dropped her phone in her lap and smothered a twinge of nervous fear that swelled in her chest. The sun had set hours ago—and Morgause had returned long before then. Still, there was no sign of Arthur’s party–not at Percival’s safe location, nor with Uther. Percival couldn’t have warned them. She’d made sure he and Lance were secured along with Gwen and stowed safely away until they could be questioned. Arthur’s was the last of the groups she hadn’t been able to get a hold of. They weren’t responding to contacts. Merlin had neither picked up her calls nor answered her texts over the last several hours. Their phones had been shut off. Morgana couldn’t bring herself to tell Morgause what Merlin knew about her. Merlin was a wildcard, yes, but she didn’t want to think what Morgause might do to keep him out of the way if she knew Merlin had Morgana’s secret in his hands. She knew Morgause could be brutal. She understood that swift and harsh action was necessary in a war, but… it was Merlin. She could handle him. 

“We’ll find him,” Morgause assured her.

“He should’ve been back by now,” Morgana said. Perhaps he’d gone off to think? But then why were the others radio silence too? 

“He can’t have gone far,” Morgause said. “As soon as this is over you’ll have a chance to speak with him.” She was talking about Arthur. Morgana didn’t correct her. She only nodded and stared down at her text messages for a moment. She didn’t like Merlin’s silence. His expression the day before still hovered in her mind’s eye to haunt her. There had been something sharp and accusing in his eyes, so unlike the way Merlin had looked at her in the past. She didn’t need to wonder why he was keeping her away from Arthur. It stung that he didn’t trust her. But the biggest problem was not Merlin’s suspicion towards her. Rather it was that Arthur trusted Merlin , and for the foreseeable future, that wasn’t changing. If Merlin betrayed her and told Arthur the truth about her—about her magic and what she’d done… No. He wouldn’t, she told herself, shuddering. She would simply have to watch and wait, and surely Merlin would come around too. After all, he’d been the first to extend mercy to the Druid boy. He understood like no one else she’d met in her time in London living under Uther’s roof. Better than anyone until she met Morgause. 

Nonetheless, everything would have been so much easier if Merlin had stayed in Oxford and she’d gone with Arthur. Now, she couldn’t help feeling that Merlin might put not only his own life but Arthur’s also in danger if he made the wrong move. And whatever else she was ready to do, she had never meant to cause him harm. She gripped her phone tightly and stared out at the darkened street.

“Are you ready?” Morgause interrupted her thoughts. The street-lights had gone out a long time ago for curfew, and Morgana could only just make out the older woman’s features in the faint glow of the car’s dashboard. She nodded brusquely before dropping her eyes again. Morgause rested a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about your friend. She doesn’t understand. We won’t hurt her. We just need her out of the way.” Morgana nodded again. Protection… it was for protection. She never wanted to see Gwen or the others hurt after all. Once they had Arthur in line with Morgause’s plans, the others wouldn’t be needed. She’d make sure Gwen was treated gently and released when all this was over. Gwen would forgive her. Gwen had always been kind, and she’d always hated the persecution of magic. She’d understand. 

“Arthur will speak to her once we’ve gotten through to him,” Morgana said quietly. “She’ll come around.” The other two she wasn’t so sure of. Lance was grim faced and stubborn even if he cooperated for Gwen’s safety’s sake. The ex-soldier however, Percival… He was too quiet. She wouldn’t have minded having him out of the way like Leon. Perhaps Arthur could talk to him too… They’ll all understand… soon, she told herself. “Remember, we need to be quick. Once the guards are down, I can only hold the spell for a few minutes,” Morgause reminded her. “You’re sure you’re ready for this?”  Morgana nodded and Morgause squeezed her hand briefly. “Good. Go on,” she prompted gently. Morgana nodded, heart beginning to pound too loudly inside her chest. She opened the car door and stepped out into the night. 

Uther’s location was off the beaten path, surrounded by security and gated in, but almost the moment she set foot on the walk up to it, Morgana was met by two silent, dark clad figures emerging from the shadows to stop her before she was identified. She had called ahead, and the place was alive once she was past the gate and being ushered to the door. 

There were more armed security members inside. The small house felt like a prison as soon as she stepped through the door. She instantly disliked the dim lighting, the quiet, and the dank smell. The only thing she hated more than the stifling silence was the straight-backed young woman who had led her in from the door, footsteps measured as though she were still walking in time to a cadence, her hair bound up in a neat, tight bun and her head held up. Even without a uniform, she had pristine military bearing, as did the silent figures who had stopped her long before she reached the house. They reminded her of every Patronus whom she had seen in London, patrolling the neighborhood: men she had learned to fear and avoid during her last years of Secondary school. It’s only for a few minutes… just a few minutes and all this will be over, she told herself. 

“Continue the aerial patrols. Have Oxford’s air-space checked as well,” Uther’s voice caught her ear from down the hall, brisk and grim. “The creature will show his face again sooner or later. And have the reserves mobilized and sent to London as soon as possible. Make sure Cenred’s rabble doesn’t do any more damage.” He came into view in the doorway, a slim tablet in his hands, a slightly taller, gray haired man at his side, and another of the young civilian-clad soldiers on his left. The moment his eyes lit on Morgana a weight seemed to lift from his braced shoulders. “That will be all.” 

“Yes, sir.” The man took Uther’s device wordlessly from his hands and backed out of the doorway. Morgana’s shoulders relaxed when the young soldier and Uther’s companion both left the room. 

“Morgana! Thank God. I was so worried. I’ve had people out searching for you.” Morgana expected neither the open concern in his face nor the palpable relief so evident in his voice. She felt a heartbeat’s twinge of guilt as she greeted Uther with a hug which he returned with surprising warmth. Morgana buried her face against his shoulder, and she tried to school into an appropriate expression once more. “How did you find me?” he spoke gently as he drew back, hands still resting on her shoulders. “Where’s Arthur? Did he not come with you?” Morgana froze. 

“Arthur,” she echoed. Distantly, she could hear a brief flurry of activity—footsteps and voices in the adjoining room. They would be down soon, she told herself. Morgause’s spell would take effect shortly. But inside her chest, her heart had abruptly stopped its nervous fluttering. The pang of guilt melted away as quickly as it had come. She felt cold. Arthur . How could she have thought that Uther’s relief was for her? Of course, she was like the advance guard for the Golden Child. She was the mistake: the unplanned, illicit child who never should have been; the daughter he was too ashamed to acknowledge. She blinked rapidly, and when she spoke again, her voice was a small, carefully managed tremor. “You… you mean he isn’t here?” Every minute of training, every principle of leadership seemed to desert Uther for a heartbeat. He gripped Morgana’s shoulders, and the color drained from his face. The chill sank deeper into Morgana’s heart. 

“What do you mean?” Uther stared at her. Morgana moved back from him a touch, trying to pull away from his grip and shaking her head. The best lie, Morgause had told her, holds a measure of truth within it. 

“Leon was injured. He… he had to stay in Oxford. He’d told us where to find you. We were taking different routes, and… Arthur was supposed to come first. I thought—” 

“Morgana,” Uther interrupted. Morgana blinked again several times, letting the sting of salty tears prick at her wide, anxious eyes. She reached up to brush them with her sleeve. “Was Arthur alone?” Uther demanded. If only you knew what was going on in your precious son’s head right now. 

“Merlin was with him,” Morgana said, infusing a little tremor into her voice. Uther cursed, and he turned on his heel. 

“Pellias!” he barked. There was no sound. The house was completely silent. Morgana’s heart started to pound again. He strode to the doorway. “Pellias!” His voice rose. Morgana took a hesitant step after him and stopped when he froze feet from the hall. She knew what he would find, and yet her stomach still twisted uncomfortably. Uther backed into the room and seized Morgana by the arm, drawing her back from the doorway, but not before she’d seen the unconscious form of the guard who had left the room not even minutes since, laid flat on the floor of the hallway. 

“Uther.” Morgause stepped over the guard’s prone figure into the room, head held high with that perfect grace that accompanied her innate confidence. “It’s so good to see you again.” Behind her came three others, all sorcerers Morgana had met earlier—Ruadan of the Druids, and Tauren and Alvarr, two of the many sorcerers who had spent their life hiding from Uther’s sentence. Uther’s fingers tightened around Morgana’s arm. The alarms would go off soon. But not soon enough. Morgause’s charm would keep more of the guards from noticing what was happening for at least a few more minutes. By then… Morgause, Morgana, and the sorcerers would be gone, and Uther with them. 

“Morgause,” Uther acknowledged her with a voice steady and cold. “Let Morgana go free and I’ll come quietly.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of forcing Morgana to come along,” Morgause’s eyes gleamed, and her smile changed to one of cold disdain. She extended a hand in welcome to Morgana. “Your daughter will be safe with me.” She didn’t need to offer a second invitation. Morgana pulled free of Uther’s grasp, and with as even step as she could manage she strode across the room to stand at Morgause’s side. 

“Morgana?” Uther’s voice was a mere, hoarse whisper. She turned to face him and found an ashen face staring back at her. 

“Take him outside,” Morgause ordered. Uther’s gaze was locked on Morgana in blank shock. He didn’t make a single attempt to resist. Morgana turned away from him. “Come.” Morgause touched her shoulder gently. “The spell is wearing off.” In the hallway, she heard footsteps and quickly turned her head before she heard the soft ping of a brass bullet, almost inaudible: a signal that the unconscious man would not be getting up again after they left. Her stomach twisted. The spell Morgause used was only to charm them into a catatonic state. She hadn’t said they would be shooting them, but… It’s a war. This is how wars are won… Beyond the guard, she could hear one or two of Morgause’s small band of renegades moving through the house, disposing of other soldiers they found. She moved to follow Morgause, stilling her trembling hands by burying them in her pockets. This violence? It was no more than Uther had done to her kind before. At all events, it was better to be on this side than Uther’s. He would have had her killed if he’d known… 

The alarm outside rose into the sky, a wail that set her hair on end. She looked back at Morgause, and the sorceress’ expression darkened. 

“What happened… Is it–?” 

“My spell is still working. Something is wrong. Go.” Morgause waved her towards the end of the hall. She picked up her pace, weaving through the facility towards the exit. Ruadan went ahead, moving out into the gated area to scan while Alvarr and Tauren flanked the captive prime minister. Morgana took barely one step into the yard when she was pulled backwards against the wall of the house. Something cold pressed against her temple. She let out a stifled cry, and a strong arm wrapped itself around her chest. 

“Hold still, Morgana.” Her breath caught. 

“Arthur?” she gasped. 

“Let my father go and she lives.” How…? Morgana went very still. Behind her, Morgause had frozen as well, as had the two Druids. No… This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Arthur was supposed to take her side. He should have understood! 

“Arthur—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Arthur snarled. 

“Playing the young soldier, are you, Arthur?” Morgause’s lips quirked in a smile. The muzzle of the handgun pressed harder against Morgana’s head. 

“ Now, ” Arthur growled. 

“You won’t shoot her,” Morgause replied. The gun clicked softly, a sound close to Morgana’s ear. 

“Do you want to test that theory?” Morgause hesitated a second. Somewhere nearby, Morgana heard the sound of a scuffle, then gunshots. Either Morgause’s forces had missed some Uther’s soldiers, or somehow he’d had a warning system to call in backup. Either way, they didn’t have time for this.  

“Let him go,” Morgause ordered at last. Arthur pulled Morgana backwards with him as Merlin and Gwaine interposed themselves between Uther and the two Druids who released his arms. 

“Arthur, please—” Morgana protested weakly. “He lied to you… to both of us.” 

“Seems like you took after him that way,” Arthur said tersely. His grip tightened and she fell quiet, shooting Morgause a panicked look as Arthur backed away along the wall. 

“Back and left,” Morgana heard Merlin’s voice behind her. Arthur made a grunt of acknowledgement, then Morgause was out of sight as Arthur turned and steered her towards a back exit along the wall of the facility. The lock seemed to spring open at his touch, and Morgana felt sick as she stepped over a body that she recognized from the features and the tight brown bun–the young woman who had escorted her inside to see Uther. She was lying motionless on the ground, a pool of blood encircling her head. 

Arthur ushered her out through the gate roughly, Merlin and Gwaine moving ahead on either side of Uther.  

“Arthur, this is madness. All four of them have magic. Please–” Morgana started. 

“Get down!” Merlin’s shout cut over her plea. Morgana felt Arthur’s hand fist in the back of her shirt and push her to the ground just before a new series of gunshots went off. The pavement scraped at her arms and face. Arthur’s gun went off deafeningly close to her ear. Flames roared into life in front of them; Morgause’s work without a doubt.  

“Go! Go!” Arthur shouted. Morgana opened one eye and saw Merlin staggering to his feet, hauling an unsteady Uther away from the fire.

“Arthur!” Someone shouted. Morgana struggled to get free of his grip as Arthur scrambled up again. “Arthur! This way!” Morgana caught a glimpse of the man calling to him, tall, silver haired, and lit in the ghastly orange glow of the fire which reflected in his eyes: the same man whom she’d seen with Uther minutes ago inside the house–General Rodor–and behind him were several armed guards, more seeming to materialize out of the night, reassembled and ready. Arthur’s rescue mission had backup. Uther’s soldiers weren’t all down… The spell hadn’t been strong enough. Morgause had underestimated them. She felt a ball of ice settle in her stomach. 

Arthur staggered towards him, hand still gripping Morgana’s shirt tightly as he propelled her forward. Panic flared wild and bright inside Morgana’s chest. 

“Let me go! Let me go! ” Her voice rose in a panicked scream. A second hand grasped her arm and pulled her forward, and Morgana felt the flash of power leave her before she even registered what she was doing. Arthur was flung to the pavement like a ragdoll, and he remained where he fell, limp and still. She tore her arm out of Gwaine’s grasp and backed away, staring in horror. The shouts and gunfire around her faded into silence under the ringing in her ears. She saw Gwaine crouch over her brother, reaching for his shoulder. Merlin was nowhere to be seen, the fire dividing him and Arthur in a blazing line. 

Morgana! Morgause’s telepathic shout snapped her back to reality. Gwaine was hauling Arthur bodily off the ground over his shoulder, and the gray-haired man had come to his aid. Behind him, two or three men were emerging from the shadows, in uniform and equipped with weapons. It was too late. Then Morgause was at her side, her hand on Morgana’s shoulder, and her voice chanting an ancient cadence. 

“No!” Morgana stretched out a hand. “Arthur!” Her eyes were wide in panic. What had she done ? She didn’t get the chance to see if he got up again–if Uther was gone, where Merlin was… General Rodor’s soldiers had leveled their weapons. Morgause’s chant filled her ears, and the fire, the soldiers with their aim on the two sorceresses, and Arthur spun away in a whirl of wind and darkness. 

Chapter Text

Merlin could feel several different signatures of magic in the air about him. It did little good, though. There were too many different threats to distinguish from one another, even how close or how imminent they were, so may live, threatening beings were near and about him, interwoven in with the innate sense of peril that came with the presence of the flames and firearms which riddled the area surrounding the house. 

He couldn’t see where Arthur had gone, or Gwaine, or tell which guns belonged to which side. He struggled forward, clutching Uther’s arm about his neck. They weren’t going to make it very far with Merlin already flagging under the strain of the other man’s almost dead-weight. He cast about frantically for some temporary safe-spot to stop and see to the gravity of Uther’s injury, but he couldn’t stop while they were in plain view of the combatants. For lack of a better refuge, Merlin made it a few yards to the narrow gap between two houses and lowered Uther to the ground as gently as possible. His arms trembled from the effort, but he knelt beside Uther and bundled up his jacket as a makeshift pillow for the man’s head. It might have felt strange at any other time, but his mind was too taxed to process the nuances of the situation. 

“Arthur… wh…where?” Uther rasped, reaching for Merlin’s wrist. Merlin brushed his hands aside. 

“He’s fine,” he answered automatically, reaching for Uther’s bloodied shirt. “I need to take a look,” he said quietly. The tilt of Uther’s head could have been a nod. Merlin wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure Uther was lucid at this point, but he took the minuscule gesture as permission and pulled Uther’s jacket and shirt back. His throat convulsed. Okay… stop the bleeding… Merlin fumbled with his scarf, hands shaking worse than before now, and tried to put pressure where he could see most of the blood and reached for his pocket before realizing he’d left his mobile in his jacket pocket, currently tucked underneath Uther’s head. It might not even be any good now, with the cell towers on the fritz,  damaged by Morgause and Cenred’s attacks. He sucked in a breath and tried to shuffle forward to reach for the edge of the jacket with one hand, keeping pressure with the other. 

The crunch of boots on pavement sent a jolt of fear through Merlin’s chest. He crouched low beside the Prime Minister, eyesight now adjusted to the darkness, and scanned the shadows past the walls of the houses where he waited. 

“Stay here,” he whispered, not that Uther, eyes half closed and incapacitated from shock and blood loss, was likely to move. On impulse, Merlin ducked his head and kept the scarf pressed down with a touch of magic before he got up and crept towards the street. He never reached it. A glaring light came around the stone corner and shone directly in Merlin’s face, blinding his dark-adjusted eyes. He froze like a deer in the headlights.

“Knew you couldn’t have run far, runt.” A voice sneered. Merlin squinted into the light, his heart thundering in his chest. There were three, and he was able to make out more when the shaft of brilliant glare shifted off of his face. One of the men was holding a mage-light, pale yellowish-red, unlike that cast by Merlin’s gentle, blue orb. It lit its surroundings with an eerie fire-like glow. He at least was a sorcerer, but Merlin was sure he would have the advantage of him. No one ever expected magic from Merlin. The last of them was armed with what looked like a semi-automatic rifle, though Merlin knew little enough about guns. A bright lamp light was mounted on the barrel, nearly blinding Merlin with its intensity. The third, in whom Merlin could sense a touch of magic as well, had a torch which lit up the ground behind Merlin where Uther lay. Merlin braced his feet apart. 

“Stay away from him,” he ordered. The torch-bearing sorcerer’s eyes widened, and unsurprisingly a smile spread across his face. 

“I don’t believe you’re in a position to be giving orders. Step aside, boy.” 

“I won’t let you touch him,” Merlin growled. The man’s expression didn’t even change. He jerked his head towards the wall. 

“Step aside. I don’t have to hurt you.” 

Arthur, where are you? Merlin wondered, darting a look over his shoulder at Arthur’s semi-conscious father. Uther’s strength was flagging. Even if he’d dared to move Uther with a wound which looked as bad as his, Merlin doubted he would be able to drag Uther any further. However… the one benefit to the situation was that Uther was too out-of-it to notice what Merlin was about to do. Or at least Merlin hoped he was. Uther aside, he didn’t want to die here in this secluded corner of Cardiff. He certainly didn’t want to end up in Morgause’s hands. 

The first soldier took a threatening step forward. Merlin leveled him with a calculating look and raised his hand. Instantly the rifle was trained on him. His eyes narrowed. Don’t make me do this. 

“I’m not bluffing. Don’t come any nearer.” He could feel his magic coiling powerfully behind the words, a threat almost tangible in the air. The three seemed to sense something too. The man with the rifle shot an anxious glance at his companion with the mage-light, but a scornful smile curled at their leader’s lips. His eyes gleamed a pale russet-gold in the darkness, and a little line of fire sprang up between Merlin and Uther. 

“One against three. Do you really think you’ve got a chance?” he sneered. Merlin spared the fire not even a glance. It wouldn’t reach Uther. Not any time soon at least. He looked the scornful sorcerer in the eye. 

“I warned you,” he said quietly. 

“Shoot him,” ordered the sorcerer. The armed man did not even have time to tighten his finger on the trigger. Merlin turned his head, gritting his teeth, and his eyes flashed. The man’s rifle twisted itself neatly out of his hands and snapped backwards into his face. Merlin didn’t wait for a reaction from the other two. Without so much as a word, all three of them went hurtling back, two against the ground, and beside him, the sorcerer who had held the mage-light collided hard with the stone wall of the house with a sound all too familiar to Merlin. The sickening crunch of bone against the wall made him cringe, and a split second after they struck the wall, the mage light winked out like a flame in the wind. For a split second, the image of Freya’s terrified face danced before Merlin’s eyes, now left in the darkness once more… and he could see Halig’s body lying broken on the ground. Bile rose in Merlin’s throat, but he swallowed it back down. He didn’t have time to be sick. Uther’s eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling with small, weak breaths. He looked far too pale and weak for Merlin to feel relieved. He doused the sorcerer’s magic-created flames with a flick of his hand and stepped across the line seared in the pavement. 

He was defending a man who had killed and killed again with impunity—who had torn his family apart. He wasn’t even sure Balinor would forgive him for this if he knew. The thought crossed his mind briefly as he knelt beside Uther, but he brushed it off. For the moment—just for this moment—he was looking at a human being weak and bleeding on the ground, nothing more. He took Uther’s wrist, feeling for the pulse, weak and erratic. He didn’t know any spells for this kind of injury. The only thing he knew was a simple incantation Balinor had shown him for repairing burned or damaged tissue. This injury reached too deep, but with no other recourse, he closed his eyes and stretched a hand over the wound, searching for some instinctive sense of what to do, as he had often done before in a tight spot. He’d managed to stave off the worst of the bleeding when Gwaine had been cut by a knife… but the briefest look told him this was not the same. Somewhere deep beneath the skin, muscle, and possibly piercing organs, the bullet was lodged, and he didn’t know or dare enough to try to move it back out, nor to try knitting damaged organs back together. Healing magic was complex, and required more knowledge of the body than Merlin possessed. Instinct warned him of what he might do by toying with it. 

A new set of footsteps forced him to shift his attention once again. Merlin smothered the resurging sick-feeling. His scarf was soaked through by now, and his fingers stuck together when he straightened up. Still on his knees, he raised both hands palms-outward, eyes lighting with warning golden-fire, then a new light bathed his surroundings with an electrical glow. 

“Merlin!” Merlin blinked rapidly. The golden light died from his eyes. 

“Gaius,” he breathed. He tried to stagger to his feet as Gaius stepped swiftly forward to steady him, brows drawn together in concern, but Merlin waved him off, shaking his head. “He… Uther—he was shot. He needs help.” An expression of confusion passed over Gaius’ face briefly, then stepped past to kneel at Uther’s side, and Merlin leaned back against the wall, staring in shock at the bodies on the hard ground at his feet. He breathed in a tiny, shallow breath and took a shuffling step back. 

“Merlin? You alright?” Merlin didn’t look up. A man—was it one of the three men he’d just thrown?— was lying face up, eyes open. His body was twisted in an unnatural way, glassy stare fixed on the sky, and someone was shining a light down on them, casting eerie shadows over the dead man’s garrish face. Suddenly the wall that had been supporting Merlin was gone. He had backed up a step, then sank forward onto his knees, reaching for the ground with both hands. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, felt the cold pavement under his palms, and retched. A hand pressed against Merlin’s forehead, supporting his head as he retched again. “Alright… I’ve gotcha.” He felt a steady hand grip his shoulder. His throat was burning as he coughed, spit, and shuddered. “Me too, Merlin. Me too,” Gwaine’s voice said quietly. 

Somewhere far away he heard voices, footsteps, people moving past him. For a while he couldn’t respond or even move from where he was on hands and knees, shaking and trying to quell his roiling stomach. He tried to swallow down the bile and sit up, and Gwaine was quick to hook an arm under his and help him into a sitting position. He lasted only a second before he swayed and his vision blurred.
“Hey.” Gwaine’s hand settled gently over the back of his neck. “C’mere. Head down.” He bodily re-adjusted Merlin and coaxed his head to lean forward between his knees. Merlin took a shaky breath, shuddering. “Take it easy. There’s no hurry.” 

“I’m okay,” Merlin mumbled. He blinked against the moisture that stung his eyes, but sat still a moment later until his head stopped swimming. “Sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Gwaine responded. He helped Merlin to his feet, eyes still narrowed in concern. “Sure you’re alright?” Merlin nodded, and the man wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, guiding him back towards the house. The gunfire had stopped. He could still hear shouting. The wail of emergency sirens was added to the chaos now, too, and he could see a stretcher accompanied by two medics, crossing the street to where Gaius was crouched with Uther. “Come on.” Gwaine patted his shoulder. “Arthur’s already been pitching a fit because you’re missing.” Arthur? Merlin exhaled shakily. God… he’d almost forgotten about Arthur. 

This time, it wasn’t Patroni but the military who were securing a perimeter around the house as still more sirens wailed to life in the distance. He wondered distantly what the sirens were for—if perhaps other locations were likewise under attack. Gwaine brought him just near enough that the lights—relit around the house, illuminated their figures, and they were intercepted by two of the soldiers and escorted from there. The man ostensibly in charge was dressed in civilian clothing, as were one or two of the people Merlin spotted moving around the scene: those lucky few unmarked soldiers whom Morgause’s men had not managed to shoot while unconscious and helpless under the enchantress’ spell. The reminder made another wave of nausea surge in Merlin’s throat. Gaius could have been one of those people. It was pure luck that he had survived this attack. How had they ended up here…? He’d never meant to fight any sort of war. He’d always tried to keep his head down. 

The apparent authority, directing activity on the now locked-down base, was a tall, gray haired individual with a grim face and wary light-blue eyes, which fixed his with surprising quickness on Merlin as Gwaine steered him forward. Merlin had seen Rodor. He’d always steered clear of the man–Uther’s chief of military. He liked him only a little better than he’d liked the chief of the Patroni. 

“You found him. Excellent.” Rodor turned on one of the soldiers standing by him. “Keep these three together. I want as little as possible of this to reach the media. See to it that there’s a security detail with the Prime Minister and his son—”

“Where is Arthur?” Gwaine interrupted. 

“Inside. We’re keeping an eye on him.” Merlin scowled. 

“He’s not a child,” he snapped, though even to his ear it was sharper than he’d intended. Gwaine looked bewildered at his outburst, but the gray haired man responded in a level tone.

“No, but he’s been a bit roughed up. He didn’t look well. We’re waiting for the medical team to make time for him once we’ve handled the critical cases.” What? Merlin’s eyes widened. Half of him wanted to stop and ask Gwaine what had happened, but the door to the building was open, and he needed no further information. He pushed his way past Rodor and Gwaine, heading straight for the house, and his shoulder collided hard with another person who stepped in his way. A hand clamped around his arm and shoved him back. Merlin ground his teeth. A mixture of stress and frustration was mounting inside him, and he had to clamp down carefully on his emotions, recognizing how unstable his magic felt at the moment.  

“Let him go,” the man—officer, authority, whatever he was—instructed. Merlin pulled free the second he was able and rounded the door-frame into the house without looking back to see whether Gwaine or anyone else followed him. 

“Arthur?” Merlin turned the corner and skirted around one of the many uniformed soldiers whose gaze followed him down the hall. He came up short barely a foot from the soldier and for some reason it nettled him to realize what the man was doing. Suddenly keeping an eye on Arthur seemed not just irritating but intrusive. Arthur didn’t seem to notice his assigned guard, however. Merlin approached him slowly, swallowing down the resurging nausea that burned in his throat. The blond turned his head, just enough to show the raw scrape across his cheek. Merlin knelt beside him. No one had moved the body on the floor in the hallway yet, probably because there was nothing more to be done for the young man. He was as still as the three men Merlin had just killed outside. Killed… He’d killed people. Not one. Multiple. He had to close his eyes and take a breath through his nose, reaching out for the wall for a moment to ground himself again. Freya had kept it together enough to get home. He couldn’t fall apart right now either. He couldn’t… Merlin focused his attention on Arthur to keep himself from losing his composure again. “Arthur?” he repeated warily.

“I saw eight of them,” Arthur said roughly. Merlin blinked, and his stomach twisted. 

“Good God, Arthur. Why were you counting?” he breathed. 

“They’re people. People with families, friends, lives… people Morgana killed.” The hair on the back of Merlin’s neck prickled. He shook his head slowly. There was no more uncertainty of Morgana’s alliance now… but this time the conversation between himself and Arthur was not so one-sided. He’d been desperate to convince Arthur and get him to move, but now…

“Not Morgana. The people she came with,” he said cautiously. “She couldn’t have known—”

“It doesn’t matter what she knew. She gave up my father’s location. She made the choice to trust that Fox woman,” Arthur said. “She was with Percival. No one’s heard from Lance and Gwen. She… betrayed us all.” Merlin’s stomach twisted. No… he didn’t have the first idea where they were, and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt hollow, helpless. His feelings seemed to be reflected in Arthur’s voice. He didn’t sound angry. If anything, he sounded utterly devoid of emotion, as though he was talking about someone he scarcely knew. “She has magic.” Arthur turned his gaze abruptly on Merlin, his with an expression as blank as his inflection. “You knew, didn’t you? Did she tell you that too? That's why you were always so goddamn afraid of it?”  

“I… no, she never…” Merlin swallowed. No. He would tell more lies. Arthur had been lied to far too much already. “She didn’t tell me. I knew… sort of. It was just a suspicion from something I overheard her saying to Gaius. I never saw her doing magic.” He shifted to face Arthur more fully, noticing for the first time that Arthur’s jacket was gone, and his sleeve was rolled back from his burned arm and shoulder. How that had happened, he couldn’t guess. But any minute now either the gray haired man or one of his officials might show up, and he felt a sense of guilty urgency. Arthur had been through more than enough for a day, but it would be better that he said this than any of the officials. “Arthur…” He paused and bit his lip. “Your father’s been shot. Gaius is taking him to the nearest hospital to get emergency care, but …” he trailed off. Arthur had leaned forward so Merlin could no longer see his face, head clutched between his hands, fingers curling into his hair. Merlin scrambled back to his feet and crouched in front of his companion. “Hey. Arthur?” He shook Arthur’s shoulder just enough to get his friend’s attention and felt the man shiver under his hand.  

“Why… why would she do this?” His breaths were a little too short and sharp to be regular. Merlin’s grip unconsciously tightened. 

“I don’t know.” I should have warned you sooner… I’m so sorry… “Hey…” Merlin shook him again gently. “You need to relax. You’ll hurt yourself like this.” Arthur let out a ragged breath and Merlin sat down cross-legged in front of him, watching anxiously. He felt utterly useless. He was accustomed to seeing Arthur cope with stress and problems with that stubbornness so innate to the Pendragons—Morgana included. But then, Merlin could hardly blame the man. If this was a nightmare for him , it had to be a living hell for Arthur. “Are you okay? Is your shoulder worse?” he ventured. Arthur shook his head and visibly swallowed. 

“I’m fine,” he rasped in a tone that plainly belied his assertion. He lifted his head, straightened his shoulders, and looked at Merlin, a myriad of emotions battling in his weary eyes. “Is he… how bad is it?” 

“He’s…” Merlin stuffed his left hand into his pocket, suddenly aware of the crusted blood on his fingers. “I can’t really say. Gaius is with him, and he’ll do everything he can.” Arthur tilted his head in a barely discernible nod. The stoic mask was back in place as he rose to his feet. 

“Alright…” He let out a shuddering breath. “I’ll see to it that Rodor puts you up somewhere for tonight, then we’ll find a way to get you home.” What? Merlin stopped, one hand on the floor, poised to get up as well, and tilted his head back to blink at Arthur.

“Trying to get rid of me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Arthur neither recognized nor responded to the gentle teasing lilt in Merlin’s tone. 

“No… but you…” Arthur’s gaze lingered on the body of the young soldier at their feet.

“I’m not going to turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble,” Merlin said. 

“I didn’t say that,” Arthur said. “It’s just… This isn’t your war, Merlin.” Isn’t it? Merlin shuddered involuntarily. It had very nearly been Gaius lying there on the ground. Hell… it could’ve been him or Gwaine or Arthur—maybe all three of them—if they had made it to Uther much sooner. He shook his head. 

“It is. I was born into it. I’ve lived it every day of my life since.” How little Arthur knew of just how true that was. “It’s as much mine as yours,” he responded. “I’m coming with you.” Arthur’s gaze traveled back to Merlin, and he looked back stubbornly for a moment. Then Arthur let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. 

“Merlin, you really are an idiot.” Merlin clambered to his feet as well to stand at Arthur’s side.

“Lucky for you that I am,” he retorted. The gleam of warmth in Arthur’s eyes was gone almost as soon as it came, but he reached out and gripped Merlin’s shoulder as he looked away again, conveying what he couldn’t put into words. For a moment neither of them spoke, nor paid any attention to the voices or the footsteps nearby them as several of the soldiers made their way through the house. Merlin closed his eyes briefly and drew in a breath. He felt deeply unsettled and off-balance although the nausea was at last subsiding. But most importantly, the contact grounded him and calmed his magic which reacted to the turmoil of his mind. He’d come to keep Arthur safe, and whatever happened, that was what he would do. 

“Are you okay?” Arthur’s voice cut through his thoughts. Merlin looked up when Arthur broke the silence. The question surprised him a little. Arthur’s hand had dropped from his shoulder. He hesitated. Okay. He felt like the world was crashing around his ears. He huffed softly. 

“No,” he answered at last. The weakest smile tugged at Arthur’s lips. 

“Me neither,” Arthur agreed in a quiet, weary voice. Merlin took a breath. Okay would be a long time coming. They couldn’t wait for it. 

“Come on. You’re to have an escort to the hospital. And we’ll get you something for the pain.” Some of the tension wound up inside his chest relaxed when Arthur finally turned away from the still body in the hall. The haunted look in Arthur’s eyes mirrored his own feelings too closely. No. Not okay. Functional , perhaps, at best, but whatever Arthur was, it would do for now. The pale emergency lights shone outside the house, and more uniformed soldiers were waiting the moment Arthur left the confines of the house. Merlin silently fell into step with him as they rejoined the quiet guard outside the room, leaving the still bodies inside–the first casualties of the country’s second civil war in one generation. 

Shell-shocked and exhausted, Arthur had barely sat down before drifting unconscious. He was leaning slightly to the side, cheek pressed against the wall. He’d said scarcely a word since they arrived. Neither had Merlin. I’m sorry seemed like a useless thing to say at this point. 

Merlin was cautious as he stretched a hand out over the blond’s shoulder, watching him every second for signs of consciousness. He ducked his head as his eyes flickered from blue to gold, just for a heartbeat. Beneath his fingers, Arthur stirred just a touch, then settled into a deep, dreamless sleep. He withdrew his hand slowly and blew out a shaky breath. Gaius would’ve surely berated him for taking the risk. But with so many things unpredictable and out of his control, this was one he could help, even if Arthur would never know it. Arthur would be woken when news of his father came, and he was already worn thin from everything they’d been through in the last two weeks. 

“Figured you’d be here.” Merlin’s eyes snapped up towards the voice, but he relaxed again when he recognized the telltale accent. Gwaine was behind him. He couldn’t have seen Merlin’s eyes change color. He shrugged. “Apparently we’re not supposed to be here,” the American observed.  

“Who’s going to make me move?” Merlin muttered. Gwaine chuckled. 

“You’ve got more of Arthur’s attitude in you than I thought.” 

“His stubbornness rubs off,” Merlin said. He snagged his scarf from the chair beside him so Gwaine could sit down, and he draped it over his knees. He’d soaked the blood stains out of it recently. It gave no warmth, wet as it was now, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave it. 

“General what’s-his-face left?” Gwaine asked. 

“Rodor,” Merlin supplied. “Gaius got him to leave Arthur alone… for now.” That at least was a blessing. Merlin didn’t like the pressure Rodor had put on Arthur. He wasn’t sure whether to trust the gray-haired man yet. Clearly Rodor wanted something from the younger Pendragon, though Merlin couldn’t tell what yet. He sighed. “Have you talked to Gaius? Did he say anything about Uther?” Gwaine’s expression sobered. 

“Didn’t sound good. Said there was damage to internal organs—stuff they couldn’t repair.” Merlin bit his lip and looked sideways at Arthur again. “Don’t wake him yet. Best let Gaius tell him when he’s certain,” Gwaine said. Merlin tilted his head in a small nod. He wasn’t sure he wanted to break another bit of news like that to Arthur anyways. 

“How’s Arthur? He alright?” Gwaine asked. Merlin gritted his teeth.

“No. He’s going to make himself sick. He took the pain-killers. Nothing else.” 

“Better than nothing. That shoulder’s got to be killing him,” Gwaine observed. Merlin shrugged and nodded absently. “Here.” Gwaine nudged him and Merlin looked over at him. “Probably fell out of your pocket at some point. I found it on the ground.” He held out Merlin’s mobile. Merlin took it. The phone was a bit scratched up, but its screen lit up when he pressed the home button. “The witch called you,” Gwaine added. Merlin shut the screen off. 

“She’s not a witch,” he muttered. 

“Don’t know who else qualifies. She’s got magic, and she caused this mess,” Gwaine said. Merlin didn’t respond to the comment, and thankfully Gwaine left it at that. He put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder before getting to his feet. 

“Tell you what. I’ll bring some food up here. You should eat. Maybe when he wakes, you can coax something into Arthur too.” 

“Are we allowed to have food in here?” Gwaine shrugged and a ghost of his customary grin gleamed in his eyes. 

“Probably not,” he answered brightly and turned to go. Merlin managed a small smile in response. 

“Thanks, Gwaine.” 

He waited until Gwaine was out of sight before looking at the four messages again; Morgana had written several times and called, just as Gwaine had said. He’d ignored them while he, Arthur, and Gwaine were congregating outside the house trying to concoct their panicked scheme to reach Uther. How well that had gone… He deleted them one in a row, setting his jaw as each one came up. Were they alright? Had they arrived yet? Why weren’t they answering? But his finger stopped, poised over the fourth and final message, much longer than the others and, he realized, not from Morgana either. His breath caught as he read it through;

I’ve seen reports of what is happening in London and surrounding areas. Wherever you are, I hope you’re okay. Please message me back if you get this and let me know you and Arthur are safe. Please take care, Merlin. 

His mother. He couldn’t even recall how long it had been since he last rang her. 

Merlin looked down at the message with a mounting feeling of guilt. He couldn’t even tell her what was happening. Merlin read the message several times over and got up quietly, moving far enough away that his voice wouldn’t wake Arthur. He draped his wet scarf around his neck as he paced. 

He heard the ring once, twice, and Merlin stopped to lean his forehead against the cool glass of a window and stare out at the dark, silent street. She was probably asleep. Or perhaps the phone lines were down… or the signals blocked. He wouldn’t get another chance, probably. By the time it was morning and Hunith checked her messages, his phone would be completely out of charge. The thought stung. But he could leave a message. It would be reassuring at least if she could hear his voice—hear that he was alive and well. Later perhaps he could send her an email, but even that he wasn’t sure of.  

“Merlin?” Merlin started.

“Mum?” On the other side of the line there was an intake of breath. 

“Oh, thank God.” It’s 3AM! Merlin feebly tried to recollect his scattered thoughts, entirely unprepared for a live conversation. 

“I’m sorry. I know it’s late. I—” 

“It doesn’t matter. Is everything alright?” Hunith asked brusquely. No… Uther’s dying, one of my closest friends turned on me, I haven’t heard from Gwen, Percival, and Lance. God only knows what’s happened to them. And Leon… Merlin swallowed. What had Morgana done… he could only hope she’d slipped out of Iseldir’s home without alerting the others, and they were safe with the Druid. But something told him that hadn’t happened.

But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say any of it. Rodor would disapprove of him calling at all. 

“Merlin?” she prompted. 

“It’s been… hectic,” he said at last, settling for a somewhat moderated version of the truth.  

“I saw the news reports from London,” Hunith said. “And I couldn’t get a hold of you or Gaius. When I saw there was damage in Oxford too, I thought you and Arthur…” Hunith trailed off. She sounded distressed and tired as well. Merlin worried at the ends of the damp scarf.

“Arthur’s with me. He’s… doing okay.” A bit of an overstatement… He’ll be alright, Merlin told himself, moving hurriedly past that aspect. “Gaius is fine too,” he added. “The apartment in London burned down, but he has another place to stay.” 

“And you?” Hunith asked. “Were you hurt? I heard there was an attack on part of the campus.” The worry edged her voice keenly. Merlin bit his lip. 

“I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.” 

“I’ll always worry about you,” Hunith replied. “You know that.” 

“I know.” Merlin smiled, hoping she would hear reassurance he was trying to infuse in his voice. “There’s been some unrest here, but I’m safe.” Merlin tried to ignore the warning low battery chime in his ear, instead listening intently for sound on the other end of the line, wishing he could see his mother’s face right now. She didn’t seem to be reassured. 

“The news reports said there was a dragon,” she said. “Some of the reports claimed it was sighted in Oxford.” Merlin’s heart skipped. About that… He drew in a breath.

“I’m fine, mum. I promise.” He twisted the wet scarf around his free hand. “Actually, I… met an old friend of yours.” 

“An old friend?” Hunith repeated. 

“He… said he knew you before I was born. He said that you made him quit smoking.” Silence. Merlin waited a moment, trying to hear her breath or some sign of movement from her. He glanced at the battery bar. Two percent left… “Are you still there?” 

“I’m still there.” Hunith’s voice was small. Another pause followed, then, “He knew me from Armagh?”

“Yeah.” Merlin’s voice came out a bit rougher than he’d meant. He cleared his throat nervously. 

“I thought… Oh Merlin.” Her voice broke. He couldn’t read her tone—tell whether she was pleased or anxious or something else. And neither of them could speak plainly: not until they were speaking face-to-face. Heaven only knew when they would have that chance again. 

“Mum—”

“I’m sorry, Merlin. I wanted to tell you. I should have—” 

“It’s fine,” Merlin cut her short. “I understand. He and Gaius explained.” He chewed his lip again as another pause followed. 

“I’m glad you met him.” The relief in her voice was almost palpable. Merlin relaxed. 

“Me too,” he breathed. You’ll see him again. I’ll make sure, he vowed silently. This conflict wouldn’t last long. He’d see Arthur safely through, and he’d find a way to bring his mother out to visit. Balinor would have one last chance to see her. He could do at least that for his father… if nothing else. The soft warning chime sounded in Merlin’s ear. Two percent. “Mum, I’m sorry… I really want to talk, but my mobile’s about to die.” He paused for a beat then pressed on in a hurried, anxious tone. “Listen… you might hear some reports soon—about Oxford and London, and about people that I know.” And I can’t tell you any of what’s really going on right now… Merlin closed his eyes. “Some things are changing. There’s a lot happening right now, and I don’t know how often I’ll be able to call,” if at all… “But whatever you hear—whatever you read, please believe that I’ll be alright.”

“Merlin…” Hunith’s anxiety was clearer than before. She understood that there was so much more he didn’t— couldn’t— say. “If you need anything—money, a ticket home… anything at all—you just give me a call. I’ll find a way to help.”

“I know.” 

“Don’t do anything that would put you… in danger,” she added softly. Keep the magic secret. Merlin didn’t need to hear to understand that. 

“I’m always careful,” he promised, forcing a smile which he was afraid couldn’t manifest itself over the line. He heard another warning chime from his phone and swallowed. “Gaius is here with me too,” he added.
“Of course. Take care of yourselves, all of you–” Merlin couldn’t be sure if she’d meant to say anything else. Three quiet beeps chimed, and the line shut off. The phone screen went blank. Merlin let his hand drop to his side with the dead phone and let his head press against the window a moment longer.

“You be careful too,” he said to the empty hall. He closed his eyes. I love you. Merlin could hear her voice in his head. She never ended a call without saying it. He stayed there for several minutes, staring at the dark street, lit only by the barest glimmer of light from a crescent moon. Hunith had navigated a lively riot-prone Ireland several times before, even when she had Merlin himself in tow, a toddler scarcely old enough to walk. She would be fine… she had to be fine. 

He put the dead mobile in his pocket and with slow, quiet steps returned to the chair in the hospital waiting room, resuming his silent vigil at Arthur’s side. 

Chapter Text

Gwen slept in snatches, half aware, listening for approaching footsteps through the door of her room. There were no locating features. Her window was shuttered. The voices she heard, save one, were unfamiliar. Even time of day was difficult to determine by the tiny crack of light that peered through the shuttered window. The last day and a half–or so she guessed–had crawled by as she paced or lay curled on her side on the bed. Lance had been here before. She wished they hadn’t removed him.

“He’ll be alright. He’s got Merlin with him,” were Lance’s last quiet words before he’d left. They turned over and over in her mind relentlessly: one more inexplicable thing in a chain of disastrous events. Merlin. Somehow, he seemed to be bound up in everything that was happening, even more so than Arthur. He had known something, even back in Iseldir’s home. That something made him draw himself up and straighten his shoulders with confidence. Did Merlin know something the rest of them didn’t? Now she wondered if Lance did too, and how. Why was Merlin so key to this? Why was Lance so sure he’d keep Arthur safe? Did Arthur know too? And why had none of them told her? 

Whatever was happening, Merlin had been the first to insist that he accompany Arthur—not Morgana. For that alone, Gwen reflected, perhaps Lance was right. If nothing else, Merlin had seen warning signs.

It might have been all day, or perhaps only hours, since Lance had been marched out of the room, leaving Gwen alone in semi-darkness. She couldn’t tell how late in the morning it was from the light outlining the window. It felt like the day had stretched out for an eternity already. The silence was smothering, filled only with her thoughts and the living nightmares that plagued her. That Arthur should be the next to appear in the room with her was one of the kinder fears that danced through her mind. Or worse yet… she was afraid to let herself imagine what they might want with him—what they might do if they did find him. Or… if Arthur was the one they really wanted, what they might then do to Gwaine and Merlin or anyone else who tried to protect the younger Pendragon. What they might do to her to get to him… 

Gwen rolled over on the bed the instant she heard the lock clicking and sat up, pulling her knees close against her chest defensively. 

“Gwen?” A head peered around the door. Gwen sucked in a little breath and turned quickly away. Part of her had hoped they might bring Lance back, unlikely as that was. Instead… she couldn’t think of anyone she wanted to see less now. “Gwen, please. I need to talk to you.” Gwen clenched her teeth. 

“Why? I have nothing to tell you that you don’t already know,” she said. As if I would betray Arthur to you, even if I could. There was a soft rustle. The bed creaked under someone else’s weight. Gwen didn’t move. 

“I’m sorry.” Gwen’s fingers curled around the ends of her sleeves.

“For what—keeping me locked up here?”

“Gwen, I had to do this.” Did you? Gwen stared down at her knees. She didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want to hear anything Morgana had to say right now. Her insides were tied in knots of anxiety not knowing what had happened to everyone else. She didn’t know who or what to believe about anymore. “You’re not a political prisoner. Morgause won’t hurt you. I just wanted to keep you safe. I was worried you would run into trouble.”

“I can take care of myself,” Gwen said stiffly, looking down at her feet. 

“Gwen, I know you’re upset, but I need your help. Please.” Morgana’s hand settled on the bed between them. She tensed, wanting to move away. 

“My help with what? You seem to be doing pretty well,” Gwen responded. “You were consorting with Arthur too. Should I be asking why you’re the only one who isn’t locked up? Or why you and that Fox woman were chatting like old friends?” 

“I know what it looks like,” Morgana said slowly, “But—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Gwen interrupted. “I knew something was wrong last month when you were so quiet, even after you came back to see Arthur, but I never thought you would turn your back on all of us like this—ally yourself with a woman who would see Arthur dead .” 

“She wouldn’t,” Morgana answered instantly. “She won’t hurt Arthur, or any of you. I’ll make sure of it.” 

“Don’t pretend this is about keeping any of us safe,” Gwen said. “I saw the news about London. People have been shot in the streets–innocent people.” Morgana went quiet. Gwen studied the thin blanket under her feet intently, trying to blink back the moisture in her eyes. Behind her, Morgana shifted, and she strayed a look back at her. She could see Morgana’s mobile turning over and over in her hands, occasionally stilling as she ran a finger over its screen. She seemed anxious.

“No. It’s about doing the right thing. I thought you would understand. Your father was almost killed for the laws that we’re fighting. Gaius was arrested. Merlin was almost shot. People were being abused, harassed, and even murdered—innocent people who only wanted to live their lives in peace in this country. Something had to change.”

“Morgana, all of us knew that. You, Arthur, Merlin, even Gaius… none of us wanted to see the Druid boy die back in Camelot. You weren’t alone. You could have talked to us! We believe in changing this country, but… not the way Fox wants to. There were other ways to make a stand for your beliefs.” 

“Not in Uther Pendragon’s country.” Morgana shifted again, and from the corner of her eye, Gwen saw her slip the phone into a pocket. “Free speech is a joke in this country, Gwen. Fox was sentenced to death for her association with amnesty rights activists and an accusation—not even proof —that she was related to the riots. People who marched in the protests were arrested, fined, physically assaulted by the officials who call themselves our protectors. The only reason I’m not touched is because it wouldn’t look good for Uther’s precious media image if I was locked up like the rest.” Gwen turned her head, not quite meeting Morgana’s eyes. 

“So you would turn Arthur over into Fox’s hands for that?” she responded quietly. 

“I know you don’t understand.” Morgana’s expression turned gentler, almost contrite. “And I know you don’t agree with me. But there’s something we still have in common. We both want to protect Arthur.” Gwen shook her head. 

“You can’t be on Fox’s side and keep Arthur safe at the same time, Morgana.”

“I can if you’ll help me.” Gwen turned her head towards the little slice of light under the window. Morgana wanted her to talk to him. Perhaps call him and coax him round. What that meant, she couldn’t say. She wanted to believe Morgana had Arthur’s best interests at heart… but right now she couldn’t quite trust anything that her childhood friend told her. Yet right now… the prospect of seeing Arthur—even getting some scrap of news about him or the others—was also tantalizing. 

“Where is he?” The tremor in her voice betrayed her. She instantly wished she hadn’t spoken. She clenched her teeth and huddled in on herself further. Morgana stilled. 

“I don’t know.” Gwen’s heart skipped a beat. She slowly uncurled her arms from round her knees. He got away. Lance had been right, then. Merlin knew how to keep him safe. How else had he gotten away when Morgana had caught up with herself and Lance so easily? “Gwen, there are things Arthur needs to know. About us. About his birth. The reasons Uther started the Purge to begin with were rooted in personal vendettas.” 

“I never thought the Purge was justifiable. Neither did he,” Gwen said. Arthur was safe. That changed the game. Perhaps… then she could play a different tack. Morgana sighed. 

“I know that. We tried to talk to him… He was supposed to come back with me. He would have been safe here.” He would have been another weapon in Fox’s arsenal. Like you. Gwen bit her cheek, fighting to keep a neutral face. “But we can find out. If you talked to him… we could bring him back. I’m sure of it.” 

“Why Arthur? Why not the others?” she asked, stalling helplessly for time. Her eyes flitted from Morgana’s hands to her face, just briefly before she looked away again. 

“You know why. If he can’t be brought around, he’ll become a target.” 

“You mean if he won’t do as she wants, Fox will take him out.” Gwen’s expression darkened a little. 

“That’s not… no.” Morgana’s brow furrowed. 

“Arthur won’t work with Morgause Fox,” Gwen said, lifting her chin with a stubborn but proud set expression. But to her bewilderment, the confusion had cleared from Morgana’s face. Morgana tilted her head slightly, thoughtful, and her hand touched Gwen’s shoulder.

“You love him.” Gwen’s breath caught in her throat. “I’ve seen the way you look at him—the way you both are with each other. I know if you speak to him, he’ll listen. Please, Gwen.” With a racing heart, Gwen looked up to meet Morgana’s eyes—over bright, anxious, desperate. “Please,” Morgana said. “I know you care about him. Help me. I need to know where he is—what’s happened to him. He may already be hurt.” Morgana’s face, pained, frightened even, was a perfect reflection of the week before. “I need to keep him safe.” Gwen closed her eyes for a fleeting second. Her heart was still pounding far too hard, and she silently prayed that Morgana couldn’t tell. The best lies were built on truths, and right now… she needed Morgana to believe she would help. 

“We’ll find him,” she said. Morgana let out a shaky breath, and Gwen closed the distance between them and hugged Morgana tightly.

Morgana’s eyes shone when they drew apart. Gwen bit her cheek again. She was all but certain her free hand was shaking when Morgana squeezed it. 

“Thank you,” Morgana whispered. She stood, releasing Gwen’s hand, and her usual energy and confidence returned in a heartbeat. “It might take some time, but I’ll talk to Morgause. You won’t have to stay here.” She took a step back. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Morgana shut the door softly behind her, and Gwen sat very still on the bed, watching and listening for a long time until Morgana’s footsteps became inaudible. She got up, tested the doorknob, then sat down on the end of the bed, and with bated breath and still trembling hands, took out the slim phone she’d hidden under her leg. She bypassed the fingerprint request and took a breath. One… two… three tries, she unlocked the phone with a passcode override, her heart hammering rapidly. She took a shaky breath. 

The maps application on Morgana’s phone gave her a cursory idea of where she was. She included that information in her short warning message and sent it out quickly, to Merlin, Arthur, Gwaine, Leon... even Uther; every name she could think of in connection to Arthur which Morgana had on her phone. She tucked the phone into a pocket and stood. Still no sound outside the room. Perhaps she would have time… she had to try at least. She knew where she was now; that alone made her feel safer and more confident. She removed the back from her earring and slid her nails into the crack of the shutters and with a careful ear to the activity of the hall outside, she pried the shutters back and began to work at the window-lock with the slim metal pin. 

Leon had often joked about Arthur’s vigilant guardian angel. Arthur would tell anyone he didn’t believe in such a thing. But at the end of the day, he felt it had to be at least a little true. There were moments in his life that otherwise didn’t add up. Leon would know, after all. The very first week that the man had been assigned to Arthur’s protection detail, he had a narrow brush with death. The first attempt on Arthur’s life had happened when he was twelve. Merlin had stopped it. Merlin–the clumsy, awkward, yet fiery boy who argued with Arthur at every chance during their school years. And for that act of courage, he’d been hospitalized, sick and incurable. Arthur, with a boy’s idealized sense of right and wrong, had slipped his leash and set out boldly on a mission to find Brigid Fyr–the woman Gaius claimed had a cure for the cursed knife used against Merlin. He had succeeded more by luck than anything else. Lost in the streets, with the curfew shutting off the lights, he’d found his way home safely with the help of a soft silver-blue orb leading him back to Leon. 

It was one of many stories that had left Leon quietly marveling at Arthur’s luck. It had sparked the only half-joke about Arthur’s guardian angel. Uther, it seemed, had no such guardian. 

Today, no simple child’s solution presented itself. It was many years since right and wrong had been so easily defined as they were to thirteen-year-old Arthur. And it was many years since he’d been able to look with untroubled eyes on his father’s choices regarding the running of the country. Now, each of Uther’s choices and beliefs was colored by a new lighting. 

He has deceived you, just as he deceived your mother. Arthur swallowed. What of Morgause’s words mattered at this point? He wouldn’t get an answer from his father now, even if he had the heart to ask a dying man for the truth. 

Uther might have had towering expectations for his son, but he had always set the straight-backed example with immaculacy himself, never hesitating on an order, nor showing fear or grief in the face of the ever-present media. No man is worth your tears. So he’d always said. 

Perhaps no man was worth Uther’s tears. Arthur had only once seen his stoic composure broken: the day when, for a couple of agonizing hours, Morgana had been held at the hospital while they waited for a prognosis on the head trauma she suffered. It had been the start of many troubles for her and Uther. The injury had deterred her not at all. Against Uther’s instructions, she’d been back out at lively demonstrations in the months following. And now, Arthur had seen his façade flag for the second time–because of Morgana. 

Arthur crossed the hospital room with noiseless steps, trying to ignore the burn in his throat and eyes. The man Merlin and Gwaine had dragged out of the safe-house was a shell of the one who had raised him.  Uther never had a chance to recover before he took a bullet. That was just one more event in the chain-reaction Morgana had wittingly or unwittingly set off. The man Arthur saw now, however, was no more soldier or politician than Arthur was himself. Arthur’s heart was wrung in his chest when he stopped at the bedside. He swallowed over the lump in his throat, and for a fleeting moment he thought about backing away and slipping out of the room.

He reached over the railing, listening to the rhythmic mechanical sound of the oxygen machine in the otherwise oppressive monotony of the room. Up until the moment he set foot in the dimmed room, he’d kept Morgause’s allegations in the back of his mind. Now they slipped out of it before he even had time to wonder. 

The dark shapes of the medical machines were like harbingers of doom, standing about the bed, waiting with pale, blinking eyes of electric green and red. 

“Arthur.” Uther stirred and his eyes opened in a painful, slow process. He lifted his hand and met only with the plastic rail of the bed. “Arthur?” It was like a plea. He seemed lost. Arthur sank into the chair next to him and caught his hand. 

“I’m right here.” He managed over the growing lump in his throat. Uther’s gaze fixed on his face. A pale, drawn smile flitted across his face. It wrung Arthur’s heart and the fingers in his grasp convulsed, making his throat close up. “I…” He paused to swallow and regain control of his voice. “I can go fetch Gaius. He might have something stronger for the pain.” 

“No,” Uther rasped. “I have… little enough time as it is.” Arthur’s breath hitched. 

“That’s not…” Not true… There must be a chance… another treatment we can try; some cure… something. He swallowed. Hadn’t Lance told him he’d made a miraculous recovery? Surely, that could happen for Uther too? “There might be something else they can do. Gaius thinks—”

“It’s my time, Arthur,” Uther said quietly. 

“You can’t die.” Arthur shook his head. He was wrestling with the revelations of the last two days, but for all the anger he’d felt, he didn’t want his father gone. Uther no longer seemed to be listening to him. He turned his head weakly, searching in the shadows past his son’s hunched form. 

“Morgana…” The name alone made Arthur cringe. Did he not remember? 

“She’s not here,” he said. He didn’t know how else to answer. Uther closed his eyes briefly. Arthur raised his free hand to his face and leaned over the bed a moment. 

“I’m sorry… I know I’ve not been a good father… to either of you.”
“Don’t say that.” Arthur shook his head again, and his father’s hand shifted to curl around his fingers with a weakening grasp. He made no answer to his son’s protest. 

“I want you to know…” He stopped, eyes drifting shut again. “I’m proud of you…. and I’ve always loved you.” Anything Arthur might have said in answer was lost. His throat was too tight to let him speak. Arthur leaned forward, clenching his teeth against a choked sob. Uther’s grip on his hand slackened. 

Uther’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was no more than a thin inhale and exhale, to Arthur’s ears seeming quieter with each cycle, accompanied by the soft, rhythmic machine-sounds about them. Arthur bowed his head over the slim bed. His forehead touched the cool skin of his father’s hand, and he closed his burning eyes, letting the hot tears run freely down his face. 

In the agonizing silence of the room, he wept–for Gwen who had not been found, for his missing friends, for the haunted look in Merlin’s eyes, for his sister’s betrayal… and he wept for Uther–for his father, dying before his eyes… and for the father he’d believed in—a man of morals, integrity, and goodness—the image of a father which had been dying slowly, slowly over the past several years. 

It took hours for Uther’s breathing to stop, even longer before the doctors called the time of death. 

The country slept, silent in the deep hours of the night as its prime minister, dictator, and leader of many years breathed his last.

The wail of medical machines brought with it a host of personnel. Arthur hadn’t stayed as they started to take care of the body. It took him some time to find a place to himself. Sequestered in a small nook of a hallway at a small table, he’d sat in a hollow sort of silence, unable to find the energy or desire to move. Full daylight was beginning to slant down through the broad windows of the hallway before anyone found him. Something clinked against the table in front of Arthur, and he raised his eyes enough to see a bedraggled red scarf. He let out a breath, more relieved than he cared to admit. 

Cool plastic nudged at his hands, and he moved them off the table, finding himself now staring down at a tray and tasting the smell of coffee in the air. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, staring at the pale mug and its murky contents.  

“Are you alright?” Merlin asked. Inside the white ring of ceramic, the dark coffee rippled under Arthur’s breath. He shook his head. As if Merlin would believe him if he tried to say he was fine. He wouldn’t have had the surplus to pretend, even had he the will to try. “I’m sorry about Rodor,” Merlin said. “I tried to keep him away.” 

“It’s fine,” Arthur muttered. Rodor would’ve gotten through eventually, so he’d surrendered, numb in both mind and body, and listened to the general’s request, even if he’d given no answer. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Rodor wants me to give a press statement,” Arthur said bluntly. He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know how… he thinks it will help for people to see me or something.” 

“That doesn’t seem strange,” Merlin said. “It’s common for a public figure’s close relatives to give a statement at times like this.” Times like this. That was a remarkably gentle way of putting things. “You don’t have to do it now,” Merlin added. “Not until you’re ready.” 

“He doesn’t just want me because I’m Uther’s son,” Arthur said tersely. Silence. Merlin was waiting for him to finish. Arthur bit down on his tongue for a moment, fighting to get some remnants of control over his frayed emotions. It didn’t work. “He wants me…” He cleared his throat. “He wants me because Morgana is the mouthpiece of Cenred and Fox’s movement… and I’m Morgana’s brother. I suppose that makes me the public antidote to her voice.” Well… it wasn’t as though Merlin hadn’t seen him at his best and his worst in the last three years. He still hated the raw emotion in his voice, but he was far too worn to mask it at the moment. Except for Gwen, there wasn’t anyone else he would have tolerated in his company right now. He scrubbed a hand over his face and took a shaky breath. “He wants to use me… as a media tool for his side of the war,” he finished in a rough voice. He stared at the tray a bit longer before pushing it aside untouched and leaning his forehead against his fingers. 

“He found the papers,” Merlin inferred. Arthur nodded. Across the table, he heard Merlin’s weary sigh. Arthur didn’t doubt it, though he hadn’t seen the papers about his and Morgana’s birth heritage in Rodor’s hands. The man had made it clear enough. “It doesn’t matter, Arthur,” Merlin said quietly. “Fox will make it public anyways as soon as she gets the chance.” 

“As soon as she finds out my dad is dead,” Arthur said flatly. There was a pause. 

“Maybe he’s right. Morgana was a powerful speaker for the amnesty movement. She’ll be more influential still, now that she has no more restraints on her. Any politician could make an effective show against Fox, but Morgana is the moral and emotional impetus behind their media pitch,” Merlin reasoned. “You probably are the only effective media tool they can use to oppose her.” The statement left a bitter taste in Arthur’s mouth. He gritted his teeth. 

“Makes a nice show for the cameras,” he growled. “A sibling catfight played out for the whole world to see. Everyone loves a good reality TV drama.” Merlin shifted, drawing his hands back from the table, pulling uncomfortably in on himself.

“I didn’t mean… God… Arthur, I’m—” 

“Don’t.” Arthur cut him off, scowling down at his hands. “If one more person says ‘I’m sorry’ I’ll bloody well throw myself out the window.” Merlin went quiet, and Arthur dropped his head again, feeling a bone-deep exhaustion drag at his body. “I don’t understand.” His throat convulsed. He pressed his fingers to his temples. “She turned her back on me. On all of us. She turned my father over to his worst enemies—told that woman where I was… I trusted her…” He shook his head. “I’ve known her all my life. Why would she do this? What did I do?” He heard Merlin’s breath across from him, heard him shift, but he didn’t answer. Arthur slid forward over the table and buried his face in his arms. The cool edge of the tray pressed against the top of his head.

“It’s not your fault, Arthur,” Merlin said finally. “None of this is your fault. Morgana has always been impulsive. She was afraid, and she’s been misguided by Fox.” 

“She had friends , family. She could’ve talked to me… or… you or Guinevere… Gaius. Someone she knew. Why didn’t she think we would have helped her—that we wouldn’t care?”  

“She has magic, Arthur.” Merlin’s voice acquired a peculiar edge. “She didn’t know what to expect from anyone.” Arthur couldn’t answer that accusation. He closed his eyes. 

“It’s not just Morgana,” he said quietly. Merlin waited, and the silence stretched out for a moment as he swallowed down the painful lump in his throat enough that he could speak again. “My father has lied to me my entire life. I don’t… know where that even leaves me.” Quiet again. Arthur took another slow, deep breath. 

“You’re right here,” Merlin said firmly. “With me and Gaius. And you’ll take whatever time you need to work through this.” He pressed his forehead against his wrist, unable to answer for another long moment. He ached for a space of his own–his room back in Oxford, or before in London, or even a damn hotel room–to go back to the way things were, before finals week, before the dragon, before he’d fallen ill. 

“I don’t want to do it.” He murmured, his voice muffled by his sleeve. “I don’t want to fight Morgana. Not in the eyes of the media, not in person… I just don’t.” 

“No one can make you do it either. If that’s your answer, Rodor will have to accept it,” Merlin said firmly. But what did it mean if he said no…? Was he handing the media battle over to Cenred and Morgause on a silver platter? Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose then straightened his shoulders and lifted his head from his hands, feeling as though the effort cost him far more than it ever should. 

“What should I do, Merlin?” For once, he couldn’t bring himself to care about the raw vulnerability that was showing through his usual reserve. 

Merlin took his time in answering, settling his folded hands on the table again. He shook his head. 

“It’s not a decision I can make for you.” Arthur nodded mutely and pressed his palms against his eyes. They felt raw and scratchy. He didn’t want to let the tears burn at them again, but his throat was so tight, he almost couldn’t breathe. “But this isn’t a black-and-white issue, Arthur,” Merlin continued. He stopped pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, and some of the tightness in his chest eased as he looked up wearily. “It hasn’t even been a week since Morgana sat at your bedside when you were sick in the ICU,” Merlin said. “She was clearly as upset as the rest of us. I don’t believe that was a lie. Whatever is going on with her, she still cares about you. I’m not saying I know anything for certain, but… she’s lost. She may not want any of this. She’s just angry and afraid.” Arthur exhaled heavily. It was hard, not to say impossible, to square Morgana’s recent actions with the girl he’d known through their upbringing in London. 

“She’ll hate me,” he said bitterly, “If I start squaring off against her in the public media. Just like she hated my father.” Those words too seemed wrong, but he couldn’t see it any other way. He wondered how many other blatant truths he had carefully ignored about Morgana and the other people around him—from his father and Morgana, even to Merlin who seemed to know dozens of things it didn’t make any sense for him to know. 

“You don’t have to.” Merlin leaned forward intently, and Arthur glanced up at him. “You’re right. Rodor needs you. He’s a general—a soldier and strategist—but he isn’t a media figurehead the way your father was.” Arthur nodded. His throat was beginning to hurt again, and he pressed his palms over his eyes, trying to ignore the salt-sting. “For Rodor—for the media—you’re so much more than Morgana’s brother. You’ve been on the radar of the amnesty movement ever since someone leaked information on your involvement with Brigid Fyr back in London. This statement? It doesn’t have to be a declaration of war with Morgana. This could be a chance to extend a hand… reach out to her.” Arthur steadied himself cautiously before speaking again.

“You think I should angle for the parties favoring amnesty?” he asked, propping his head on a hand and squinting at Merlin. The man lifted his shoulders. 

“I’m not saying you should do anything. I just mean that you could reach a broad audience. It won’t be just your father’s followers waiting for your statement. You don’t really speak out much. There’s a lot of curiosity about you and where you stand.  There are extremists on both sides of this issue. Morgana has sided with Morgause, a known terrorist force. People are afraid of her. Those who side with her are simply more afraid of the other side. You can defuse a lot of the hostility coming from people who would side with Morgause by showing she’s not the only person who welcomes a change. Morgana wants amnesty for sorcerers. It’s possible to open the door to those possibilities without driving people to supporting a volatile and dangerous force like Morgause Fox. You could offer the alternative–the more peaceful option.”

“Or I could make everything worse,” Arthur responded tersely. Merlin shook his head again.

“You won’t. I trust you. You’re cautious, and you take counsel. But more than that, you know how to see the best in people, as you did with Mordred and with Iseldir. People will see that in you. Morgana will too. She already knows it. Perhaps she just needs to be reminded of it. You can still reach her.” Arthur shook his head. 

“ Morgana never listens, least of all to me—never mind the entire rest of the bloody country… Merlin, it won't work.” 

“We don’t know,” Merlin responded resolutely, “Until we try.” Merlin’s palms were flat against the table, but he was quiet now, watching, waiting, and Arthur caught a glimpse of the man he’d seen days ago in Iseldir’s home. But even as he looked up, he knew that this wasn’t new. The Merlin who had spoken calmly and confidently to Iseldir was the same one who had stood up to Arthur in their childhood, the one who challenged Arthur’s views, pushed and argued and encouraged him to see more, clearer, better. That mettle had always been there, and at this moment, it wasn’t a show. It was true faith. Merlin’s hands were resting on the table, not fidgeting restlessly or twisting in the ends of his scarf as they so often did when something made him uncomfortable. He had confidence. And that more than anything baffled Arthur. 

“And if I choose not to do this?” he asked, meeting his friend’s steady gaze. 

“If you want to stay out of the media scene, that’s your right. It’s your decision. Don’t let Rodor pressure you. Whatever you choose, I’ll have your back.” Arthur exhaled softly and nodded. For a minute, the only sound was that of footsteps down the hallway from them. Sooner or later this moment of peace and respite would end, the eye of the storm would pass, and he would have to make a decision, even in the face of the nightmare he was living through. 

The tray slid back across the table and bumped against Arthur’s elbow. He looked up.

“No reason you should make the decision on an empty stomach,” Merlin said. Arthur studied the man with a slight frown, noting for the first time the circles under his eyes, his dirty, tousled hair and rumpled clothing. 

“Have you been here all night?” he asked. 

“I didn’t want you to feel that you were alone.” The tension leaked from Arthur’s shoulders, and he took a breath through a throat no longer closing up. His fingers finally curled over the edge of the tray and pulled it closer. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Arthur said quietly. Merlin’s eyes narrowed in a subtle ghost of a smile. Nothing more needed to be said. Perhaps, Arthur reflected, the prescience and keen observation he had noted on occasion was not so out of keeping with Merlin. It never had been. Undoubtedly, there was something more to his friend than met the eye. But then, there always had been.  

“Your coffee’s getting cold,” Merlin pointed out, smiling a little. Arthur picked up the mug and looked at it again. 

“I don’t like cream in my coffee.” 

“Well excuse me for forgetting your coffee preferences, your highness.” Merlin’s eyebrow rose, and a smile tugged at Arthur’s lips. He flicked a crumb across the table at Merlin. 

"Point taken. Thanks." Nothing was okay, but the little huff of laughter from Merlin made the smallest bit of tension in his chest uncoil as he answered. 

“You’re welcome, prat.”  

Chapter Text

“I know what I saw.” There was an edge to Tauren’s tone. Morgause looked up from the digital map to study the man, bruised and bandaged, one arm cradled against his chest with a sling. 

“A sorcerer, protecting Uther,” she said slowly, disbelieving. Tauren’s jaw was set in a grim scowl. 

“His eyes turned. I saw the gold color before he threw me.” 

“And he took out all three of you at once.” She braced her hands on the table, eyes narrowed. “This is how you explain letting Uther slip through your fingers–you and two other men. And you can give me no description of the sorcerer who attacked you?” 

“He was younger, a smaller man than Uther. We couldn’t see him so well at night. I know it wasn’t Pendragon himself who attacked us,” he said stiffly. 

“I should hope you weren’t bested by a man twice your age,” Morgause responded, looking down at the tabletop screen again. She could sense his annoyance as he shifted his weight onto the other foot across from her. “Notify me when the other two are ready to corroborate your story.” There were several casualties from the attack, but only two dead of her own party–both by bullet wounds. It was indeed more difficult to explain the three men, two concussed, one with multiple broken bones, who had hunted down Uther as she whisked Morgana away from the scene. “That will be all, Tauren.”  She looked up as the door opened, and Tauren turned, leaving with a step that was sharp and agitated. She didn’t like his story either. It didn’t add up. 

“Anna.”  Morgause looked up at the newcomer, and her expression darkened a little. 

“I don’t go by that name anymore.” 

“No, but it still belongs to you.” The second woman smiled at her as she gently shut the door behind her, closing Tauren out of the conversation. 

“I hope this is worth my time, Nimueh,” she said coolly. 

“Patience, Anna. It will be.” The elder sorceress tilted her head towards the door where Tauren had just left. “You would like some answers to Tauren’s mystery, no?” 

“Tauren is making excuses.” Morgause gave her a long look. “They must have made some mistake. No sorcerers are working with Uther. You of all people should know this. We know what Uther does to the sorcerers who were closest to him.” Nimueh raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps. But Tauren does not have the full story.”

“What do you mean?”  Morgause’s eyes narrowed.

“I have been watching for far longer than him. I don’t believe this sorcerer has any loyalty to Uther. However, his son….” Nimueh smiled. “Arthur Pendragon has been under the protection of a sorcerer for years now. 

“You think Arthur would ally himself with a sorcerer?” She asked skeptically. Nimueh laughed. 

“Knowingly? Doubtful. No… this one works from the shadows.” 

“You’re certain of this?” Morgause frowned at her.  

“I’ve seen him myself.” Nimueh rested a hand on the edge of the table and reached across to draw up an image on the screen. “Arthur still came to his father’s rescue, hm?” She looked across at Morgause with a small smile. 

“So it seems.” 

“I know your sister wanted to believe Arthur could be turned.” Nimueh leaned over the screen to search and pull up an image, rotating it for Morgause to see. “But he can’t. What’s left is to remove him from the equation, and we cannot do that… until we neutralize his protection.” Morgana frowned, then looked up with an expression of mild disbelief. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Absolutely.” Nimueh smiled as she rested her palm down on the table beside the photograph. “And I believe you have just the tool in your arsenal to help me prove it.” Morgause’s expression hardened a little. 

“Morgana let the young lady slip through our fingers,” she said tersely. Nimueh shook her head. 

“It doesn’t matter. Another will do. All we need is a pair of eyes on the inside.” 

“Rise and shine!” Merlin ignored Arthur’s dramatic groan of protest. The blond rolled over when Merlin flicked the lights on. 

“Go ‘way,” he mumbled. Merlin sighed and reached for a corner of his friend’s blanket as he passed the cot. 

“You’ll be late.” 

“Don’t care,” Arthur responded. Merlin caught a brief glimpse of the dark shadows under his eyes before the blond had pulled a pillow over his face. Squashing a twinge of guilt, Merlin deftly tore the blanket off of his friend and tossed it onto his own cot on the opposite side of the room.

“ Merlin! ” 

“Out of bed,” Merlin ordered and pulled the blinds up. “You’ve spent plenty of time sulking in here.” 

“I am not sulking ,” Arthur growled. “I’m tired.” 

“You should be in a good mood. Thought you were happy over the news about Gwen.” Arthur shrugged as he scrubbed a hand over his face. 

“It’s been over a week, ” Arthur muttered, squinting at him from behind his fingers. “Elyan never showed up with her. She should’ve been here by now.” 

“They’re waiting for a safe window,” Merlin said, lifting his shoulders. “She’ll be here soon. Important thing is that she’s safe.” The news that Gwen had escaped has come as a surprise to all of them. Elyan had reached out to Rodor, as Gwen had been listed under missing persons. Arthur had been somehow even more antsy following that. 

“Tired….” Arthur groaned and pulled a pillow back over his face. “Just lemme sleep a little longer.”  Merlin sighed. 

“If you’re still feeling unwell, you can go talk to Gaius. Otherwise, you can get your lazy arse out of bed,” he answered. Arthur’s cot creaked, and he sat up and glowered at Merlin against the pale morning light. It was an improvement, Merlin concluded. Better, at least, than the jaded look of despondency Arthur had worn when they first arrived on the base in the unmarked, windowless van with no word about Gwen. There was still nothing on Lance and Percival. They were hardly out of the woods yet. 

“It’s Saturday,” Arthur muttered, dragging a hand over his face.

“Take it up with Rodor. He’s given you a new schedule. You’ll be up at five next week.” Arthur’s groan was muffled by the shirt Merlin dumped over his head. It returned promptly in a wad to collide with the back of Merlin’s head. 

“I can fetch my own clothes.” Merlin’s eyes narrowed and he looked back at Arthur who was getting up, rolling his shoulders with a grimace. The burns had healed, leaving a little fading discoloration, and he had bounced back from the beatings he’d taken in their misadventures of the previous month. The mental scars were taking longer to heal. 

“Well, that fact isn’t exactly in evidence right now,” Merlin pointed out. “I don’t have to wake you up at all, you colossal clot. The least you can do is accept the help without griping like a spoiled child.” 

“Colossal clot ?” Arthur’s eyebrows rose in mild disbelief. “At least your insults are getting more… creative.” Merlin scowled and sent the shirt back again with a little more force. 

“Get dressed. You’ve got fifteen minutes till breakfast is over.” 

“Fine. I’m getting up,” Arthur grumbled.

“Should’ve started with breakfast. That always gets you moving,” Merlin observed, turning his back to search through his own closet. He grunted when Arthur’s pillow hit him in the back but chose to ignore it. His old, dog-eared magic book was where he’d left it, closed and tucked beneath the new, clumsy looking boots Rodor issued him. He never liked going anywhere without it, despite knowing that no one but him could read the hidden writing within.

“You coming?” Arthur asked, shuffling as he tried to pull his last boot on. Merlin straightened up.

“Not today. Gaius needs my help with something. I’ll catch up with you later.” A brief moment of silence followed, and Merlin nudged his closet door shut with an impatient sigh. Arthur was lingering in the doorway with a quizzical look. He seemed… almost lost.  

“Can’t Gaius find someone else?” he asked. 

“Why? Will you miss me?” Merlin quipped. 

“Why would I miss you?” Arthur scoffed. “I’m stuck in the barracks with you all the time.” Merlin shrugged.

“I’m sure Gwaine will go with you.” 

“I doubt our new American ambassador has time for insignificant things like marksmanship,” Arthur muttered. Merlin rolled his eyes. 

“Gwaine’s hardly an ambassador. I’m not sure if you missed the part about him being sent here to stay out of sight of the American media,” he pointed out dryly. 

“He might have mentioned that he was related at least.” Merlin turned around and snagged Arthur’s coat off a hook. Gwaine hadn’t been too happy about the background check Rodor ran on him, and less happy still that he was now a highly prized member of the general’s media campaign, but… he’d taken to it with aplomb, as Gwaine did all things once he adjusted to them.

“He’s staying here because of you, Arthur,” Merlin pointed out. “And from the looks of it, he came here to get away from those family members, so there’s a good chance he wasn’t keen to discuss that,” he said bluntly, stuffing the jacket into Arthur’s hands. He’d been pretty damn salty about Gwaine’s secret history. It didn’t make Merlin feel any better about how Arthur would respond to his own rather more serious secrets.

“He’s in the middle of a war, and he’s the president’s grandson,” Arthur argued. “I think that’s worth a mention.” Merlin sighed and prompted him towards the door. 

“He doesn’t have to tell you anything, Arthur. Come on. You should get going or you’ll miss breakfast.” Arthur still looked stubbornly displeased. He frowned at Merlin a moment longer before turning towards the door. 

“Don’t be late for training,” Arthur reminded him. Merlin flashed him a grin.

“Am I ever?” He caught the huff of annoyance before Arthur left the room still shrugging his jacket on and shut the light off behind him. “Seriously?” he called after Arthur. Merlin turned the light switch back up from where he sat on the bed with a little half-subconscious touch of magic then sat on the end of his bunk. 

Arthur’s statement had been recorded some weeks ago. Shortly after it, General Rodor had moved Merlin, Arthur, and Gwaine to a different complex under heavy protection. It reminded Merlin of the heavily guarded citadel Uther had called a neighborhood, where Arthur had grown up alongside Merlin, Morgana, and Gwen years ago. This, like many other installations, was a byproduct of Uther’s increased military and police presence during the Purge. It reminded Merlin uncomfortably of those years in his teenagehood, where Gaius carefully taught him to handle his abilities while they lived on a delicate knife’s edge. Merlin had never realized just how much that neighborhood resembled a military base… until now. He’d been so used to the heavy security details. 

With his eyes closed, Merlin breathed a spell under his breath and traced a path in his mind, through the gates and into the neighborhood, aware of the keen vigilance about him. There were few people outside the buildings, little space as there was between them since the installation was camouflaged amidst other offices and businesses. This wasn’t his first time planning a route and sneaking off the base. He’d done it before, but it still made him restless. The first time, Merlin had caused a disturbance slipping out through the gates and waited hours before things settled down and he dared to risk re-entrance. Now, he found it fairly easy to use a touch of persuasive magic to redirect the gate-guards’ attention so he could get out. But he still didn’t like it. The easier he found it, the more he worried if another sorcerer might learn how to do that as well. 

“Merlin.” Merlin’s eyes snapped open and the golden tinge faded quickly away. He scrambled to his feet, silently cursing himself for forgetting to close the door behind Arthur before he checked the path. A familiar face was peering past the doorframe. 

“Leon!” he snapped his book shut as he stood. The man held up a hand. 

“No need to get up,” he said. Merlin sank onto the bed again. It had been a scant few days since Leon had made his reappearance, insisting on his reinstatement as Arthur’s bodyguard. He still bore the marks of the burns: some rough, reddened skin on his neck and the left side of his face near his ear and up to his hairline where the singed ginger hair was just beginning to grow thick again. The scars Leon bore were reminders of how lucky Arthur–indeed, both of them–had been. Leon still moved his left shoulder and arm a little more stiffly and cautiously than the other. Merlin tucked the old spellbook into his backpack and set it on the bed behind him. 

“Arthur left a minute ago,” he told the Patronus. “Are you back on duty?” 

“As of today.” Leon’s expression was anything but pleased. It was one Merlin had come to associate from his years in college with times when he and Arthur had done something particularly stupid. 

“Is something wrong? Arthur’s gone to breakfast. I’m sure you’ll catch up with him easily.” Leon pursed his lips. 

“I know where to find Arthur. I came looking for you, Merlin.” Merlin groaned.
“Don’t tell me Rodor thinks I need a bodyguard too.”  

“No.” The way Leon shifted and clasped his hands behind his back spoke of tension and discomfort. Merlin felt it too. He wrapped his fingers around the strap of his pack. He’d meant to be gone by now, already on his way to the meeting point. 

“Is your side bothering you? I can get more of that ointment Gaius ordered,” he offered. Leon was frowning. He shifted his left shoulder self-consciously and shook his head. 

“I’m fine.” He folded his arms over his chest. “I have the impression that you’ve been trying to avoid me.” Merlin blinked, and his heart sank as realization dawned on him. “Merlin, I need to know what happened back in Oxford.” Oh hell… 

“I don’t think I know much more than you,” Merlin said slowly. He’d seen very little of Leon since the Patronus was moved back to Arthur’s location. It seemed like an eternity ago since Kilgharrah’s attack, and he’d been hoping, as he cautiously skirted around any area Leon was in, that the man didn’t remember enough to be suspicious.

“And yet Arthur and I are both still alive. That tells me something,” Leon replied quietly. Merlin chewed his lip and risked a look up at the Patronus. He certainly had a different way of demanding answers than Arthur’s blunt and brash persistence, but Merlin was no more comfortable with the situation than he had been with Arthur’s iron grip on his arm. 

“Arthur wasn’t that badly hurt.” 

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Leon responded. He didn’t need to clarify. Merlin squirmed under the scrutiny. His palm felt slick against the strap of his backpack. 

“I don’t know what happened,” he blurted. “The dragon just left. Arthur was conscious, and I brought the two of you back to the nearest safe place I knew.” 

“That would have been Arthur’s flat.” He might as well have said you’re lying . Merlin could hear it in the tone of his voice. Merlin got up again, casting about desperately for some excuse: anything to get him out of the room. 

“I needed help. Called someone I knew. I should really—”

“Merlin.” His tone stopped Merlin in his tracks. He was still standing close enough to the door that Merlin felt trapped. “I should have died that day,” Leon said bluntly. Merlin blinked. 

“No. You couldn’t have been—”

“I felt it. You know it too.” Leon’s tone grew a touch brusque and Merlin fell silent. “I’m only asking, because a lot of it doesn’t make sense. I may not remember much, but I saw the arch come down. Arthur was under it. You were the only one left in the open to see what happened, and you’re also the only one who came out of this without any burns. If anyone would know how we came out of that situation alive and safe, it would have to be you.” Merlin started shaking his head again. 

“Arthur must’ve moved out of the way. He was alright when I got to him.” Leon didn’t look like he believed that—as well he might. He didn’t press the point. His response was blunt. 

“I wasn’t.” Somehow, Merlin couldn’t argue with that. Arthur had been less than alright if he was honest, but Leon… Leon had been in bad shape. “So you don’t know,” Leon said. His disbelief was obvious. Merlin shook his head. “Nobody heals from the kind of burns I got in a matter of weeks.” Merlin could feel Leon’s gaze on him, pinning him in place. He’d never been a good liar, and this hit too close to home. “Iseldir Leod. He’s the one who helped you, isn’t he?”

“Professor Leod?” Merlin echoed faintly, staring at him. “I… no, he…”  

“You don’t trust me. I can understand that,” Leon said. He stepped back, and Merlin looked at the open path to the doorway, still frozen in place. He looked back at Leon and the man’s lips twitched in the faintest semblance of a smile. “You don’t have to look so spooked, Merlin. I’m not going to say anything to Rodor or the city police. I wouldn’t turn on a man who saved my life—probably yours and Arthur’s as well. I don’t want either of you in trouble.” Without meaning to, Merlin let out a breath. “Whatever was done, it worked. But I’d love to know why Arthur’s tracking data places him in Dartmoor some hours prior to our encounter and why no one has seen the dragon since that night.” Merlin swallowed. Arthur knew… and damn, he wished the blond was here now, because he didn’t know what to tell Leon. 

“I’m sorry. I….” he fidgeted. Leon shook his head slightly. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. Silence fell between them, and Leon took a breath. “Merlin, I’m not trying to interrogate you. I spent some weeks thinking about what happened, and I can’t make sense of it. I thought I was a dead man, and now I’m here, on my feet, and neither of you can explain why.” Leon looked earnest, and it left a twinge of guilt in Merlin’s chest. It was more than understandable Leon might feel lost. He’d had a near death experience, and a mysterious second chance… but he didn’t dare explain. Leon moved back a step, leaving the door wide open again. “Would you do me a favor?” he asked. Merlin bit his lip, frowning back at the man. “If you know who saved my life… thank that person for me, please.” It’d be a bit of a team effort, Merlin supposed. He pursed his lips, then nodded.  

“I’ll do what I can,” he said weakly. 

“Maybe,” Leon said, “One of these days you and Arthur will see fit to tell me.” He couldn’t tell whether the look on Leon’s face was more of accusation or simple curiosity. He wrapped his fingers tight around the strap of his backpack and wished not for the first time that he wasn’t such an utterly terrible liar.

“Maybe,” he said, and he stepped past Leon and headed straight down the hall without waiting for any further response. Leon might well know more than he was letting on, but all he could focus on now was that the Patronus wouldn’t take it any further. He would have to talk to Arthur later.

With Leon’s attention so suddenly focused on him, Merlin didn’t like leaving the base for such a long stretch of time. But after the trouble he’d gone to arranging it, Merlin didn’t have much of a choice. It was now or never. He could only hope that Arthur was busy enough to stay out of the clinic for the day. He didn’t need Arthur and Gaius crossing paths and unraveling his tale. Gaius would not approve of his disappearance either, and certainly not his visiting this part of town. 

The streets were quiet. People went about their days subdued right now, aware of the silent war under the surface of the country’s struggle to operate as usual. No one was comfortable with it, and even those Merlin crossed paths with were quiet and didn’t speak to him. Merlin crouched under the tumbledown door frame of an old building—one of many in the city which had not been repaired after the destruction wreaked in Uther’s first war. It reminded him ironically of Christ Church courtyard where he and Arthur had tried to end this whole mess, started by the dragon’s attack. Inside, he trailed a hand over the stone wall, circling the space as he traced runes on the stones, letting his magic wind around the walls and openings in the damaged building, a similar distraction charm to keep any stray passers by from noticing the building or its meeting occupants. 

“Emrys.” Merlin’s heart leapt into his throat. He dropped his hand and spun about. Behind him, the silvery-sheen of protective shimmer charm rippled and retracted to reveal his visitor. The tip of a long, scaly tail swept back from Merlin’s boots. 

“Kilgharrah,” he acknowledged. His heart was already hammering a half-panicked rhythm in his chest. When last he’d heard Kilgharrah use that name, it had been with a heavy dose of scorn and anger. He tensed when the creature shifted his great, clawed front feet. He was forced to take a step back closer to the wall. In a sweeping gesture, the dragon bowed his head, his slitted eyes narrowing to a golden crack. Merlin stared. “There’s no need to call me that,” he said slowly. 

“There is every need.” Kilgharrah lifted his eyes to regard him. “I misjudged you, Emrys. I should not have assumed that you would do harm to Balinor. The betrayal was on my part—not yours.” Merlin caught himself, quick to dispel the expression of surprise. 

“You should never have tried to hurt Arthur,” Merlin said with a trace more confidence than he felt. The dragon dipped his head lower still. 

“I was blinded by my anger. Forgive me.” Merlin watched him a moment longer, silent and uneasy. It would be some time before he felt entirely comfortable requesting help from Kilgharrah again. 

The dragon’s attack had been the catalyst for Cenred and Fox’s movement and indirectly Uther’s death. As much of a monster as Uther had been, his death had left the country in turmoil. Supply chains were disrupted along with trade routes, international relations delicate at best, travel advisories across the globe advising against England. But on top of all those dominoes toppling from the attack… Kilgharrah was also a reminder that much of this disaster stemmed from Merlin’s own mistakes. 

“What’s done is done,” Merlin allowed with some terse reluctance. Balinor would not have sent the dragon if he didn’t trust him. “Arthur is alright, but I need your help now.”  

“I am at your service.” Kilgharrah bowed his head again, and Merlin pressed on, ignoring the strangeness of the situation. He wished fervently that Balinor were there standing in his place. It felt uncomfortable commanding any kind of power over the centuries-old dragon. 

“I need to know more about the sorcerers working with Morgana—Morgause and the one who attacked Arthur.” Kilgharrah’s eyes narrowed.  

“The other sorceress working with Morgause? Her name is Nimueh. She once lived among the Druids, when she was younger. She is the last surviving member of The Pure, and one of the most brutal. Her efforts did a great deal to create the stigma against magic. She killed many people.” He curled his lip. “She and Uther were made for each other–bloodthirsty brutes. It was only fitting that they should turn on each other in time.” 

“They were as destructive as Uther?” Merlin asked slowly. Few people spoke about the thirty archons of The Pure and their brutal reign.” 

“Easily,” Kilgharrah responded with a huff. “The Pure believed in the importance of magical bloodlines. They killed anyone who had mingled their line with non-magical folk–attacked their own. Many here in England did not even know they had sorcerers in their family. The killings were senseless.” He shook his head. “You yourself would have been a target, Emrys. Your mother has no magic in her line.” Merlin raised an eyebrow. 

“And the Pendragons… they stood against this?” 

“No.” Kilgharrah’s low growl made Merlin shudder. “Uther himself was in no danger under the reign of the Pure. He had ties with sorcerers much of his life. It was rumored his bloodline descended from unbonded dragonlords.” 

“Arthur… could carry dragonlord blood?” Merlin drew the sentence out slowly, disbelieving. Uther’s hypocrisy ran deep, but the dragon had some hidden depths Merlin hadn’t anticipated either. Kilgharrah’s low, rumbling laugh made him feel cold. There was so much the dragon hadn’t told him. He disliked it more and more by the day. 

“Indeed. Uther’s family had long had a friendship with Nimueh’s. He was silent during the reign of The Pure, up until Ygraine’s death. She and the other archons of The Pure killed thousands before Uther stopped them.” 

“He let them kill until it suited him to step in,” Merlin said.  

“Uther was no idealist. He wanted power.” The dragon scoffed. “He stopped them for personal reasons. He was hailed as a hero for ending their tyranny–even by some magic users. Then he  started his own murderous spree.” He sneered. “The world is better without such a monster.” Merlin pursed his lips and looked down for a moment. Nimueh and Uther’s reigns had been wrong in their own eerily similar ways. Now, Uther was dead, Nimueh was seeking power, and Morgause was at her side. Merlin took a breath. 

“Nimueh wants to kill Arthur,” he said. The dragon snorted softly. 

“If that is what you wanted to tell me, you might have spared me the trouble of a journey.”

“Yes, well forgive me if that’s not a joke to me. She’s tried several times now, and very nearly succeeded,” Merlin said testily. “It was Nimueh who cursed Arthur before, when I first came to you for help. I saw her again in Oxford. She’s looking for another chance.” He couldn’t help the sinking feeling of dread that settled over him like a winter chill. The two of them together… 

“Nimueh has had few allies among the magic community, Emrys,” Kilgharrah interrupted calmly. “If she is working with Morgause, it will not be openly. Morgause has had strong support from other sorcerers. A known affiliation with Nimueh would be trouble for her. There are many who remember the slaughter of mixed-blood sorcerers the Pure perpetrated. They would not have such a rule back.” Merlin turned and began to pace in the small space left to him opposite the dragon. He wasn’t sure that was entirely comforting. 

“What about Morgause then? What do you know of her? Morgana said she had magic.” 

“That she is. For a time she was Nimueh’s protégée—a very gifted young sorceress by the name of Anna Cornwall.” The dragon curled his lip. “She could hardly have fostered a successful political career if she had a history of association with a member of The Pure. She’s done a very effective job of changing her identity, but I recognize her.” 

“Cornwall…” Merlin stared at the dragon. “She… she died in Uther’s Purge.” 

“In name only. Morgause Fox was born in her place. She had to shake her connection to The Pure in order to gain traction with the Druids.” Kilgharrah bared his teeth in an expression resembling a mirthless grin. “She would not have thrown away her careful disguise by fostering indiscreet connections. You can be certain she avoided any contact with Nimueh while building her political career.” Cornwall. Anna Cornwall… His eyes widened.

“So she’s…”
“Morgana Pendragon’s half sister. The daughter of Vivienne Cornwall.” The dragon blinked slowly at him, seeming almost amused, which set Merlin on edge. Merlin shuddered. Morgana must have known that… and that she hadn’t told him. It was no wonder she’d fostered a bond with the politician so quickly. 

“Morgause spoke to Arthur. She told us ” 

“Did she?” Kilgharrah’s voice held a lilt, this time clear amusement but also interest. “So the Pendragon understands his father’s lies now?” 

“You knew?” Merlin looked up, eyes lighting with anger. “You knew about Arthur’s birth, and you didn’t tell me?” 

“You were never greatly inclined to believe my tales, young one. What would you have done with the knowledge—told Arthur? He would not have believed you without the evidence before him.” Merlin clenched his jaw. 

“It was important for me to know.” 

“And now you do. Morgause’s origins are of little consequence now.” Merlin closed his eyes and slowly uncurled his fists. He didn’t have time to argue with the dragon right now. 

“Do you know where she and Cenred are now?” he asked. Where Morgana is … 

“I have had little time to examine London,” Kilgharrah replied. “I’ve been in Dartmoor near Balinor. But from what the Druids tell me, the Fox woman and General Cenred are here within the city, as your General Rodor is. They have garnered support inside London and continue to undercut systems of communication and transportation. Most of their contacts are unknown as of yet.” His tail flicked across the dusty ground. “You wanted my help, Emrys.” 

“I do,” Merlin said heavily. He was beginning to wish more with each moment that he hadn’t come. 

“Arthur understands what is at stake.” Merlin nodded quietly. It was becoming increasingly clear, especially given her ties to Nimueh, that Morgause was merely the second iteration of the Pure, in a carefully disguised form. “Then you and Arthur must ensure that Morgause Fox and Morgana do not secure the alliance of the Druids.” 

“How?” Merlin’s head came up. 

“Arthur trusts Balinor and the Druids, does he not?” The question gave Merlin pause.

“Maybe.” Arthur seemed no more comfortable with the dragon lord than Merlin was now with Kilgharrah. 

“I believe you’ll find them willing to negotiate with the two of you.” 

“I…” Merlin shook his head. “I can’t. Perhaps they would speak with me as… as Emrys. But Arthur doesn’t know that I…” He swallowed. 

“That you have magic.” The dragon bared his teeth. “That the Druids believe in you?” 

“I don’t think he’s ready.” 

“The world cannot wait for Arthur to be ready ,” Kilgharrah growled. 

“There’s no way. Arthur wouldn’t seek out an alliance with them. Never mind how we’d convince Rodor to make such an agreement.” Kilgharrah tilted his head. 

“If you do not try, then your cause is already lost. It was the Druids who prevented the vengeful sorcerers from destroying this country before Uther took control. You need to speak with Arthur.” Merlin looked away. He couldn’t even imagine bringing the subject up with Arthur.  

“Right now, I just need to know what Morgause and Cenred are doing,” he said. The dragon blinked slowly at him, and Merlin had a distinct feeling that he was displeased.

“I will find them,” Kilgharrah promised at last.  

“I won’t be able to meet with you again. People will notice if I keep disappearing.” 

“You should be able to hear me, as long as I am nearby.” Merlin nodded. He’d known that since his very first days in London. 

“Be careful,” he added. “I don’t want you to get yourself hurt... and I don’t want anyone knowing you’ve been there—not Morgause, and not Rodor either. Certainly not Arthur.” The dragon’s tail switched in a motion reminiscent of an annoyed cat. 

“They will never see me, Emrys.” 

“I’m not Emrys,” Merlin said instantly. To his surprise, the dragon’s response was a low, rumbling laugh. His golden eyes turned on Merlin again. 

“You seem in two minds about that, young one. That is not what you told me when you stood guard over the fallen Pendragon.” Merlin set his jaw. He’d been bluffing. But the dragon tilted his head to peer back at him “You are far more powerful than you realize. You are certainly Emrys. The Druids say it, as have you.” 

“I’m not protecting Arthur because I’m some prophesied Druid savior. He’s my friend.” 

“As you say.” The dragon dipped his head, almost condescending in his expression. Merlin turned his back again. All the Druids called him that—even Brigid. Yet prophecies and the like never meant anything to him. He would likely be the last to inherit the dragon lord powers after Balinor. Perhaps it was that and nothing more which made the druids call him by the prophecy name. Or perhaps the young, feverish Mordred had been confused when Merlin appeared to save him, and they had taken the boy’s word for it. Merlin let his hand brush the stones again, subconsciously testing his protection around the building. 

“There is something else you would ask,” Kilgharrah said after a pause. Merlin stopped pacing and buried his hands in his pockets again. The dragon’s perception was a trace unsettling. He took a breath.

“Balinor,” he said. “Iseldir told me he’s very sick.” The reminder seemed to weigh on Kilgharrah’s broad shoulders as well. He half-closed his eyes and lowered his great head. 

“You know he does not have long,” he said quietly. Merlin nodded. He looked down at his shoes. 

“I need to ask a favor of you.” 

“Anything, Emrys.” The continued use of his prophecy name did not escape Merlin. He exhaled again and let it go for the moment. 

“Ask Iseldir to contact Hunith Astur in Armagh, Ireland. If she’s hesitant to come, tell her there’s someone who wants to see her here—someone I met last month, when the rebellion started. She’ll understand.” The dragon’s great wings rustled in the hollow church as he lifted his head, his grim expression softening.  

“I have known Balinor ever since he was a child, Merlin. I am well aware of who Hunith is to him. What I did not know was your connection to them.” Perhaps that was the key. Merlin raised an eyebrow. Kilgharrah was playing nicer, because Merlin would need to offer protection to him after Balinor died. The dragon spread his wings cautiously in the cramped space and bowed his head in deference to the warlock. “I will do as you ask.” A gust of air ruffled Merlin’s hair and tugged at his jacket. Merlin took a step back. “We will meet again, young warlock,” Kilgharrah said. With those words, the dragon launched himself into the air through the gaping hole in the roof, and his body rippled and vanished into the air just before he emerged into the sunlight.

“Gwaine said you were looking for me?” Merlin peered around the door of his uncle’s current office. Gaius looked up, frowning at Merlin over the rims of his reading glasses.

“Where have you been?” Merlin shrugged his backpack off and dropped it by the door with a heavy thud, careful to keep an unconcerned expression.

“I was with Arthur.” 

“That’s funny.” Gaius’s eyebrow arched. “Because Arthur told me you were ‘helping me with something’ today.” Merlin smothered a sigh. Damn it, Arthur

“I just… I went for a walk.”

“All morning?” Gaius raised an eyebrow. His message was clear. The game is up, Merlin. “There was a time when you thought twice before lying to me,” he said icily. Merlin shifted.

“There was something I had to do. No one saw me come or go. It’s fine—”

“That’s not an answer,” Gaius cut in. “You were off the premises again, weren’t you?” 

“Maybe.” The word was quiet enough that it was almost indiscernible. Gaius’ frown deepened. 

“Arthur was looking for you. You were supposed to be at the range an hour ago.” Merlin looked sideways at the clock on the wall.

“I missed target practice?” His face lit up in a grin. “Great!” 

“There is nothing great about it. You know as well as I do why you have to attend.” 

“I don’t need it!” 

“Would you care to explain why you don’t need it to Arthur?” Gaius demanded. Merlin’s grin faded. He buried his hands in his pockets and stared down at his shoes. “I don’t have many excuses left for these disappearances of yours,” Gaius said. “Merlin, this is hardly the safest place for Arthur to be. If you attract attention—if the right person sees you, Arthur could be in danger.” 

“No one is going to see me. I’m careful!” 

“Really? Because Arthur isn’t the only one who’s noticed your absences,” Gaius retorted. “You are no more invisible than the rest of us when you leave these grounds.”

“No one’s going to notice a stranger on the streets,” Merlin insisted stubbornly. “And I don’t really think Arthur cares. Who else even knows I exist here on the base—Gwaine?” 

“I think Rodor is well aware of your presence. You’ve certainly been stubborn about going wherever Arthur does,” Gaius pointed out. “Merlin, you can’t just disappear on a military base.” The warlock lifted his shoulders.

“No one here really cares what happens to me. You know they only offered me some training because Leon recommended they let me stay with Arthur.” 

“Because you wouldn’t leave,” Gaius reminded him sternly. “I know, you want to stay near to help Arthur, and that is commendable, but you aren’t helping him if you’re getting yourself into trouble. You’ve been lucky this far. Don’t test it.” His eyebrows drew down. “Am I supposed to be grateful that you weren’t gone for an entire day like the last time?” 

“Gaius, I needed my book. I left it in Oxford.” 

“You needed to stay safe.” 

“I was fine!” Merlin threw up his hands. “I know you’re trying to protect me, but I can take care of myself now. I’m not the frightened teenager who first stumbled into your neighborhood.” 

“No. You’re a reckless young man who has developed the ridiculous idea that he’s invincible. Perhaps it would be better for you if you were still afraid, ” Gaius responded. Merlin set his jaw. Behind Gaius, he saw a car pull up—probably one of Rodor’s many adjutants. He hadn’t gotten the hang of identifying ranks, but the dark skinned young man had a single chevron on his sleeve, so certainly a lower ranking individual. Uniforms… they were one of the daily reminders to Merlin of just how much he didn’t belong here. He hated the military-issue clothing and stringent restrictions—including the way his mobile had been stripped off of him and analyzed.

“I won’t do it again,” he said finally, resigned to Gaius’ insistence. He snagged his backpack again. Through the window, the young soldier who had arrived was no longer alone. There were now three or four others who had stopped to talk to him, and Merlin thought he spotted Leon’s distinctive figure among them.  “I’m going to go find Arthur, maybe catch up on that training,” he said. 

“You certainly are not.” Merlin froze when he heard the soft thump of a paper-stack on the desk behind him. 

“No. No, Gaius, I need to know what’s going on. Rodor’s discussing contact with the Norwegian embassy—” 

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you left me to make excuses for you,” Gaius answered curtly. “I told Arthur I had too much work and couldn’t spare you for today.” Gaius scooped up the stack and thrust it into Merlin’s arms. “So I suggest you make yourself look busy.” Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but he was cut short by the arrival of a breathless Arthur who stopped in the doorway.

“Gaius, we’re—” He broke off and his eyes fixed on Merlin still standing in front of the desk with an armful of files. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I—” Arthur seized him by the shoulders, breaking into the first genuine smile Merlin had seen on his face in days.
“Merlin, they’re here. They’ve been found!” 

“What? Who?” Merlin stared at him, held in place by his friend’s almost painfully tight grip with the files still clasped against his chest. Arthur shook him. 

“Gwen is here–and the others, Lance, and Percival. They’re safe!” 

Chapter Text

Arthur’s clothing was neat and immaculately clean, his collar turned down and golden hair neatly brushed back. Every inch the politician, Morgana thought, watching with a downturned mouth. The room was falling quiet as he made his way to the cluster of microphones. There was nothing in his hands—no papers or cards. The stand before him was empty. But Arthur put a hand on the podium, bowing his head, and for a moment the room was silent save for the soft click of cameras about him. 

“This week, my father Uther Pendragon’s temporary headquarters were attacked by an insurgent faction seeking to overthrow the current government.” Arthur’s voice and expression were stoic and even, but Morgana could read the body language she’d grown so familiar with over the years: the stiff set of his shoulders and slight upward tilt of his chin. She dug her fingers into her arms. “Despite the best effort of the medical staff, my father passed away yesterday morning at 4AM from injuries sustained in the attack.” He blinked and paused. His throat convulsed as he turned his eyes down on the stand before him, looking at the mics. “My father was a strong leader, a brilliant soldier and strategist, and dedicated above all else to the well-being of this country. He spent his life serving the country he loved and gave his life believing that he was protecting her. His death leaves the country in turmoil, at the brink of a new Civil war, and deeply divided, as it has been since years before I was born.” 

Morgause’s fingers touched the top of the screen, tilting it slightly. Her expression was grim as she frowned at Morgana. 

“He’s playing for sympathy,” Morgause said. “Morgana, you’ve seen this before.”

“It’s not that part.” Morgana’s eyes were still fixed on the clip. “Please, just… play it through.” She pursed her lips as Morgause sighed softly and let the clip play further.   

“My father did as he felt was best to lead the country safely through these troubles,” Arthur continued, “But like any impactful leader, he left us with the fallout of his mistakes. His choices caused pain and suffering for countless inhabitants of the country. For Uther Pendragon, as for everyone who has gone before us, there is no greater service we can render to his memory than to build upon his successes.” Arthur paused, and there was no sound for a moment but the rustle of the press cluster around him. “But more importantly, to learn from his failures and be better through them. It is for this reason that I believe we must confront the grievances he caused and the problems he leaves in the wake of his time in office. It is time that we consider the mistakes made at the close of the Civil war, and it is well past time to hand the power back to the people–to hold free and fair elections once more, as we did before the war. ” Morgana paused the video.  

“He talks about retracting the war powers,” she said. “He’s suggesting that we initiate peace talks. That’s not something Uther would have said.” She turned her head to look at her half-sister. It was an old video—a news clip released shortly after the reports of Uther’s death. But it was the only public appearance Arthur had made so far.

“So I’ve heard.” Morgause’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps, he is more a businessman than his father.” Morgause’s voice bore a trace of scorn. “Morgana, you were too young to remember much of the Purge. People spoke fine words like his before—words of forgiveness or hope for us. It never came to anything.'' Morgana's eyes lingered on the video. 

“We’re not talking about Uther,” she said, brow furrowed “This is Arthur. I know him. We grew up together. He’s… he was never a good liar.”  He had to mean these words, didn’t he? The look in his eyes, the set of his shoulders were all familiar: signs of an Arthur she’d known from childhood. He looked grieved, troubled, but ever determined to do what he felt was right, even as he struggled to pinpoint what that was.  She felt her sister’s hand on her arm. 

“I know,” Morgause said softly, “That you want to believe the best of him, but do you really think that he would welcome magic—welcome you back? Especially after what he knows and what he saw you do?” Morgana bowed her head. It was her fault. Her fault that Uther was dead; her fault that Arthur stood now in the limelight of the press with a grim face, speaking words of comfort to his country. And try as she might, she couldn’t feel victorious seeing Uther’s downfall. It seemed an empty victory for the price she had paid. 

“No,” she said at last. “Of course not.” 

“I’m sorry,” Morgause said. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Morgana promised her, closing the laptop. “I know where my loyalties lie.”

“You’ll be ready when the reports come in?” Morgana nodded again. 

“I will.” 

“Good.” Morgause’s hand slid up to her shoulder and rested there a moment before she straightened and turned away. 

The laptop’s screen lit again as soon as Morgause was out of sight. She’d seen this clip at least a dozen times before, as if seeing Arthur’s face might prove to her that he was still alive and safe somewhere, although the clip had been filmed weeks ago. 

“The damage done to London and surrounding areas took many lives and left others injured, homeless, without a job or livelihood, some without power, water, or lines of communication.” Arthur continued. His posture shifted, and for the first time since starting to speak, his gaze leveled on the camera, as if he were speaking directly to her. “As a country already suffering an economic recession from the many conflicts of the last century, we cannot afford to stand at odds with one another any longer. Today, I mourn not only my father’s loss but all that has been lost in the last several decades: the countless lives lost, homes and hopes destroyed, the voices that were silenced, and the future that could have been. Tomorrow, we have the chance to rebuild. I would ask that you all consider the last generations and what we lost in the struggles they brought. My father came to power in a moment when the country was reeling from a violent and terrible rule, and he chose to turn the tables, bringing that same violence down on those he blamed for his own recent pain and that of others. Today, we have the opportunity to make our own choice as the power passes into different hands. I would ask that you choose a future where we resist prejudice and bloodshed. There are no differences so great that they justify such violence, suffering, and destruction. We have suffered long enough from division, conflict, and wars. We need a unified people and a common goal: to support and protect those whom the last decades have hit the hardest, and to move forward with a country safer, stronger, and better for all of us.” No one spoke as Arthur stepped down from the stand. The camera angle followed him, stone-faced and stiff backed. General Rodor, Uther’s old right hand man was waiting for him at the bottom, but beside him in the last five seconds of the video, Morgana saw a head of dark hair and familiar blue eyes. Arthur was developing a media presence now, and this had been just the start, but Merlin always seemed to be there, somewhere in the crowd, close by Arthur’s side. 

A thousand things had gone wrong the day Morgause set her initial plan in motion, and there was one common factor in all of them. The one person Arthur seemed to trust above all others. If not for Merlin, she could have spoken to Arthur. He would have been with them. He would have seen sense. She took a breath and set her jaw. She would reach Arthur, but Merlin had been a barrier too many times. Perhaps Morgause was right. It was time he was removed from the picture. 

“They’re here? All three of them? Where?” Merlin stumbled into the hall after Arthur, abandoning the paperwork. Gaius followed on their heels. 

“All three,” Gwaine answered brightly, falling in step with them in the hall “Or such is the word from on high. C’mon, princess. There’s someone here you’ll want to see.” 

“What… Where were they found? I thought Gwen didn’t know what happened to them—” 

“Elyan?” Gaius cut in. Past Arthur’s shoulder the young soldier Merlin had spotted earlier looked up, and beside him, Merlin’s breath caught when Gwen turned around and froze lips parted as if in mid-sentence. 

“ Arthur !” Gwen’s voice was at once a sob and a laugh. Arthur barely had time to move before she had crossed the space between them and flung her arms around his neck, and Arthur caught her and wrapped his arms tightly around her. For a moment neither one spoke, and Arthur buried his face in the crook of her neck and held her tight in a fierce hug. Gwen lifted her head from Arthur’s shoulder and caught sight of Merlin beside him, and she drew back, smiling as Arthur brushed back a couple of stray curls of hair about her face. “Merlin.” She firmly extricated herself from Arthur’s embrace to pull Merlin into a hug as well. “You’re both here! I was so worried…” Gwen let him go blinking rapidly and let out a tiny, shaky laugh when she spotted Gaius standing next to Elyan. 

“So were we,” he said and wrapped her in a hug as well, smiling warmly. Arthur’s fingers brushed the line of her jaw, and he leaned forward to peer at her face, persistently anxious and entirely unaware of Elyan’s scrutinizing gaze.

“You’re alright? You weren’t hurt?” he asked. She shook her head. 

“I’m fine.” Gwen caught his hand with hers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come any sooner. I wasn’t able to get any news on your whereabouts. All I saw was your press conference.” Arthur let out a heavy breath.

“Wish you’d been there for that.” 

“Me too.” She slipped a hand into his and squeezed firmly. Behind them van doors were shut as two more figures were shepherded into the open, and Gwaine stepped around the preoccupied couple.  

“Lance!” Gwaine was frowning. “What happened to you?” 

“We haven’t been free as long as Gwen,” Percival answered as he stretched out his good hand to shake Gwaine’s. “Glad to see you’re alright.” 

“Likewise. How long did they have you?” he asked with a frown. Gaius had stepped away from Elyan to approach them as well, reaching out to examine Percival’s arm. Merlin swallowed. He hadn’t gotten much of a look at Lance save to note plain tension in his shoulders and the pallor of his face. Percival he could see more clearly, his jaw bruised and one arm cradled in what looked like a makeshift sling. They’d been less fortunate than Gwen, clearly. What had happened to them? 

“Until three days ago,” Percival answered. “I hear Gwen here got herself free.” Merlin turned his attention to her again. 

“Morgana had me apart from them. She was trying to talk me into interceding with Arthur. I picked a lock and got out through a window. Found my way back to Elyan’s.” 

“Alone… without any money?” Arthur’s eyes widened. 

“Arthur, I was fine ,” Gwen insisted gently. To her left, Elyan laughed. 

“She’s made of tough stuff. Walked twenty miles alone to get out of the area before she called my base from a courtesy phone at some god-forsaken rest area by the interstate.” 

“Elyan!” Gwen’s voice was reproachful as Arthur’s expression grew more concerned. “It was fine. Everything was fine. I was only held for a day before I got out, and I got to London safely.” A line formed between her eyes. “I heard about what happened in Cardiff. Are you alright?” Arthur’s lips thinned and he dropped his gaze for a moment. Morgause had played her card, releasing all the information on Arthur’s birth after his press conference.

“I’ll be alright,” he promised. 

“You’re sure?” she said quietly. Arthur’s free hand wrapped around her waist and he leaned forward so his face was close to hers.

“I am now.”  Merlin huffed softly at them, but his attention was still drawn to the other two.  He should’ve been pleased. Gwen looked well. Percival, a couple steps to the right, was laughing at something Gwaine had said as Gaius started to usher him towards a clinic room to check his arm, cradled in a makeshift sling. 

Something else was itching at the back of Merlin’s thoughts, and as he caught a glimpse of Lance moving back, away from the crowd, a feeling of wrongness flooded his senses like he’d only felt a few times before. 

“Merlin?” Gwen’s voice interrupted his reverie.

“I’ll… be right back,” he said hoarsely and brushed past Gwaine, heading for the hallway where Gaius, Lance, and the young officer were going.

Around the corner and out of the increasing press of people inside the clinic waiting room, Merlin drew in a deep breath. He could see the light in the room Gaius had retreated to and hear his uncle’s voice. He ignored it, letting his troubled mind probe for the problem he was sensing. Many things had felt off-kilter in the last several weeks, but the feeling of imbalance hadn’t hit him so hard since Arthur was sick. This time it wasn’t Arthur… not so far as he could tell. And this time it felt more intimate. It wasn’t another sorcerer. He knew what that felt like… or at least what it usually felt like. He’d recognized Freya’s magic if a little belatedly. He’d felt Iseldir’s and later Morgause’s magic when she confronted them. This feeling of wrongness reminded him more of the day he’d woken in Freya’s flat, before he found out Arthur was sick—or still before that the sharp, keen warning in the air when Freya’s magic had lashed out and defended her from Halig. 

Merlin leaned his head back against the wall and almost subconsciously searched for the mental presence he had sought out that morning. Nothing. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. Kilgharrah was long gone, flying back to Oxford to speak with Iseldir… as he’d asked the dragon to do. Once again, he felt utterly out of his depth and silently cursed himself and his damned feelings. What was the point of a warning if he didn’t know what it was for? 

He didn’t know how long he stood in the hallway with his back to the wall, listening to the rise and fall of voices in the main room: Arthur, Gwen, Elyan, Percival, several unfamiliar voices, Leon, Gwaine, then Rodor—he must have arrived at some point…. He was talking to Gwen—or Percival. Maybe both. Surely… But the door down the hall clicked, and he opened his eyes. 

“Lance!” He caught the slight start and the way Lance tensed. “You okay?” The look Lance turned on him made Merlin feel sick from deep in the pit of his stomach. 

“I’ve… been better.” The smile was utterly hollow. Lance’s eyes slid down and away from Merlin’s face, but for a split second Merlin saw a shadowed look in them—almost haunted, and the warlock felt like the breath was being squeezed out of his lungs. It didn’t look like they’d escaped. Merlin took a cautious step towards him. Gaius was speaking in a low voice to the young officer. 

“Percival looked a bit roughed up.” Lance tucked his arms across his chest. 

“He’s alright. Dislocated shoulder. It’ll heal. If you’ll excuse me—” Merlin shifted to place himself in front of Lance. 

“Seriously… are you okay? Did they hurt you?” 

“They kept me locked up. Let me and Percival go when we had no useful information. We’re fine.” Lance’s voice was curt. Merlin frowned. 

“You really don’t seem okay. If you need rest or something for anxiety, maybe I can—” 

“I’m fine. Let it go, Merlin.” Lance cut over him. Merlin opened his mouth, then took a step back and fell quiet. Lance was the only person outside of Gaius who knew what he could do, and the flat rejection stung. Clearly, his help wasn’t wanted. After all, it had been weeks since Uther’s death and the day Gwen, Lance, and Percival had disappeared, and he hadn’t done a damn thing to help in that time. He took a step back, swallowing a wave of nausea. What happened to them?   

“Lance, I’m really sorry. I… I should have done something… anything. I thought… I had to make sure Arthur was safe—stay with him, but… I could have found you—gotten you out if I’d tried. I should have looked for you at least.” Lance lifted his head, and this time Merlin was the one who avoided his gaze. “Please. I know you’re angry, but if there’s anything I can do to help—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. You’re a student, not a doctor. What could you have done?” The response came so sharply that Merlin looked up, and this time, Lance was looking straight at him and there was a spark in his tired eyes. “They have magic. They would have killed you.” He turned on his heel in the opposite direction of the others, and Merlin regained his voice after a moment’s baffled struggle. He jogged a few feet after Lance as his friend turned the corner. 

“Lance—” 

“I need some air,” Lance bit out. Merlin stared silently at the corner, listening to the man’s retreating footsteps. I have magic! Merlin’s fists clenched, unclenched, and he swallowed over the strange knot in his throat. Lance knew that though. 

Lance was gone before he could try to call him back. Lance was right to be angry. He had failed him, like he’d failed so many others. Still, something didn’t feel right about the way Lance looked at him and spoke to him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath in before turning around and heading back into the building. 

“Gaius,” he turned and nudged the half-open door further open with his foot to peer in. The officer was gone, and Gaius raised his head from the slim tablet he was reading. “I need to talk to you.”  

“I have another patient,” Gaius said offhandedly. 
“There’s something wrong with Lance,” Merlin blurted out, stepping into the room. Gaius turned around fully, his expression grave, and Merlin pulled the door shut behind him. “I don’t know what, but when Arthur was sick back in Oxford, I felt something that…” he faltered. “Wasn’t just a normal illness. Something was off. It… it reminds me of that.” 

“Merlin, no one can sense a spell,” Gaius said firmly, putting his tablet down and frowning over his glasses at the warlock. 

“ I can!” Merlin retorted. “Gaius, I was right last time. Arthur had been cursed. It had to be a curse. Even Doctor Collins said it wasn’t acting like any normal disease, and Kilgharrah gave me the counter-spell to it—”

“Kilgharrah?” Gaius interrupted, and his frown deepened. 

“The dragon,” Merlin supplied. Gaius’ eyebrow rose, and Merlin bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing a mounting sense of frustration and urgency. 

“That’s what you’ve been out doing—meeting with a dragon whose loyalties are questionable at best?” 

“He’s under Balinor’s command. He won’t hurt anyone. I need to talk to him. He knows more about magic than either of us, and I can’t be in touch with Iseldir or Balinor—”

“Keep your voice down for God’s sake!” Gaius hissed. Merlin stopped and curled his hands into fists. 

“Look, that’s not the point. I don’t know what’s going on with Lance, but he’s acting strange—”

“Merlin.” Gaius set the tablet down. “There is nothing wrong with Lance beyond exhaustion and the fallout of the trauma Cenred and Fox put him through.” 

“Gaius, haven’t you looked at him?” Merlin’s voice rose. “He’s not… there’s something wrong with the way he looked at me—like he was afraid of me—and he didn’t respond to his name the first time when Gwaine called to him. He’s not himself!” 

“You brought a very similar concern to me about Arthur earlier this week,” Gaius pointed out quietly. “You were adamant that Morgause Fox must have put some sort of spell on him. I think we can both agree by this point that Arthur is not cursed this time.” 

“That was different.” Gaius took his glasses off and sighed, frowning back at him. 

“Merlin… you and Arthur have been through a tremendous amount of trauma in the last few weeks. It’s understandable that you’re feeling on edge. But Lance is going through what you were experiencing a couple of weeks ago. Give him some time to recover and he’ll seem more normal again. Merlin shook his head. 

“He’s not just acting strange. He’s…” Merlin took a breath. “He didn’t remember that I have magic.” A moment of silence followed the statement. Gaius removed his glasses and looked intently at Merlin. 

“Lance knows you have magic?” Merlin stopped, twisting his hands anxiously together in the ends of his scarf. 

“He saw me… when I healed Arthur in the hospital,” he admitted quietly. Already, Gaius’ lips were drawn in a line. 

“Merlin, you are walking on very thin ice.” Merlin tugged restlessly at the ends of his scarf.

“I know, Gaius, but he needs help,” he insisted. Gaius shook his head.

“Of course he does, but you need to allow him time to recover.”
“This isn’t like that. I can sense it!” 

“What you’re sensing is your own anxiety,” Gaius replied firmly. “Merlin, you’re tired and you’re distressed, understandably so. But there is nothing more you can do for Lance than letting him have some time and space to process what happened.” He stepped past the warlock and pulled the door open. 

“Gaius—” The physician stopped him with a hand on his arm, steering him out into the hall.  

“I need to see to Percival’s shoulder,” he said in a quiet but firm voice. “If you’re still worried tomorrow, we can discuss this again.” Merlin gritted his teeth. That was typical Gaius speak for this-conversation-is-over. Merlin turned on his heel, teeth gritted, and pushed past the door to head outside again. Maybe he could talk to Lance… try a second time, perhaps enlist Gwaine’s help… 

Arthur looked content for the first time in days. Everyone had moved inside. Arthur had an arm wrapped around Gwen as Merlin returned to the waiting room, and she was leaning against him, intent on her conversation with Elyan and Gwaine beside them. Merlin crossed the room quietly, avoiding Leon and Rodor nearby. 

Perhaps, he reflected, Gaius was right. Arthur might be inadvertently part of the problem. Watching Gwen tilt her head back and smile at Arthur, he was reminded of the way Lance had looked at the two back at Iseldir’s house, before they parted ways. It was no secret to anyone—Gwen included—that Lance’s feelings for her extended beyond friendship. Gwen lifted her head from Arthur’s shoulder and her smile faded. 

“How are they?” she asked. Merlin made a conscious effort to smooth the tension in his shoulders and face. 

“They’re alright. Gaius said they’ll just need some time and rest to recover.” 

“Rodor will want to speak with them as soon as Gaius is finished patching them up,” Elyan said. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, and Gwen leaned against him, her fingers squeezing his hand in reassurance. 

“Merlin, there was something I meant to show you.” The anxious crease reappeared between Gwen’s brows. “I would have brought it with me, but I didn’t know you were here too.” The anxious crease reappeared between Gwen’s brows. “The girl—the one Gwaine showed me a picture of on your mobile—her name was Freya, wasn’t it? Freya Gefn?” Merlin’s stomach twisted. 

“I…” he blinked at Gwen, utterly blindsided by the question. 

“I don’t have the picture with me,” Gwen said hurriedly, looking fretful. 

“It’s… fine,” Merlin tucked his arms over his chest tensely. This was the last conversation he wanted to be having right now. “Yeah. That w—” he caught himself. “That’s her name.”

“Wait–that’s who you were seeing–Freya?” Arthur inquired, raising his eyebrows. Merlin’s fingers tangled in the ends of his scarf again. Can we not do this? 

“Freya?” Gwaine cut in at once, peering at the picture Gwen was clutching–a rumpled and rain-damaged picture printed on paper. “Your girlfriend?” Merlin gritted his teeth. 

“She’s not…” He trailed off. They’d never had a chance to talk about what they were. And it didn’t matter. Not anymore. 

“There’s a missing persons ad out for her,” Gwen said. 

“What?” Merlin’s voice broke on the exclamation. The shock was genuine, if not for the reason Gwen thought.

“I saw it in several public places going out of Oxford. She was in the local news too—hasn’t been seen since before the dragon attacked.”

“Saw her that morning,” Gwaine interrupted. “At the café after finals ended—and I’m sure Merlin saw her later than that.” Merlin was looking sharply between them, feeling like the ground had dropped out from under his feet again. None of this added up. 

“You haven’t been in contact with her?” Arthur asked.

“No.” That was as much as Merlin could manage without his voice betraying him. He hadn’t been in contact with anyone since setting foot on the godforsaken military base. He tugged his scarf off and crumpled it between his hands, trying to ignore the several pairs of eyes on him. 

“Merlin…” Gwen withdrew her arm from Arthur’s. “I’m sorry. I thought you might like to know.” Merlin responded with a jerky nod. 

“No, I… Thank you for telling me.” Merlin twisted his scarf tassel around his finger. “I… should go find Lance.” He turned on his heel, jaw clenched tight and strode out of the room, out into the open air again.

Freya would have understood, he reflected bitterly as he sank down with his back to the wall, between two buildings. He was beginning to feel that perhaps she’d been right. Not about herself, but… perhaps them. She’d always insisted that she hurt people around her–she was cursed. Perhaps it wasn’t Freya after all but him. He was the one cursed. 

Gwen’s arrival was timely. He couldn’t think of anything Arthur had needed more at the moment. But why bring up Freya? He buried his fingers in his hair and breathed in and out slowly. If truth be told, Gaius was right. He’d been on edge for longer than he could remember—probably since before he met Freya, starting with the approach of final exams. Now, he’d lost contact with his mother, left three friends behind in Oxford in the hands of a woman he didn’t trust as far as he could spit, and he’d spent the week struggling to support his grieving friend. Amidst all of that, no one save Gaius had known about Freya… and he preferred it that way. He didn’t want to answer Arthur’s questions or see sympathy in anyone else’s face. He’d coped with Gaius’ support. He would cope now. 

He was glad he hadn’t found Lance for the moment. Seeing the haunted look in Lance’s eyes, hearing Freya’s name again—both were reminders of the countless failures of the last month—people he hadn’t been able to help. He’d thought of Freya again after he lashed out impulsively at the three men advancing on him as Uther lay dying behind him. Were they dead?  Were they alive to tell the tale of the sorcerer who attacked them…? Or were there three lives he could carry on his conscience now? Lives he’d ended… He wondered if this was how Freya had felt after Halig’s death… why she’d chosen to turn herself in rather than live with the guilt. 

It was some minutes before a footstep broke the silence. He looked up just enough to determine who the newcomer was. 

“You alright?” Merlin wrapped his arms around his knees and shrugged. Next to him, a lighter clicked softly and he looked up again from the corner of his eye. Gwaine looked different with his scruffy beard trimmed, hair cropped a little shorter, and dressed in the same issued clothes as the Merlin and Arthur: groomed for the press. The one thing Rodor hadn’t been able to talk Gwaine out of was his cigarettes. A pack was still tucked into his jacket pocket, and this wasn’t the first time Merlin had seen him behind the building taking a surreptitious smoke break. 

“Mmm.” Merlin hummed and shrugged his shoulders. 

“You want to talk about it?” Gwaine asked. Merlin leaned back against the wall. He knew he could shake his head and Gwaine would leave it at that. The American knew a thing or two about keeping uncomfortable secrets himself. Perhaps it was Gwaine’s unassuming attitude that made him turn his head and hesitate to reject the offer. The last few weeks weighed heavily on him, and Gwaine already knew the half of it. After all, Freya was dead. What harm could it do her any more to tell her story?  

Merlin shifted his feet. Gwaine wasn’t watching him. His attention was on the end of his cigarette as he gently coaxed it into life. The words came unbidden before Merlin allowed himself to think twice about his decision. 

“I know what happened to Freya.” Gwaine turned towards him—no judgment, pity or even surprise, merely attention. Merlin clasped his hands tightly together over his knee. 

“Is she alright?” Gwaine asked. Merlin swallowed. He shook his head mutely. A long moment followed. Gwaine flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette and waited patiently for Merlin to continue. 

“Before we left Oxford, she was…” He chewed his lip. “She’d finished her exams, and we spent the morning together—got breakfast and…” he pulled his knees up against his chest. “I was with her most of the morning. I didn’t… didn’t realize anything was wrong. She seemed happy. We were down by the river talking like we always did, about home and work and…” magic… always about magic. He had shown her all the little things he used to show his mother when he was younger—games he played with his gifts, the magic book Gaius gave him. They’d talked about the flight plans, leaving together for another country. He swallowed then bit down on his cheek. He couldn’t say any of that. Not now. Maybe not ever. “It was the day Arthur came back from hospital. I… went back to see her, after Arthur was settled, and her apartment was roped off with police tape, and… she was gone. I think they’d been looking for her at her work place too.” There was a pause. Gwaine exhaled slowly. 

“She is a foreign student. Could she have been in trouble with immigration or something?”  

“The Patroni were there,” Merlin said flatly. Gwaine was still. He tapped the stub slowly, and Merlin watched a second sprinkle of ash spatter the ground. 

“ Freya ?” Gwaine said at last. Merlin tilted his head down a little more and stared at the tips of his own shoes. “You’re joking. Who the hell would suspect Freya of any kind of harm?” Merlin shook his head mutely. “They thought she had magic?” The question hung between them for an interminably long moment. 

“She did,” Merlin said. From the corner of his eye, Merlin saw the rest of the cigarette drop to the ground, and Gwaine ground it into the pavement with his shoe. 

“In other words, she didn’t have to do anything wrong to be executed.” Merlin raised his head and blinked at the American. Gwaine’s mouth was set in a thin line. “Hell… I’m sorry, Merlin,” he said quietly, the disgust fading from his voice in a heartbeat. “It’s fucked up, this system.” 

“It’s… it was a while ago,” Merlin muttered. 

“No. It really wasn’t,” Gwaine responded. 

“Why would they put up a missing persons ad for her?” The American shook his head. 

“I don’t know, Merlin… You know how touchy the Scandinavian relations have been recently. Maybe they want her disappearance to look innocent. Sweden wouldn’t take kindly to having one of their citizens executed on our soil.” Merlin shook his head. It almost felt like the ad was a jab at him, to remind him of what he’d done wrong.

“England hasn’t been apologetic about policies on sorcery in the past. She wouldn’t be the only foreign national executed in this country,” Merlin muttered. Gwaine’s jacket rustled, and he sat down next to Merlin, resting his arms over his knees. 

“Or perhaps,” he said, “They really don’t know where she is.” Merlin huffed and shook his head. 

“She…” He stared at the ground. “She didn’t have many friends. She wouldn’t have had anywhere to go.” 

“Merlin,” Gwaine frowned at him. “Freya was shy, but she might’ve been better connected than you think. She had a job in Oxford, and she was well liked by the professors. Arthur said she was one of Leod’s favorite students.” Merlin’s fingers, tangled in his scarf again, stilled. That was how Arthur knew her name. He’d forgotten again that the two had been in a class together. He closed his eyes and quietly shook his head half to himself. He would have heard something— seen something. He’d been to Spinster’s Rock and Iseldir’s home. If she’d had help—if she’d escaped—surely he would have heard from her somehow . 

“She could’ve talked to me. I would have helped her,” he said. Gwaine’s hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed briefly as the man got to his feet. 

“It’s not your fault. She was probably afraid to get you implicated in her situation.” Merlin nodded acknowledgement. It helped–just a fraction. He still felt sick at the thought of her alone, executed or on the run. Neither was a pleasant thought. “Maybe it’s a good sign,” Gwaine suggested. “If they went after her and she vanished, that sign might mean she’s well hidden.” He looked up. 

“I don’t know–” 

It hit him like a blast of icy air. Merlin started to his feet and retreated so his heels hit the wall of the building. 

“Merlin?” Gwaine looked up and got to his feet, frowning. Merlin whipped his head about, searching. “Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Gwaine was asking insistently. Merlin sucked in a breath. 

“Arthur,” he whispered, moving away from the wall. Arthur, Gwen, Elyan… and Lance . 

“I won’t tell him.” Merlin blinked at his companion. No. It hadn’t even occurred to him to wonder if Gwaine would out him to Arthur. This was something else–something keen and sharp in the air, as plain as the dragon’s presence, but darker, deeper, more unpredictable. He pulled away from Gwaine’s supporting hand, shaking his head. 

“We need to find the others. Something’s happening.” 

“What?” Gwaine’s eyes widened, and in the same instant all across the complex, the wail of alarms pierced the air. 

Chapter Text

“Can’t it wait?” Arthur demanded. Gwen tore her eyes from the window where she’d seen Merlin disappear and put a hand on his arm.  

“Arthur, I’m sure it won’t take long.” 

“General Rodor would like to speak with them as soon as possible,” Leon responded, shaking his head.

“Gwen needs to see Gaius first,” the blond insisted stubbornly, ignoring her protest.  

“I told you, I’m fine. I was only held for a few hours. No one hurt me. You ought to be more worried about Lance and Percival.”

“Guinevere…” Arthur frowned anxiously at her. “That’s why they’re seeing Gaius. And you walked halfway to London without food or water—”

“Just figured that out, did you?” Elyan chimed in deadpan. Great. Two overly protective men. Gwen sighed. Elyan hadn’t forgotten Arthur’s family background and that his father was the one who condoned their father’s arrest years ago in London. She understood his suspicion. But Elyan was several years older. He had left for the military while she was still living at home with their father. He hadn’t been there to watch Arthur change since Merlin arrived in London. He had barely met Merlin before moving out. 

“It was weeks ago, Arthur,” Gwen said. “There were places I could stop to get water. And I’ve been with Elyan since then. I promise he fed and watered me.” Elyan snorted. Her eyes strayed to the door. Gaius might also have other people to worry about more than her. Merlin had looked easily as tired as she felt, and she’d scarcely had a moment to speak with him except to tell him a piece of news that clearly upset him. Arthur’s attention followed her gaze. 

“He’ll come back. Gwaine’s gone to talk with him,” he said. She opened her mouth. “Don’t change the subject again,” he intervened. 

“Alright,” Gwen acquiesced. “I’ll go see Gaius, if it’ll convince you to stop fretting.” She leaned sideways against Arthur’s shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her again. “Do you think he’ll be alright?” 

“I don’t know… I hadn’t realized he and Freya were that close,” he said. He shifted. “As long as he doesn’t do anything… stupid.” 

“I think thanks to you Merlin knows better than to try walking out the gates without permission,” Leon observed mildly. Arthur scowled at his bodyguard, and Gwen turned to give him a questioning look. 

“You tried to leave?” she asked. 

“Only once,” he admitted, pulling a face. “I’ll talk to Rodor,” he added.

“He won’t allow Merlin off the base any more than you,” Leon said. 

“No, but maybe he can check with the police if they’ve had any sightings of Freya since the ad went up.” Arthur turned a worried look on Gwen again. “You didn’t run into any of Cenred’s people, did you?” Gwen shook her head.

“No, Arthur. I was well out of Oxford by the time they were sighted there. Elyan picked me up. Cenred reached Oxford at the same time as your search party, didn’t they?” Arthur’s expression darkened. 

“It wasn’t my search party. I wasn’t allowed to leave the base. Rodor sent people to look for you, Lance, and Percival. I asked to go. Wasn’t allowed. I should have been out looking for you.”

“You’d have been no help. They would have killed the moment they saw you,” Elyan pointed out. Gwen bit her lip.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re all here now,” she said firmly, eager to change the subject. “I saw your speech. It looks like you set a lot of things in motion from here anyways.” Arthur looked discomfited. 

“Plenty. I toppled what remained of my father’s cabinet and made an enemy of the leader of the Liberals.”
“You didn’t—” Gwen started, but Elyan beat her to the protest, and to her surprise there was a trace of laughter in his voice.

“You’ve done a lot more than that,” he said. “The party leader of the New Moderates is all but touting your position as their party line and giving the other parties hell. It’s been used as ammunition against the old policies. If we actually hold an election… a real honest to god election you’d just have to say the word backing the right person. You put those words into the mouths of people across the country. They’re pushing for candidates, talking about setting up voting again. You could probably turn the tables for someone.”  

“You must have internet access here, Arthur. Your name spread like wildfire,” Gwen added. Leon smiled. 

“‘We stand with Arthur Pendragon.’ Yes, we’ve heard it,” he said. Arthur could feel the heat rising to his face. 

“That wasn’t my intention.” Fame had never been his intention. Gwen smiled and squeezed his arm. 

“It’s a good thing, Arthur. It’s time these laws changed. Someone had to say it. You’re starting a conversation we need to have.” And it was changing things already. Arthur’s speech was everywhere. People from other countries and institutions across the world were using it as a tag, a catch-phrase, almost the new slogan of the amnesty movements– ‘We stand with Arthur Pendragon’. It meant support for England in her time of trouble, support for peace in the country and across the world, and support for a movement towards amnesty for magic users. And Arthur… Arthur had triggered it all. He couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy with magic still, but… it felt right. Against every ounce of teaching he’d gotten growing up, it still felt right. He fidgeted. 

“I think I’ll leave the politics to the politicians from here,” he said. “I’ve done enough damage for now.” Gwen scoffed and elbowed him deliberately in the side. 

“Don’t be modest, Arthur. It doesn’t suit you,” she teased. That coaxed a small grin out of him. He put a hand on Gwen’s back as a door opened down the hall. 

“There’s Percival. I’m sure Gaius will have a moment to see you now.” Gwen turned to look, and just as she caught sight of the broad-shouldered man, somewhere out on the base, an alarm went off. 

Every head in the room turned. Arthur tensed beside her. 

“Oh, hell… Merlin didn’t—” 

“He wouldn’t have, surely,” Leon cut in dryly. “He knows that happens if you try to slip out past the gate.” He touched Arthur lightly on the shoulder as he stepped past the blond. “Wait here.” 

“Merlin—” Arthur started.

“Will be fine. I’ll send him in if I see him,” Elyan said. “It’s best you stay out of the way, whatever is going on.” Elyan turned, and he and Leon both joined the many uniformed personnel outside. 

“The alarm went off earlier this week and nothing was wrong. Could just be a drill or something minor,” Arthur suggested. 

“I doubt it,” Percival put in, crossing the room to join them with a frown. “Not the way everyone’s running about out there… something’s going on.” Gwen bit her lip again anxiously as her brother vanished out of sight past the window.  

The door swung forcefully open, and Merlin turned past them to sprint down the hall. He was followed a second later by another person. 

“Gwaine!” Arthur shouted. The American, just on Merlin’s heels, stopped in the doorway. “What happened?” he demanded. Gwaine shook his head. 

“I don’t know, but I think Merlin does.” 

“What?” Gwen’s eyes widened, but Gwaine was already on his way down the hall after Merlin without a look back. 

The wrong feeling led Merlin straight through the halls like he was drawn by a string. His eyes shifted—flickering rapidly from gold to blue as he turned his head from one to the other doorway, scanning for signs of occupants. He drew himself up short as he turned a corner, and felt a jolt of mixed relief and anxiety. There. Lance was still inside the building, seated on a bench at the end of a hall, hunched over. Merlin put up a hand, knowing without looking back whose footsteps were the footsteps behind him. 

“Gwaine, find Gaius,” he ordered. He heard a muttered curse from his companion, but thankfully Gwaine didn’t ask any questions and vanished round the corner again. 

Merlin lingered a few feet from the window where his friend’s head and shoulders were  outlined in the light. What did she do to him… is he even still there?

 “Lance…” He took a step closer. The man turned his head, just enough that Merlin caught a glimpse of that hollow look again. His chest ached at the thought. Please don’t be gone… please. “I am so sorry for what they did to you.” A frown flitted across the other man’s face. 

“You should stay away from me,” he said tersely, and for a second Merlin saw a gleam in his eyes again. Maybe… maybe he was still there. He swallowed. 

“It’ll be okay,” he said, his voice tight. “I’ll fix this. I’m sorry.” He stretched out a hand. “ Swefe nu .” Lance dropped in a heartbeat. Merlin’s eyes glowed again, and he let his magic guide Lance’s body gently to the ground before he crouched beside his friend’s head. Kilgharrah’s presence was far, far away. He had no chance of reaching the dragon in time to do any good. But Arthur had been cursed too, if with very different effects. He had to try at least to break this curse. Surely the spell that saved Arthur from Nimueh’s curse would help here as well? He spread his fingers over the unconscious man’s chest. “ Gelácne ádligne lybcræft. ”

He felt a thrum of energy under his fingertips and resisted the impulse to pull away, gritting his teeth as he tried to pour his own energy into the spell. A shock ran from his fingers up through his arm, then all at once, thin tendrils of invisible strength streamed up through his arm and around his throat and torso like fine, invisible wires. He sucked in a sharp breath, and at once he couldn’t breathe anymore. The threads of energy wove through his body and clamped around him, fine but inflexible. He tried to jerk his hand back. This wasn’t like Arthur’s curse. This was something much, much worse. He couldn’t move. Even his eyes were frozen open, and his throat was tight.  

Hello, Emrys, a voice whispered in his mind, and the floor dropped out from under him. 

Everything else around him swirled away. Lance, the hallway, the wailing of the alarms were all gone. He was on his knees, bound in a void of utter darkness, and around him instead were a crowd of voices, but not like those he’d heard at the Druid refuge by Spinster’s rock. There, the voices were of all ages, casual, idle, chatting idly with one another. These were sharp, purposeful, and intent, all mature magical signatures, and all seeming to loom over him. He redoubled his efforts to retract his hand, but he was still like a statue, keenly aware of eyes on his back watching him attentively. The presence felt forceful, and he was beginning to feel faint and dizzy. Blood roared in Merlin’s ears. Two voices seemed to be louder than the others.

You won’t take him back, the voice said gently, now becoming more clear—young, feminine, with a trace of curiosity. The only one who can break this spell is the one who cast it. Merlin was being crushed. 

He felt the several other presences—some familiar, but many others which he didn’t recognize; Morgana’s among them. But the voice, and the power trapping him… he knew it. He’d felt it before. He’d sensed her before when she confronted Arthur, but this time, she wasn’t holding back. This was Morgause with her full strength unleashed.  She was powerful—more powerful than he had guessed, and he’d never fought another magic user face to face. Merlin struggled, tried to lash out instinctively with his own magic, but her strength was twining itself around him, gentle but firm. He wouldn’t last much longer if he couldn’t breathe… 

I only want to speak with you, Emrys. It must be you, mustn’t it? I’d heard from the Druids that you chose to protect Arthur Pendragon, but I hadn’t believed it until now. Who would have thought it after all? A powerful sorcerer like you, following at the heels of our greatest persecutor’s son. 

Merlin clenched his teeth, trying to repress his mounting panic. He didn’t know where he was, why he couldn’t see or move—what she was doing to him. But he felt the other presences of sorcerers. They were closing in, likely with Cenred and his armed men at her side. He didn’t have time to be trapped like this. 

Come, Emrys, you must have grown up like us, oppressed, hated—living always in the shadows, in fear of yourself, your own body betraying you. What good does this do you—to stand with the Pendragons? Would you see us trampled into the dirt again? To live the rest of your life unknown, unrecognized—you who have such power? 

“Merlin!” Someone was shaking him. The contact seemed miles away, as did Gaius’ voice in his ear—disconnected from the mute battle in his head. 

You’ve made a mistake, Emrys. Arthur will never recognize you. He would cast you aside at a moment’s thought if he knew who you were. With us you would be honored, respected. Together we could set our people free—have the world appreciate your greatness. Stop the madness that Arthur’s father began. Bring justice. He will kneel at your feet, Emrys. 

No! That wasn’t what he wanted. Merlin projected his response forcefully. He fought with every scrap of his magic at the force restraining him, struggling for breath, feeling consciousness begin to slip away. Spots were dancing before his eyes. His ears started to ring, piercing and shrill. Then he wasn’t alone. Warmth flared in the darkness, the hand on his shoulder tightened, and he felt it… and the restraints bound around him were rapidly withdrawing. 

The contact broke with a force that jarred Merlin to the bone. His eyes snapped open. He was lying flat on the ground, and Gaius was crouching over him, eyes lit golden to match Merlin’s. 

“Merlin!” Merlin gulped in a lungful of air. Gaius’ face swam above him, and he closed his eyes. 

“Gaius, I c—I can’t…” 

“Alright, Merlin, alright. Breathe.” His uncle’s eyes shifted back to gray. He was supporting Merlin with an arm around his back. “Are you alright?” Merlin nodded and clutched at his uncle’s sleeve to pull himself upright. 

“Wh-what was that?” he gasped. Gaius shook his head. 

“Possession. It is forbidden among the Druids. I didn’t believe there were any sorcerers left in this country who knew how to do it. ” Merlin’s eyes flitted to the prone figure on the ground. 

“Lance. H-he’s...” 

“I know.” Gaius steadied him. “I’m so sorry, Merlin. I shouldn’t have ignored you.” 

“There was nothing we could do.” Merlin said hoarsely. Was there…? Morgause had said only she could break the spell. Could he make her? He cautiously withdrew from Gaius’ support and staggered to his feet on hearing footsteps in the hallway. 

“Merlin!” Arthur appeared around the corner and stopped as his eyes flitted over the scene. Gwen, Elyan, Percival, Leon, and Gwaine arrived close behind him, and Gwen brushed past the others with a soft gasp.

“Don’t.” Merlin held up a hand. Gwen stopped, and Arthur at her side narrowed his eyes silently at the warlock. He swallowed, feeling suddenly uncomfortable as he became aware of Leon’s attention on him as well. He was treading on increasingly thin ice, but this time Gaius came to his aid. 

“He’s cursed, Arthur. Morgause used him to find you.” Arthur’s eyes widened, and Merlin felt guilt twisting deep in his chest at the distressed look on Gwen’s face. Her eyes darted from Lance’s prone figure back to Arthur. 

“The base is under lockdown,” Elyan said. “They won’t reach him.” 

“Rodor and the others won’t be able to stop them. If they have enough sorcerers at their disposal, they can freeze the armed forces and take them out one by one as they did at Uther’s baes.” Merlin shook his head emphatically, spurred on by the sense of urgency still nagging relentlessly at the back of his mind. “We need to get away from here now.” Maybe he’d told Gwaine more than he should have. The American’s expression was more than inquisitive—not suspicious… something else. But it was the look on Leon’s face that concerned Merlin the most—the keen, scrutinizing look he’d seen in the eyes of many Patroni before, but none who knew him so well as Arthur’s bodyguard. Merlin swallowed. 

“How do you know that? You know there are multiple sorcerers with that sort of power?” Arthur demanded. Merlin lifted his chin and looked Arthur in the eye as he tried to crush his apprehension. Despite himself, the customary banter he shared with Arthur won out over his sense of caution.

“Got a funny feeling?” he offered with a trace of pointed irony. Why, he wondered bitterly, could Arthur never just trust him? For the space of a breath, Arthur looked levelly back at him, then as abruptly as it had come on, the alarm stopped, and with it the lights shut noiselessly off. Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. It reminded him eerily of his and Arthur’s narrow escape from the riot on the train at Didcot Parkway. A new light came on—a small torch in Leon’s hand—and seconds later a mobile phone light from Percival as well. The broad shouldered man lifted his phone to illuminate Merlin and Gaius standing opposite him.

“I’m with Merlin on this one,” he said quietly. “If nothing else, we need to get away from Lance, if he’s being used to track us.” His expression was pained but grimly set. He turned to look at Leon, and the Patronus nodded brusquely. 

“Rodor should have sent someone to secure Arthur by now. Something’s wrong.” 

“Lance—” Arthur began.

“I’ll take care of him,” Gaius said. Merlin opened his mouth, blinked, and his heart dropped into his shoes. 

“No… Gaius.” Gaius rose and put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder to silence him. 

“You know Lance can’t go with you,” he murmured close to Merlin’s ear. “Someone has to stay with him.” Merlin shook his head. 

“I can’t leave you behind,” he whispered. Gaius’ grip tightened. He didn’t need to answer. Arthur and Gwen. There was no way Merlin could leave them right now.

“Gaius, surely…” Arthur blinked and trailed off, shaking his head. 

“There’s nothing we can do for him?” Percival finished for him.

“You can stay safe and out of Cenred’s hands,” Gaius said. Gwen made a soft sound of distress, and Arthur wrapped an arm around her shoulders, looking easily as haunted. They were cornered like prey. Morgause was hunting them, and their friend had been used as her eyes. It made Merlin feel weak, helpless.   

“Arthur. We need to go now.” Leon moved to the blond’s side, insistent, and Merlin was silently grateful for his intervention. Leon, for all that his perception was unsettling, was rock steady. That was an anchor for Merlin in the moment. He turned, feeling his stomach twist as they headed down the hall and let Leon clear the way as he led them out. Percival was the last to turn away from Gaius and Lance and follow them, his face lined with worry when he finally tore his gaze from Lance’s unconscious figure. 

Merlin swallowed the lump in his throat as he turned to go. Emrys… He couldn’t be Emrys. Surely an all-powerful warlock could have found a way to break a curse… to protect his friends and family? Perhaps Morgause was right. If he really was Emrys, wasn’t he supposed to break the oppressive regime–set things right? Not fumble blindly in the darkness, failing his companions and watching the country devolve into another destructive war. He was a traitor, and with every step he took further from Lance and Gaius, he felt that more heavily. 

The silence outside the building was eerie. Merlin followed close on Leon’s heels, trying to extend his senses beyond his surroundings cautiously, without letting a sheen of gold show in his eyes. Leon moved to the edge of the building and held up a hand, signaling them to stop. The warning sense of another sorcerer’s magic nearby washed over Merlin with such force it almost made him feel sick. He’d felt it crushing him only minutes ago. Morgause. She moved quickly. He closed his eyes, drawing a shimmer around them for a moment, trying to mask their presence, hide them from view and muffle anything Morgause’s party might hear. He felt Gwaine’s hand on his shoulder, perhaps to steady him, and closed his eyes, waiting. He didn’t need to see the passers by to know that they were some of Morgause’s lot—possibly some of Cenred’s too. Or maybe those two groups were now one and the same. It was hard to tell any longer. 

As soon as the footsteps faded away, Leon beckoned them forward and they moved around the corner.

“This is ridiculous. They couldn’t have taken the entire base without firing a shot. We need to go back,” Elyan hissed. He looked panicked, and Merlin could hardly blame him. The warlock could feel his own heart pounding in his chest so hard he was all but certain the others could hear it. 

“I’ve seen sorcerers do worse,” Leon said grimly. His tone made Merlin shudder. Leon was a good ten years older than Arthur. He didn’t like to think what things Leon might remember from the Purge. The bodyguard scowled at his communicator then handed it and his handgun to Arthur. Arthur took them with a bewildered look, and Leon scaled the fence quietly and strapped the razor wire flat to the top with his belt. “Come,” he ordered, beckoning. Elyan looked hesitant, but he asked no further questions and hung back to watch behind them as one by one they scrambled as quietly as possible over the fence. 

Merlin followed second to last before Elyan, tense and wary as he searched for Morgause somewhere nearby. Evening sunlight was streaming through the gap between the two buildings where they stood, making it difficult to see. Merlin followed close behind Arthur and Gwen, still watching and listening with a racing heart.

“Someone’s coming!” he warned abruptly, catching at Arthur’s sleeve as Elyan dropped to the ground on the opposite side of the fence, taking Leon’s belt with him. 

“What?” Arthur stared at him, but Merlin ushered the others urgently backwards, around the corner of the adjacent building.

“We need to get out of the open,” Leon said, drawing them back further. 

“Here!” Elyan waved them over to the fire escape, and with careful steps, Merlin led the way up the levels of the metal stairway. 

“Get down!” he warned, instantly aware of the moment the two sorcerers turned the corner of the building, one floor below them. Gwaine crouched low against the wall, and Merlin huddled near him, watching the two men approach, silhouetted in the setting sunlight between the buildings. Merlin held his breath as they advanced down the alley. He kept his eyes down as he tried to draw up another shimmer, keeping them all hidden as the two sorcerers walked below them. 

The moment seemed to stretch into hours where Merlin tried to breathe without sound, prayed that the others wouldn’t make a noise… Please don’t look up. Please don’t look up… His heart was hammering. He closed his eyes again, and used a tiny impulse of energy to topple something over on the main street. “Over there!” One of the two men turned, then they were both running towards the open.  Merlin didn’t let out a breath until they turned the corner and headed back towards the street. There are more… Merlin backed up a step from where Gwaine crouched and his fingers traced the outline of the window. 

“Gwaine,” he hissed. The window lock had clicked open quietly under his hand while the others weren’t looking. He pushed it open. Gwaine beckoned to the others as Merlin ducked inside, and Leon followed last, pulling the window shut behind them before another figure rounded the corner. 

The building was quiet. Inside the room was a labyrinth of cubicle panels and desks, empty now: an office building past closing hours. It was almost dark outside already. As Merlin stepped further into the room, the lights came on. His breath caught until he saw the blinking motion sensor across the room. He breathed in and tried again to steady himself. His senses were still screaming danger—imminent and even closer than before.   

“Where to now?” Percival asked. Leon crossed the room swiftly and shut the light off in case anyone should see it from the alley.  

“Up,” he concluded, turning to retrieve his belt and gun from Elyan and Arthur. “The gap between this building and the next is small. We can jump it and climb back to the ground on the next fire escape. With luck we’ll be out of their search area, and we can search for a safe place to stay until we reestablish contact with General Rodor.” 

“A safe place?” Gwen echoed worriedly. 

“Uther has an old safe house nearby. If we can reach that, we’ll be off the street and hopefully can lie low long enough to make contact with Rodor again,,” Leon said. “Best move for now is up. The street will probably be occupied. We’ll have a vantage point and can determine whether we should move across the rooftops or can safely go to ground. ” 

Leon opened the door to the hallway and scanned it, then beckoned them after him. The other five followed warily as Leon made his way out, searching for any signs of occupants. 

The second Leon stepped out into the hall, a silent warning surged through Merlin’s mind, stronger and sharper than before. Leon had his weapon in hand as he approached the corner, and Merlin lunged forward. 

“Leon!” He reached for the Patronus’ arm, trying to pull him back.  Leon jerked backwards the barest split-second before the gunfire started. 

They’d never had a chance. The realization dawned on him too late. Cenred had men stationed in the nearby buildings before they even left the base. They’d been flushed out like a fox in a hunt. Merlin had barely a second to process the thought. He felt the searing fire rip into his leg and crumpled to the ground.

“ Merlin!” Arthur’s voice shouted from behind him. He heard Leon shouting something as well as he reached for the wall. A shot went off past his head, and their assailant stumbled a couple of steps, then dropped and fell face-forward, shot in the chest by Leon. 

“Get back!” Leon was shouting. Another gunshot went off near Merlin’s head—Leon’s handgun—then several more. Merlin gritted his teeth, reaching for the wall to help himself upright. He closed his eyes, and a wall of flames roared to life behind him, separating him from Leon and the others. He heard Gwen screaming his name over the roar of them–perhaps several people. His head was spinning. He crumpled again. 

“Arthur, go!” Leon was retreating, pragmatic and focused. Merlin tugged his scarf off and wrapped it tight around the wound with a snarl before reaching for the wall again. He could hold them off… just long enough. 

“Hello, Merlin.” A tiny tug of magic left him flat on his back with a groan. Cool fingers cupped his cheek and turned it gently. Merlin gritted his teeth. A pair of brilliant sapphire-blue eyes smiled at him. He tried to jerk away from her, then his body was lifted from the ground as easily as if he weighed nothing. He bit his tongue over a strangled cry. His leg was burning like fire, and his vision swam with dark spots. 

“Arthur…” His voice was choked. He struggled as she looked passively up at him.

“Your precious Pendragon won’t hear you, young one. Don’t waste your breath,” she said gently, and she dropped him. 

Merlin’s leg buckled instantly. He caught himself against the wall, sliding down until he was crouched there sideways, vision blurred. Blood roared in his ears and he squeezed his eyes shut. The firestorm behind him roared brighter and stronger. If nothing else it would drive the others away, to safety… He closed his eyes. Leon would keep them close, get them out of here. Lead them somewhere safe… please. If he could create a big enough distraction, maybe they could get far enough, fast enough. 

“You know…” Nimueh’s voice pierced the haze of mind-numbing pain. “The remarkable thing about you, Merlin Astur, is that you’re always in the way.” Nimueh’s mocking voice returned close to his ear. She took his chin and tilted his head up. “But not this time.” Merlin tried again to push himself up with his hands on the wall. “Oh no.” A small burst of magic shoved him back against the wall gasping and struggling again. “Don’t get up on my account.” She flicked her hand carelessly and Merlin slumped to the floor shaking as she turned to go. She waved her hand, and the curtain of flames parted for her. No… Merlin managed to push himself up just enough to stretch out a hand towards her and reached for his magic. The room behind her was empty. He didn’t know where Leon had taken the others, but he had to keep Nimueh here. The pain in his leg faded a little as it thrummed through his body, and the flames blazed to life again, a veritable bonfire in her path. 

Merlin clenched his teeth, and as Nimueh turned slowly to face him, he pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall, and looked her in the eye. Nimueh’s expression was anything but afraid. 

“Learn a little party trick, did you, Merlin?” she asked, turning her head with a lilt of condescension as though she were addressing a child. 

“Stay away from them,” Merlin snarled through his teeth. Pain was pounding through his leg, but he pulled himself upright, drawing on a little magic to keep himself steady. 

“You think you can stop me?” Nimueh sneered, smiling back at him in the face of the flames. The laugh burst from Merlin’s throat before he could stop it. He was tired and in agonizing pain. He had left Lance and Gaius behind, and perhaps it was only fitting they now left him behind. He couldn’t see any way out of this. But of one thing at least, he was certain. 

“I know I can.”  He had to believe Leon had taken the others away–far away. That he’d bought them enough time. The flames around him began to twist, encircling them in a burning, bright cyclone. “Did no one tell you?” He asked, lifting a hand and letting the flames burn brighter, sharper than before. “I’m Emrys.”  

His eyes burned bright golden, and Nimueh’s laughter died on her lips. The fire roared into the sky, ripping the roof away. The hallway, and with it Nimueh and the armed soldiers behind her vanished in a melee of heat, wind, and debris. 

Chapter Text

They didn’t have the sheer numbers to overwhelm Rodor. There were only precious minutes to spare before reinforcements would arrive–before Morgause wouldn’t be able to hold them off. General Rodor was gone. The base was still on lockdown. But for this precious window of opportunity, she could have had Arthur Pendragon. 

Instead, something had gone terribly wrong. Again. He had walked right into the trap laid for him, off the base as she created the lockdown, shut off power, issued a few illusions to instigate panic… He had been right where she wanted him. Then the scene went up in a blaze of fire. Nimueh was supposed to be discreet, she thought, muttering curses to herself. Even Alvarr would make trouble if he knew she was working with Nimueh. The Pure had earned hatred from the magical and the common folk alike. Instead, the flames blazed up into the skies, twisting in a massive cyclone and sending material flying across the street. As she watched, she felt her heart sinking. That wasn’t Nimueh’s work. She wasn’t sure even her old mentor could create such a force. 

The building was groaning as fire still roared inside. Morgause’s eyes flickered as she smothered a few of the patches, snuffing out their oxygen at the base. She stepped over a piece of concrete and picked her way inside. Close behind her Morgana was surveying the damage, looking unsettled. Alvarr brushed at his singed sleeve as she approached him. He looked on edge just like Morgana. It made her angrier still. The rumors had flown as she closed in on her search for the mythical Druid ‘savior’. Her Druid allies were anxious about this mission, and they’d be still more anxious if they saw Nimueh, so she hoped the woman had made her escape before they entered. She had promised to neutralize the mythical Emrys. Morgause hadn’t heard from her since she entered the building, however. 

“How many were killed in the collapse?” she asked curtly, stopping to look at the hallway littered with twisted metal, burned pieces of the crumbled drywall, and the remnants of what were once office furnishings. 

“Five that I’ve counted so far,” Alvarr answered. She gritted her teeth. This was the second time that her carefully orchestrated plans had fallen through by an incident as unlikely as it was seemingly impossible. Nimueh was powerful enough. She should have been able to handle herself. 

“And Arthur Pendragon?” 

“No sign of him.” Alvarr shifted uneasily as she scowled. “But we’ve found Emrys.” 

Morgause’s lips thinned. It was difficult to make out the shapes of the scene’s debris following the maelstrom of just minutes ago—even with the pale glow of Alvarr’s conjured light. She stilled for a moment before approaching Emrys’ still figure. She stopped feet from it and froze. There in the wreckage lay Nimueh’s still form. She didn’t stop for too long, wary of showing any connection, even posthumously, to the tyrannical ex-archon. Still, it made her hair stand on end. Had Emyrs really taken her down…? She looked away, following Alvarr’s direction to see the second body lying in the wreckage of the first floor, half hidden under an overturned piece of rubble, but in one piece, still and unconscious. She would have to take care of Nimueh later. She didn’t dare stop to check on her now. If the druid men hadn’t identified her, Morgause would not. It was too big a risk, to lose their potential support. 

She looked back up at Alvarr and curled her lip a little.

“Emrys?” she scoffed. “You still believe in those children’s tales, do you, Alvarr?” Alvarr’s light flickered, reflecting his muted annoyance. It was so easy to read other sorcerers’ fragile emotions in their spell lights. Morgause could see the discernible stiffening of his shoulders at the jibe just as she could see the dancing light before him.  She needed to quash that myth, however persistent. Belief in Emrys was the primary reason most Druids refused to ally with her. It could well be the reason that her current allies withdrew their support if she didn’t play her cards carefully. Their loyalties were fragile right now, as rumors flew and Emrys kept his head down. 

“No… not per se,” Alvarr answered. “But the other Druids call him that.”

“Perhaps so, but as powerful as this one is, his luck has run out.” Morgause brushed past him and knelt down beside the barely discernible head of dark hair, visible over the edge of a large piece of wall. The fabled Emrys. Perhaps this mission hadn’t been for nothing after all. “How the mighty have fallen,” she mused. Morgana came to stand at her shoulder, looking down at the warlock’s pale face. 

“Will you kill him?” Alvarr asked. Morgause’s fingers tipped Merlin’s head back and she looked thoughtfully at the ashen skin and tiny rise-and-fa ll of his chest. 

“No.” Morgause turned Merlin’s head with her hand and smiled. “Best that we divest the Druids of their false beliefs first. They’ve used the Emrys myth to keep the magical community in suppression for years—waiting for their imaginary savior. Let them see that they’ve put their faith in a helpless boy.” Alvarr’s light flickered weakly. He was frowning at her. 

“You’re not suggesting…” he trailed off. She raised an eyebrow. “That practice was outlawed long ago,” he said as his mage-light nearly winked out. Morgana scoffed. 

“Merlin Emrys betrayed us. He does not deserve his gift ,” she said coolly. She turned her head. “Morgana.” Morgana stepped over the rubble in her path and crouched beside her sister. There was still a tension in Morgana’s movements: reluctance. She was learning, gradually but very slowly. Morgause knew to take her time with the young woman. There was fire in Morgana’s heart, and it would serve her well in their cause, but it had to be encouraged. 

“Are you sure it’s him?” Morgana asked quietly. Her expression was tight. 

“I’m sure.” Morgause looked up at her again, waiting as Morgana surveyed the still figure, quiet and tense. “You thought he was a friend,” she said. Morgana’s lips drew in a thin line. 

“He has magic,” she observed quietly. 

“Powerful magic,” Morgause confirmed. What else could have created that storm? He had killed Nimueh in a flash. She’d never seen deep, native-born elemental magic called up so quickly. He had brought the building halfway down with the power of the firestorm. And somehow, in the same breath, he had managed to cloak Arthur’s escape. Arthur and the rest of his cohort had vanished with the last rays of sunlight, out of reach once again. 

“Do you think…” Morgana’s voice was small and uncertain. Her gray-green eyes flitted to Merlin’s face. “Did he know… did he have magic back when he learned about mine?” Something in Morgana’s voice was pleading with her. Morgause touched her fingers to the still man’s chest. 

“He is a warlock, Morgana,” she said quietly, “He has always known. He chose not to tell you.” Morgana’s expression was tight.  Warlocks were a rare sort. Merlin had surely known of his magic almost before he knew how to talk. For him to be using incredibly powerful elemental magic at this young age? He had to have been learning and practicing, possibly even with training from the Druids. It was such a unique gift… “It’s a shame,” she said quietly. “He could have done so much for you, sister. If he had only confided in you.” She saw Morgana’s jaw tense. “What he could have taught you… how he could have protected you, protected all of us, with power like this.” She shook her head. It was a shame. Perhaps the Druids were right that he could have been their savior–could have led them to power again, freed them. If he had been taught, grown up in their community, how much more powerful he could have been. It was almost a shame to damage him. He was truly the purest source of magic she had ever encountered. Morgana took a breath and stretched out her fingers. 

“I’m ready,” she said, letting them touch the warlock’s chest lightly. Morgause covered her hand with her own and squeezed gently. 

“Together,” she said. Morgana nodded. Morgause pressed her palm flat over his chest and settled her own beside it. “ Á dée þone drýcræft. Hé wære lama.”  

Morgana closed her eyes as the slim lines of light twined round Merlin’s chest He stirred and shivered underneath her fingers. It was his only reaction before he went still again, breathing thin and shallow breaths, eyes roving restlessly under closed eyelids.

Morgause rose to her feet and watched as Morgana stared down at the face of her former friend for a long moment. 

“Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he help us?” Her question was soft. Morgause touched her shoulder lightly. 

“He was taught by the traitor Gaius. Some sorcerers allowed themselves to ally with the oppressors. Thought they could protect themselves by staying close, building good lives for themselves in the shadow of monsters like Uther.” She offered a hand up, which Morgana took, brushing the ash from her coat. “Come.”  Morgana tore her eyes from the still figure. 

“What happens now?” A faint smile tugged at Morgause’s lips.

“Now we go back, and we wait.” Morgana’s troubled eyes darted up to her sister’s face. “We won’t need to seek out Arthur,” Morgause explained. “Without ‘Emrys’, he is vulnerable, and he has no chance of securing Druid Alliances. His influence will crumble on its own.” 

Arthur leaned on the counter, shoulders hunched, listening to the shuffling of feet and rustling clothes behind him. The silence was like a heavy blanket over them. His teeth were clenched as he stared down at the dusty countertop of a long unoccupied space. 

“We have to go back.” 

“Arthur, it’s not safe.” There was a worry line between Leon’s brows that hadn’t smoothed out for a moment since they reached the safe house. It had belonged to Arthur’s mother’s side of the family. Uther had inherited it upon her death, though he had rarely used it. The place was still full of his uncle Aggravaine’s possessions. Arthur had never had much common ground with his uncle. He’d always had the impression that Aggravaine kept close with Uther to bolster his public status. Aggravaine was a coward. He allied himself to the strongest person in a fight, and it had been Uther this time. His home had been built following the second war, built almost like a stronghold. Now… Arthur couldn’t help but bitterly wonder if Aggravaine had fled the country. Either that or he was kissing up to the next powerful guardian he could find. 

Arthur’s singed jacket lay across the nearest chair, a reminder of yet another in a slew of ridiculously lucky escapes. He was beginning to wonder if any of them had really been his own luck or if this was all just one great game of cat-and-mouse—Morgause manipulating him through each new hoop, smiling as she watched him scramble for safety. And with each escape, he left behind one person after another —more lives spent in protection of his own. It made him feel sick. 

“We can’t just leave them there!” Arthur rounded on his silent audience with flashing eyes. No one responded. He put out a hand and leaned heavily on the counter again, taking a breath. “At least Lance wasn't left alone . Why the hell didn’t someone go back for Merlin? He could be badly hurt!” he snapped. 

“Arthur, how could we have gone back?” Arthur’s head swung about, and he froze, confronted not by a challenge or demand but by Gwen’s pained expression. He locked eyes with her for a moment, and some of the anger drained out of him. In subdued silence, he released the counter and sank onto a tall stool beside it. He wanted to put his head down on it and close his eyes, but he couldn’t. Something was itching in his mind relentlessly. If he let this go now, he’d never forgive himself. 

“We can’t go back,” Leon said. “You know we were attacked by a sorcerer. No ordinary person can bring down a building like that without an explosion of considerable size. The danger to your person would be too great, and we cannot risk leading them back to this home should anyone else go looking.” 

“Right. Because I’m so damn important ,” Arthur muttered, putting his aching head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” Elyan frowned at him. “If I’d thought there was any chance we could recover him, I would go back myself.” Arthur dug his fingers into his hair, and the action sent a stab of pain through his left temple where some of the debris had grazed him. He wasn’t the only one. The others were bruised, sore, and tired as well, and everyone was shell-shocked from the narrow brush with death in the crumbling building, and a run-in with a clearly powerful sorcerer who might still be at large… A sorcerer whom Merlin had faced down. Alone. He gritted his teeth over a sharp intake of breath. 

 “Arthur,” Gwaine said slowly. “We all want—” Arthur surged to his feet. He couldn’t listen to this anymore—not from Gwaine.

“Just… don’t,” he bit out and turned on his heel to stalk out of the room. The American was always the most optimistic of them. Listening to him agree with the others that there was no chance would be like hearing Merlin’s time of death pronounced.

Arthur retreated to a bedroom down the hall, listening to the murmurs of continued conversation in the kitchen as his mind turned over the events of the last hours over and over like a broken reel. Silence was no better than the several voices around him. There was no one to help shut out those images any longer, and nothing seemed to make sense for the moment—what had happened to Lance, how Cenred had tracked them so quickly into the building, how Merlin had known the attack was coming seconds before it happened… why the sorceress had created that barrier of fire to keep them from Merlin. 

And that was what he kept coming back to, conjuring up every image of the collapse. Of Merlin, ashen-faced, his fingers smeared with red, clutching at his leg, his other hand reaching for the wall, trying to drag himself to his feet before the fire flared to life between them. After all the times he had stood by Arthur, protected him, supported him, Arthur had left Merlin to die. He’d watched his father die just a scant few days ago. He’d left Gwen to be captured in Oxford. He’d let Gaius and Lance stay behind on the base. And now Merlin… he could add Merlin to the growing list of people left behind. If he’d been faster, if they’d been more careful, if Merlin hadn’t been such a damned idiot and followed him into the mouth of hell. 

He pulled his legs up onto the bed and pressed his forehead to his knees. His eyes stung from the smoke earlier, and he found a few flecks of ash as he scrubbed the tears from his face. He didn’t look up as he heard someone approaching down the hall with light steps. 

The bed dipped. Arthur turned and squinted, unsurprised to find Gwen perched on the edge. 

“Don’t,” he muttered between his teeth. She shifted. “Please, Gwen,” he added in a feeble attempt to mitigate the first word which sounded a little harsh. He hated the raw edge to his voice. But where Guinevere was concerned, he had always been an open book. It did little good to try anyways. 

Gwen didn’t say anything. She reached out quietly and rubbed his arm and shoulder, tracing the lines of tension there. Her hand traced the line from his shoulder to his temple where she gently brushed the scabbing there, and her fingers stilled. In the quiet room, he heard the tiny hitch in her breath. Neither of them wanted to say it. The possibility that he was gone… It was as unthinkable as the sun going out. He’d been such a huge part of their lives since they were children. He’d been friends with both of them before they were friends with each other. They would probably never have become friends, let alone struck up a romance, without Merlin’s friendship and… dare he say wisdom? 

A lump formed in Arthur’s throat. He sat up, reaching for her in the semi-darkness, and she leaned into his touch. The soft sob from her was all it took for him to let the tears run down his face as well. He pulled her tightly against his chest and hid his face against her neck for a moment, swallowing against the tightness in his throat.  

It was a long moment before she spoke, her voice rough, and neither of them let go yet. 

“Arthur, he was shot. I saw him go down.” 

“I know,” Arthur said hoarsely, brushing away the tear at the corner of her eye with his thumb. And that felt like one more blow to his desperate hopes maybe… maybe Merlin was out there somewhere looking for them, trying to reconnect. How could he have gotten out of the burning building with an injury like that?  His throat felt tight. She blinked rapidly. 

“I wanted to get to him. The fire jumped up so fast.” Her fingers brushed the dried blood on his temple, tears shining in her eyes. He’d seen the same look in her eyes as well when they left Lance and Gaius behind on the base. But Merlin… He knew it had to hurt her as much as it did him to leave Merlin behind. Neither of them had meant to. 

“Me too,” he said quietly, taking a shaky breath as he cupped the back of her head and held her in the silence that followed.

After a time, Arthur gently pulled her down with him and laid on his side on the bed, his nose buried in Gwen’s dark curls. He carded his fingers silently through her hair, trying to comfort her, though he had closed his eyes long ago. Neither of them moved, wrapped in one another’s space, trying to shut out the feeling of utter hollowness inside.  

She deserved better than this—better than him. Everywhere he went, trouble followed him like a shadow. She’d been there to watch him sick to the point of death, there  to see her own home burned amidst the dragon’s attack on London. She’d supported him in his turmoil over the Druids, and she’d come along as they fled Oxford instead of staying to wait for her father. She had suffered Morgana’s betrayal and been captured herself. He’d seen her grief over Lance’s possession… and now Merlin—Merlin who had been one of her dearest friends since they were teenagers in the walled off, guarded neighborhood Uther cultivated to raise his son ‘safely’. 

Even now, a stray thought—impulse even—nagged at the back of Arthur’s mind insistently. And the lingering thought that Gwen would be safer here without him kept creeping back into his mind. Arthur held her as he felt her breathing even out. Much as he wanted to sleep, he couldn't. He twined the end of a stray curl round his finger and reached around Gwen's ear to tenderly tuck it back and dashed a sleeve across his own eyes hurriedly. At least—at the very least—she was still here safe and well. He didn't think he could have coped if both she and Merlin had been stripped away from him so soon after…

He very gently disentangled himself from Gwen then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hair, and for a moment he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She looked like she was asleep. He might have time. His hand withdrew from her face and made his way silently out of the room.

It wouldn’t be long before someone was looking for him. But he wouldn’t be gone long either. He moved with quiet steps into the hallway by the door and started to search through the drawers of the hallway table. 

“Going somewhere, princess?” Arthur froze with his fingers on the edge of the drawer. 

“Just… outside to get some fresh air,” he said slowly. He heard a quiet huff and turned around, chin up to look at the American, standing in the hallway with Percival at his side. He didn’t get a chance to inquire about it. His stomach did a flip as Gwen stepped out from the hallway behind them.

“Were you looking for this?” She asked, holding up a key fob. He opened his mouth and blinked at her in bewilderment. Gwen must have searched for and retrieved it before she even came to see him. He glanced between them. Was Gwen trying to keep him from going, or had she intended to go herself? 

“You’re lucky it wasn’t Leon who spotted you,” Gwaine pointed out mildly. Arthur braced his hands on the counter. Leon and Elyan were in an adjoining room talking in low voices, trying to strategize the safest location from here and how to connect them with the right people. 

“I’ll only be a moment,” he insisted. “I just need—”

“Don’t think I believe that for a second.” Gwaine’s voice held a trace of amusement. Arthur tensed. 

“Don’t try to make me stay,” he warned in a low voice. “I can’t just sit here and accept that Merlin’s gone—just… assume he didn’t make it. If there’s even a chance he’s out there somewhere injured and alone, I could never forgive myself.” He took a breath that ached deep in his chest and looked back at Gwen. “I won’t rest until I at least try to find him.” Gwen met his eyes steadily before extending her hand, palm open, offering him the fob. He felt a fierce rush of pride. She hadn’t given up on Merlin—not even for a minute. 

“I couldn’t forgive myself either,” she said quietly. He curled his fingers around it, speechless for a moment. Gwaine inclined his head, and a thin smile flitted across his features. 

“What kind of friends do you think we are?” Arthur stared at him blankly for a moment then shifted his gaze to Percival behind him.

“We left three people behind. That’s three too many,” Percival said quietly. “Lance is one of my oldest friends too. We can keep him clear of Arthur as needed, but I want to look for him too. If there’s any chance we can retrieve any of them, I want to try.” Gwaine’s smile changed to the roguish grin Arthur was accustomed to see on his face. 

“We were gonna go without you, but I figure it’s best if you steal your uncle’s car instead of us, yeah?” A tiny smile twitched at Arthur’s lips, and he held the car key up. 

“We’ll be quick. We can bring it back before Leon notices we’re gone.” Gwen stepped around the counter, and he drew her close against himself to get a kiss. 

“I’ll cover for you as long as I can,” she promised softly. “Be quick. Percival has Elyan’s number. Call if you need help.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it, his throat tight as he looked down at her. 

“You’re incredible,” he said quietly. She grinned back at him, a fleeting moment of warmth. 

“I know.” Her answer drew a smile from him as well. She leaned against him for a heartbeat then let her hand drop. “Find them. Bring Merlin back.” 

What remained unsaid between them was how he’d bring Merlin back. But even if there was nothing to find but a body, he had to try. Arthur parked the car in an alley a couple buildings down from the site of the collapse, fighting to ignore that fatalistic voice in the back of his mind. 

“We haven’t got long,” Percival said brusquely. Arthur let him go ahead as he retrieved a torch from his uncle’s glove compartment.  

“Is anyone else there?” he asked of Percival returning. Percival shook his head. 

“Damn,” Gwaine swore softly. Arthur turned to look, and his stomach lurched. The building seemed to be leaning slightly, one floor almost folding in on itself. Yellow caution tape fluttered around the site of collapse and the possible damage zone in front of the leaning construction. That meant at least one good thing: Morgause was gone and the police or some form of law enforcement had been here to cordon the area off from the public. Arthur swallowed hard and steeled himself. 

“Let’s go,” he said. “We can get up through the fire escape like we did before.”

The window that Merlin had unlocked before was shattered, like most of them. Arthur climbed through, avoiding the jutting glass shards, and Percival and Gwaine followed close behind. Arthur could feel his skin crawling as he stepped through and looked around. It looked like a tornado had ripped through the space. The cubicles were in tatters, walls toppled or scattered, furniture was battered and torn apart. He raised his torch to find a safe way through the wreckage. In his mind, he could hear the screams again–the people who had gone up in flames and been tossed about by the storm, Merlin’s strangled shout when he was shot. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. For a moment, he thought he might throw up. Behind his eyelids, he could see the blood seeping between Merlin’s fingers, see him staggering, falling a second time after he’d staggered up. His throat still felt raw from screaming. 

“I’ll check the hallway. See if you can find anything in this room,” he instructed. Gwaine nodded and turned to start searching the office space. 

Arthur found the charred, ash-strewn part of flooring where he’d seen the line of fire spring up that cut him and the others off from Merlin. By the wall in the hallway, a still figure lay, dressed in dark uniform marred by the fire. A bullet-wound was clearly visible in its chest. It made Arthur’s insides churn with nausea again. He breathed steadily through his nose, crouching and digging his fingers into his leg as he grounded himself, then he crouched and felt for a pulse. He didn’t really need to check. The body was already cold. He silently retrieved the gun fallen from the man’s fingers. 

Beyond the fallen soldier, the floor had caved in and sloped dramatically down to the ground level. Arthur took a few cautious steps towards the damaged flooring, peering into the darkness. Something drew him towards it. He crept to the edge and stopped there, peering down into the shadowy ground floor. Below his feet, he thought he heard something move. He shone the torch into it. 

“Merlin?” No response. Arthur tucked the torch and safety-locked gun into his pockets after scoping out a spot to land. He found what looked like a steady support and lowered himself down, then dropped the last short stretch to the debris-strewn ground floor.“Merlin?” He shone the flashlight about him, turning in a circle, and his attention caught on a scrap of red. His breath caught. He’d seen it a thousand times—the color of Merlin’s ever-present scarf,  just visible pinned under the edge of a piece of wall, floor… he didn’t know what. “Gwaine! Percival!” Arthur skirted the rest of the objects on the floor and dove for the scrap of red. The rubble scraped at his palms and fingers, but he tore feverishly at it, not stopping to register the pain.  

“Arthur, where the hell are you?” Gwaine’s voice called back. 

“Down here! I found him!”  He swallowed hard as he cleared the rest of the wreckage from Merlin’s boots and knees and shuffled up further. He could make out part of Merlin’s torso, but he was hidden partially under a large piece of the flooring–trapped? He couldn’t tell. What was it Gaius had always told him…? Don’t move an injured man until you know the extent of the injuries. He brushed his fingers along the piece of flooring. It was wedged against a large industrial shelf–not going anywhere for now. Merlin was there, seemingly in one piece, and somehow damn lucky to be sheltered from the worst of the falling debris. Still, he wasn’t moving. Arthur crouched low to fit himself partially under the pseudo-shelter and reached for Merlin’s neck. 

“Merlin… come on, come on,” he said hoarsely, leaning over the prone figure. If his back was broken, he could do damage by moving him. It was hard to tell what was injured beyond the bullet wound to one leg. He took a rapid breath and tilted Merlin’s head back, pressing his fingers to his pulse-point. “Goddamnit, Merlin. Came this far, didn’t we?” he breathed, closing his eyes for a second. And there it was–the fluttering pulse under his fingers. He sucked a breath in shakily and turned the flashlight on him again. It was hard to see the faint rise-and-fall, but he felt the ghost of a breath on his ear. He sat back. He’s breathing. That has to be a good sign. “Gwaine!” he shouted. “Percival! I need help!” 

Some feet away from where he crouched over Merlin’s body, something… someone moved in the shadows. Arthur gently moved his hand from Merlin’s head and scrambled to his feet. He wasn’t alone. He flicked off safety and raised the gun he’d retrieved only moments ago. The torch he held alongside it as he turned and brought the light to bear on the other person, heart pounding painfully hard in his chest.

“Don’t move!” Arthur warned, cocking the handgun. 

“Arthur?” The blond stiffened and his grip on the weapon faltered. 

“Gaius?” he gasped. Into the pool of light from his torch stepped the physician—his father’s oldest friend and advisor. He looked drawn and weary beyond his years. The older man had a bundle clutched under one arm.  His face was pale, haunted even… Arthur thought to himself. He opened his mouth and stared blankly back at Gaius.

“What are you doing here?” the physician breathed. Arthur lowered his weapon, snapping finally back into the moment. 

“Doesn’t matter. Gaius, he needs help!” Arthur urged, pointing with his torch at Merlin’s prone form. Gaius crossed the space between them, and Arthur secured the gun again and laid it down flat on the ground, his attention turned back on Merlin. 

“Arthur, you shouldn’t have come back!” Gaius’ voice was as shaken as Arthur felt, but Arthur ignored the reproach.

“What’s wrong with Merlin? What happened?” he demanded. He looked up again fleetingly. Gaius’ face was utterly pale, more so than even he had thought at first, and not just from the white-silver light of the torch. The elderly man shook his head. 

“I don’t know. I wanted to check him over before I moved him.”

“Arthur!” Behind him, another person dropped to the ground through the hole in the floor. Gwaine’s footsteps approached rapidly behind him. The American paused only a split second to register Gaius’ presence before he was on his knees next to Arthur. “Is he breathing?” Gwaine demanded. Arthur nodded and turned away from Gaius to get his shoulder under the debris.

“Come on. We can get at him better if we move this,” he snarled through his teeth. Merlin looked so still—far too still. If he’d taken that fall, or if the sorceress had cursed him, perhaps this was another trap, or they were rescuing him only to watch him die quietly. He quashed another wave of nausea at the thought. Gwaine moved in beside him to help. Moments later Percival had joined them, ducking down and putting his uninjured shoulder underneath it. The piece moved with a lurch, and Gwaine and Arthur hauled it back and off of the still figure. In a heartbeat, Arthur was on his knees again, skimming Merlin’s body with a glance, searching for damage. 

“Looks like he’s not out of luck yet.” Gwaine knelt beside him as Arthur swept the torch up and down. The piece of flooring had shielded him from the worst of the fallout–perhaps even from the storm that had torn up the building. 

“Here.” Arthur shoved his torch into Gwaine’s hands and dropped to his knees, Gaius close by him. There, in the dust and dirt beneath it lay Merlin, all in one piece if pale and unmoving. There were no visible marks of blows or damage save for the crusted blood on his leg where he’d been shot, but Gwaine, crouching by Merlin’s head now, drew his hand back from the man’s neck where he’d been feeling for a pulse, as if to reassure himself as well.  

“ Shit! ” the American muttered. “He’s freezing.” Cold he certainly was, but Arthur felt almost faint with relief when he found the heartbeat steadier as he pressed a hand over Merlin’s chest. Gwaine was already tearing his jacket off. 

“Arthur, you should go. Morgause was here not so long ago,” Gaius urged without looking up. He was prying one of Merlin’s eyes gently open and shining a light on it. Arthur gritted his teeth. 

“I’m not leaving without him,” he said. “What happened to Lance?” 

“He’s at the clinic on base. I came to look for Merlin.” Another life in the balance. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat back, and snapped them open again as he heard a soft groan. Merlin was turning his head away from Gaius’ fingers.

“Merlin?” Gaius put a hand gently on his chest. “Merlin, can you look at me?” Arthur grimaced as Merlin opened a pair of hazy pain-glazed eyes and squinted into the glare of the flashlights above him. 

“Gaius?” he slurred.  His hand batted ineffectively at Gaius’, trying to push his uncle away from his face. 

“Hey. Welcome back.” Arthur mustered a tight smile. Merlin’s eyes focused on Arthur beside Gaius, and he blinked dazedly at him.

“N-no… Arthur y’have t’ go. C-can’t be here…” he said weakly. Gaius turned his head gently. 

“Merlin. Can you move your legs?” Gaius coaxed insistently. Merlin blinked at him as if not comprehending, then curled his fingers around Gaius’ arm, and Arthur was immensely relieved to see him move his legs, just enough to try pulling his feet up under him. Merlin’s face crumpled, and he let out a strangled cry of pain. Arthur winced. The leg wound looked like it would need cleaning. It was no longer bleeding but crusted reddish brown around the injury. Merlin reached feebly for it, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Is it safe to move him?” Arthur asked. 

“I think so.” Gaius took his nephew’s hand and squeezed it gently. “Lie still. It’s alright.” 

“We’ve got to get him to the car,” Percival said. “He shouldn’t stay here any longer.” Arthur nodded. Merlin, clutching at his leg, struggled to push himself up with his other arm, shaking, though whether from cold, pain, or exhaustion Arthur didn’t know. He put a hand over his friend’s chest. 

“Easy. You don’t have to get up,” he murmured. There was no way he could just throw Merlin over his shoulder like this. It would cause the man a world of pain. It would already hurt him enough to carry him with a gunshot wound in his leg. He eased an arm under Merlin’s knees. “We’re going to get you out of here, alright?” 

“Careful,” Gaius warned unnecessarily, reaching out to adjust the coat draped over Merlin.

“Arthur.” Merlin’s cold fingers wrapped around Arthur’s wrist, and Arthur felt like the icy sensation crept straight through his body to wrap around his heart. His breath caught. “Leave me,” Merlin rasped. Arthur retracted his hand from the man’s weak grip and slid his other arm under Merlin’s shoulders. I’m not going to leave you to die, you idiot. 

“Now’s not the time for jokes, Merlin.” 

“ Please leave me.” 

“Sure. Whatever you say,” Gwaine chimed in, completely deadpan. 

“S-s’no good. Arthur… she cursed me. ‘M dying.” Merlin’s eyes slipped closed. Arthur nearly stumbled trying to clamber to his feet carrying Merlin, and Gwaine steadied him. 

“What?” 

“Merlin.” Gaius interrupted, placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder as Arthur balanced himself between Gwaine and Percival’s support. “What happened? What are you talking about?” 

“C-cold… S’cold.” Arthur stared at him. The cold seemed to be creeping into Arthur’s chest too, wrapping itself like ice around his heart. Merlin was beginning to shiver, increasingly more conscious and clearly in pain now. 

“What’s cold, Merlin?” Gaius asked quietly. The look of pure distress in Merlin’s eyes made Arthur feel sick.

“Magic.” 

Chapter Text

“Got him?” Gwaine nodded. Arthur shifted his grip, grunting as he lowered Merlin’s shivering form onto the back seat. Gwaine supported Merlin’s head and shoulders carefully, and they settled him stretched out in the back. Merlin’s eyes were half closed, but he blinked up at Arthur, his expression a mixture of pain and confusion. Arthur leaned forward to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder. 

“Stay with us,” Arthur urged. “We’re going to get you help.” He wished he knew better what to do or say. He wasn’t even sure Merlin registered his assurance. The man shivered again. After giving his shoulder a last squeeze, Arthur ducked out of the car and turned to Gaius. 

“Arthur, you shouldn’t be here.” The older man’s face was still grim. “You’re not safe with Merlin. I can take him from here. There’s a hospital nearby—”

“A hospital isn’t what he needs,” Arthur cut in. “We both know that. Gaius, what was he talking about?” Gaius shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. Magic… Why was it always magic? Arthur gritted his teeth and took a breath. 

“Look, I realize that you and Merlin both expect me to lose my head the moment someone breathes the word ‘magic’, but I’m not my father. Can you please just tell me? I need to know what’s going on.” Gaius’ eyes strayed to the car. 

“I don’t know what that sorceress did to him, Arthur. It would take someone far more knowledgeable about magic than I to help him,” the physician said heavily. Arthur clenched his fists. Merlin was laid out in the back seat, still shivering as Gwaine and Percival tucked every scrap of clothing they could—sweaters, jackets, a blanket from the back of the car—around him in a futile attempt to warm him up. If anything, Merlin looked paler than before. The words came to him slowly—hesitant but firm. 

“You spoke to the Druids,” he said. “Years ago—when Mordred was in the neighborhood. I know. I saw the man who came to pick Mordred up.” 

“Yes… but I have no way of contacting them right now,” Gaius said. There, finally, was the raw edge Arthur recognized—the pain reflected in his tired eyes. So he was right. Gaius was genuinely afraid for Merlin. That alone was proof enough for Arthur that this was serious. It reminded him of Gaius as he had been years ago when Merlin had been poisoned in their childhood… poisoned and dying, like now, stabbed by a man who had intended to assassinate Arthur. The irony struck him keenly. Now, just as at that time, the problem had been one of magic, and the solution appeared to be in magic as well. 

Arthur took a breath. How many times had he violated his every teaching about magic this month? How many of his father’s rules had he callously broken? And yet… His eyes strayed to the car—to Percival and Gwaine speaking together in an undertone. He’d done it before. He’d allowed magical people to help him. He’d helped them. Mordred, Balinor, Brigid and Iseldir. All four of them had proven safe, trustworthy people who had offered him help in the direst of times. But then, he’d also trusted Morgana—believed that she was a trustworthy person, known her better than any of those four. She had turned on him. And he’d never seen through his father’s deceptions about his birth… What did that say about his judgment? 

Arthur turned and paced a few steps, turned back, looked restlessly from the car to Gaius.

“What will happen,” he asked, “If we don’t do anything for Merlin?” The look in Gaius’ eyes told him his answer before the physician spoke. 

“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes and exhaled softly through his nose. This was his own fault. His fault: because Merlin had once again thrown himself in front of a bullet meant for Arthur. Because he had left Merlin to die. Because Merlin had been at his side since this whole hellish experience started… and he should have sent the man away safe long ago. He drew in a long, deep breath. 

“Then we find someone who does know,” he decided. 

“Arthur—”

“I know where to find the Druids,” Arthur cut in. “They’ll help us. They told us where to find Balinor—”

“This isn’t about the Druids.” Gaius’ expression turned grim. “Whatever is going on, you can’t be here. They left Merlin alive for a reason. It could be a trap—”

“If it’s a trap, then it’s too late for all of us. I’ll take that risk,” Arthur said tersely. And if there was any chance—any chance at all—that this was a trap… there was no way he could risk going back to speak with Guinevere. Not if it might risk her safety. He closed his eyes, swallowing down the wave of anxiety that washed over him at the thought. She would be sick with worry over him. But she would be safe, he hoped. That was what really mattered. “Just… do whatever you can for him,” he said roughly, though he knew in truth he didn’t need to tell Gaius that. He steeled himself and took the little flip phone Gwen had given him from his pocket. 

Please let me remember the number correctly… please… Arthur turned with his back to the car where the other three were huddled, speaking in low voices. He might not answer… The thought left Arthur feeling sick and dizzy. He wouldn’t know what to do if he couldn’t reach the Professor. But he would. He had to. Leod had answered his door at an odd hour of the morning after all. Arthur clutched the mobile phone tight, listening to it ring once, twice, three times… 

“Hello?” The voice sounded right. 

“Professor Leod?” Arthur breathed. He slouched lower against the car as the headlights came on. Percival was starting the heat inside. 

“I’m sorry—who is this?” Arthur chewed his lip, indecisive. 

“It’s Arthur.” A heartbeat of silence followed, and he pressed on quickly. “I’m sorry. I need your help. It’s my friend Merlin. He’s… something’s really wrong with him. We ran into a sorceress, and…” He stopped to breathe. He was beginning to shiver himself from the adrenaline still surging through his body. His free hand was trembling, and he tucked it into his pocket. “Merlin was shot, but I don’t think that’s what’s really wrong with him. He’s cold—really cold. He can barely talk, but he keeps saying it’s cold and talking some nonsense about magic. Said… the magic was cold. I think he’s… He thinks he’s cursed. I don’t know what she did to him—”

“Arthur,” Iseldir quietly broke into his anxious, rambling explanation. “Are you alright? You weren’t hurt?” 

“No…” Arthur’s throat tightened. No… I left him for dead. He clenched his teeth. “I’m fine. I got out. I came back for Merlin.” He faltered. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted finally, managing to get his thoughts and breathing under control again. This was not a time to panic.  

“Who is ‘she’?” Iseldir asked. “This ‘she’ who did something to Merlin?” He hesitated.

“I…” he swallowed. “Morgause. I think.” Silence followed that statement. Then Iseldir spoke again. 

“Where are you?” 

“I can’t… I don’t think it’s safe for me to tell you that.” Arthur bit his lip. He couldn’t say that out loud. Not if it was possible for the line to be tapped. For all he knew, someone might even be able to trace his mobile right now. He shuddered. “Please. I need your help.” Please understand… Please.  

“We’ll find a way to help him.” Leod’s voice was quiet but firm. Arthur took a breath. “Can you come to the place I told you of before—where you and Merlin went to find help last time?” Arthur let out a choked breath. Dartmoor. That’s at least a four hour drive… At least Iseldir had the discernment to tell him a destination that wasn’t plain speech. For that he was grateful. If anyone would understand the need for secrecy, it would be Iseldir—a man who had hidden an entire community of people for years. 

“Yes. Yeah. I can do that,” he said tightly. The last thing he wanted to do was drag Iseldir into this mess and get them all killed. At least this way, if he was being watched at this very moment, he would be intercepted on the way, and Iseldir and the rest of the refugee community would be safe. But he had to try. Merlin wouldn’t stand a chance if he didn’t at least try to do this.

“Will Merlin make it that far?” 

“I think so,” Arthur whispered. Merlin wasn’t dying. He wasn’t. He would have to make it that far. 

“I’ll meet you there,” Iseldir said. 

“Thank you,” Arthur said weakly before he heard the click of the call ending. 

Arthur ducked back into the car and passed the phone back to Percival. 

“Take the battery and SIM card out. We can’t have anyone tracking the signal,” he ordered brusquely. “How is he?” he asked the American in the back seat across from him. Gwaine had managed to prop Merlin between himself and Gaius, though Merlin looked as pale as ever, despite the pile of clothing and blankets tucked around him, and barely conscious at best. Gwaine looked up from his charge and shook his head. 

“Nothing new. Shivering. Quiet.” Arthur shrugged his own jacket off and stuffed it into Gaius’s hands. 

“The place we’re going belongs to a man who practices magic… He’s a Druid. I’ve spoken with him before, and he’s a peaceful man—he and his friends. If you choose to come with me I would swear on my life that he won’t hurt any of us. I’m taking Merlin there. Percival, Gwaine, I don’t know your personal feelings on the matter, but this may be the only way to help Merlin. If you’re uncomfortable—if either of you has concerns—I completely understand, and you are not obligated to come.” Gwaine instantly scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not going to leave now.” Arthur inclined his head slightly with a surge of gratitude towards Gwaine. Percival set the dismantled phone in the cup-holder. 

“Someone has to stay here with Lance. He’s cursed but not injured. Gaius should go with you. I’ll stay. If I can, I’ll get Lance somewhere safe. Perhaps you can speak to your contact about him as well.” Arthur glanced at Gaius who nodded slightly. He held out a hand which Percival took in a firm grip.
“I’ll do what I can. Good luck. We’ll reach out as soon as it’s safe.” If they all came out of this alive. 

Percival looked small in the car’s headlights as Arthur put the car in gear and backed out onto the street again, consciously trying to calm his frayed nerves with each shift he made. He kept the sun-visor down to shield part of his face and began weaving his way through the city streets, heading for the open freeway. He had an almost full tank of petrol. If he kept good pace, they could make it all the way to Dartmoor without stopping. 

Without the mobile phone, Arthur lost track of time long before he reached the winding streets to the tiny neighborhood across from Spinster’s Rock. The occupants of the car were mostly silent. Gwaine tried to coax some water into Merlin who was restless and mostly incoherent on the ride back. 

Arthur tried to shut out the pained sounds that made his gut twist. His head was beginning to ache—a combination of sleep deprivation and stress. Perhaps the adrenaline was finally wearing off. The car’s tank was nearing empty when he reached the run-down old road that cut across the moorland. But it didn’t matter. Arthur slowed down to a cautious pace as he turned onto the final run-down road and scanned the sides, thankful that his memory had served him well. 

“That’s the spot,” Arthur changed the headlights to low beams and shifted the car into neutral. He couldn’t help feeling apprehensive with Gaius’ warning lingering in the back of his mind. Morgause and Morgana had left both Gaius and Merlin behind after all, and why was anyone’s guess. It couldn’t mean anything good. Perhaps they had thought their curse would kill Merlin. He twisted about to peer into the back seat. Merlin might have been unconscious; he couldn’t tell. He didn’t stop to check.

“Wait here,” he said, reaching for the door handle.

“Arthur,” Gwaine’s voice intoned, sharp and wary. Arthur turned in a moment and saw both the approaching figures in the pale light of the early morning. A tiny, relieved chuckle escaped Arthur’s throat.

“It’s alright.” He unclipped and nudged his door open. “They’re friends.” 

The curly-haired teenager, breathless but wide-eyed and earnest, stopped by the car as Arthur stepped out. 

“Iseldir’s waiting for you,” Mordred said. He was leaning over to peer past Arthur at the back seat where Merlin was stretched out. “Can I help?” Arthur exhaled. 

“Merlin can’t walk. Do we have to—” He gestured towards the other side of the road where the ancient dolmen stood. Mordred shook his head. 

“Iseldir’s lifted the wards for you,” he said. “Just bring him into the house on this side of the street.” Gwaine was already climbing out of the car, and Mordred sucked in a sharp breath. Merlin looked pale and wan, almost completely limp, held up only by Gwaine and Gaius as they lifted him out. Merlin’s eyes were unfocused, if open, and he was still wrapped clumsily in multiple coats and blankets. Arthur hurriedly turned to help gather Merlin up off the ground. Even the shivering had stopped now. It made Arthur’s gut twist again.  Mordred stepped up to help support him, pointing with his free hand. 

“This way,” he directed, steering them in the direction of the first house.  

At the porch of the house and inside were several people alert and clearly expecting them—Brigid among them—some faces both younger and older that Arthur didn’t know. Some others were standing in the shadow just outside the pale porch-light. He couldn’t see any of them well in the darkness amidst the other gathering Druids. 

Iseldir was the only one that mattered. The silver-haired professor was at the doorway when Arthur reached it. He ushered them into the first bedroom in the hallway of the small house. 

“Lay him down on the bed.” Gaius let go and moved aside to let Arthur and Gwaine settle Merlin where Iseldir directed. 

“Mordred, go find Balinor,” the Druid ordered. Mordred left the room instantly, and Iseldir knelt beside the bed, placing a hand on Merlin’s chest. Arthur realized what was happening a split second before the Druid began murmuring quiet, foreign words. He saw the golden gleam of the Druid’s eyes and the almost imperceptible response of Merlin’s body, shivering again and stirring. He didn’t seem to be conscious anymore. Perhaps that was a mercy. Merlin still didn’t seem entirely comfortable around magic. 

Arthur held himself in place, frozen in mute fear and fascination, until Iseldir rose again and turned to him. Arthur was aware that his own body was drawn taut as a bowstring, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never actually willingly stood and watched magic performed like this… He wasn’t sure if it felt wrong or not—if it felt like… anything at all out of the usual. That scared him almost as much as everything else he’d experienced in the day. 

“What happened? What’s wrong with him?” he demanded in a tense voice. The Druid shook his head, and Arthur’s heart plummeted. 

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. You’ll have to ask Merlin yourself,” he said. What the hell does that mean? They’d tried. Merlin didn’t seem to know either.

“Can you help him?” Arthur persisted, clenching his fists. I didn’t come this far to watch him die. 

“Perhaps.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. Arthur gritted his teeth. 

“It’s not the bullet. There must be something—”

“Arthur,” Iseldir interrupted. Arthur stiffened. “I will do everything in my power to help him, but right now I need to speak with some of the others who live here and may know more of his ailment than I.'' Arthur’s fingers dug into his palm, and he stared mutely at Merlin. “We’re going to take care of him.” The reassurance felt a little empty. Arthur’s gaze lingered. Merlin looked pathetically small under the bundle of blankets and coats. Small, still, and pale. He nodded jerkily.

“I’ll stay with him,” he decided. Iseldir’s hand touched his shoulder briefly before the man turned and left the room along with Gaius.

Arthur edged forward and sat down in a chair he moved over to the bed, slowly, as if he almost expected either the chair or Merlin to move if he approached.

“Arthur?” The murmur made him start. Merlin’s eyes were open again, and he tried to turn on his side and get his arms under him to push himself up. “Wh… where are we?” he rasped. Arthur clamped a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back into the pillows ignoring his question. He didn’t know how to explain their trip to Dartmoor. 

“We’re somewhere safe. Lie still. You’re hurt,” he said flatly, wishing Gaius hadn’t left the room too. Gaius would know what to say so Merlin didn’t panic or something ridiculous like that. Arthur himself didn’t really know how to deal with an injured person. But at least it seemed that Iseldir’s spell had done something. Merlin looked marginally more aware than the last time he spoke. “Wha’… what happened?” Merlin mumbled. “You and Gwen, and… Leon—?” 

“I’m fine. Everyone’s fine. Quit worrying,” Arthur said bluntly. Silence fell. For a moment, Merlin’s eyes closed and Arthur thought he’d drifted to sleep again. He heard footsteps in the hall and glanced up to see Gwaine hovering by the doorway. Outside the room, Iseldir’s voice was audible speaking to someone else—perhaps Gaius. 

“Am I a dead man?” Merlin asked hoarsely. Arthur’s head snapped back around. 

“You’re not going to die , Merlin. Don’t be such a coward,” he growled. He bit his lip angrily, and his chest felt like it was being clenched in a vice-grip again. 

“If I do die…” Arthur turned a scowling expression on Merlin. The man wasn’t paying attention, eyes half closed again. “Would you call me a hero?” 

“Probably.” Arthur rolled his eyes and quashed the surge of unease. 

“But… till then I’m a coward.” Arthur shrugged.

“I’m afraid that’s how these things go. You get the glory when you’re not around to appreciate it,” he said, avoiding Merlin’s eyes. 

“’Cept you. How come you get all the credit?” Merlin’s voice trailed off a little. Arthur turned back to look at him. 

“There have to be some perks to being me,” he said bitterly. As if he’d actually wanted to be Uther’s son with all the media attention. It put him and everyone he cared about in danger. And now he had no way of giving any further media statements even if he’d wanted to keep that contact. Merlin’s lips twitched in a thin smile.

“You’ve got me,” he offered. Arthur rolled his eyes. 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he deadpanned. Merlin shrugged, but his smile faded almost as soon as it appeared, and he closed his eyes and drew in a small, hitching breath. Arthur tucked his arms over his chest, watching the faint rise-and-fall of Merlin’s chest. He remembered Gwen’s face, the tears in her eyes… the tears he himself had shed quietly as they held each other in the darkness, trying to wrap their minds around a world without Merlin. It had made him feel sick. So sick that he felt driven to go back, even if just to find Merlin’s body and do right by a man who had been a truer, more steadfast friend than any Arthur had ever known. He’s not dying. He’s not. He ground his teeth and forced the thought away. It was a bullet. Just a bullet. It would heal… He’d probably just overreacted and Merlin was experiencing shock from the injury. 

“You’re right,” he said at last, tucking his arms over his chest. “I have a friend who’s extremely brave and incredibly loyal… and to be honest, not at all cowardly.” He bit down on his cheek. “And… I’d rather not see him take any more bullets for me, okay?” 

“Who says I did it for you, prat?” Merlin mumbled. A tiny hint of his familiar cheekiness gleamed in his weary blue eyes before he closed them again. Arthur didn’t answer. He reached out to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder again, find a little grounding and calm in the contact, the reassurance that Merlin was here and alive.

“Yeah, well Gwen and Leon don’t want you to either.” Merlin gave a little huff in response. He seemed to be losing consciousness again, turning his face against the pillow, still half-buried under the blankets. Arthur welcomed the silence that followed. He could still fairly hear his heart thumping in his chest. He shut his eyes. 

“Arthur.” Arthur turned. His memory took a moment to catch up with the voice speaking from the doorway. Gwaine had gone, but in his place another man stood whose footsteps Arthur had heard approaching. He sat up straighter and stared at the newcomer. 

Balinor, like Gaius, appeared to have aged a decade since Arthur had last seen him. It reminded Arthur of something Merlin had mentioned in passing after their first encounter with the man. He’d said Balinor was ill. Arthur could tell now. Just in the dim lighting, he could see the lines etched into the older man’s face, and he noted the tired set of Balinor’s shoulders and figure. He seemed slower and stiffer. 

“May I have a moment?” the dragon lord asked. Arthur slowly stood up. Iseldir had sent for Balinor, and Arthur remembered what Merlin had said of the man: that he’d healed Arthur some time ago after the encounter with the dragon. Arthur’s shoulder, now with full range of motion and recovered skin, was proof of the dragon lord’s healing abilities. Arthur nodded and backed away.

“Of course,” he said, though his voice betrayed his reluctance. He retreated to the doorway, but hesitated as Balinor crossed the room with stiff, heavy steps and sank into a chair with a grunt. Merlin stirred beneath the heavy pile of blankets. He might have been unconscious again; Arthur couldn’t tell. He’d seemed to drift off time and again ever since they found him at the wrecked building. 

Balinor sat in silence looking at the man, then he leaned forward and stretched out a hand, palm down. His hand didn’t touch Merlin’s chest where Iseldir had cast the first spell. He didn’t speak any words. Arthur didn’t note any light or glow he’d often come to associate with magic. Instead, Balinor’s fingers touched Merlin’s forehead gently and brushed his dark, tousled hair back. His hand rested there over Merlin’s head, as though in silent benediction. It was tentative, uncertain, but above all, the set of his figure, the movement of his hand… all of it spoke of a gentle concern… affection even, that seemed utterly out of place from the hand of the hardened, bitter man Arthur had met not so long ago. 

A pair of tired blue eyes blinked open once again, and as Balinor withdrew his hand Arthur quickly moved back, out of sight of the doorway. Something kept him there, frozen in irresistible curiosity.

“Merlin.” It seemed a little more than a greeting. Arthur wasn’t sure what the trace of emotion in Balinor’s voice was—perhaps teasing almost… In response, Merlin hummed a drowsy acknowledgement of the address. From his place around the corner, Arthur heard Balinor’s voice continue, low and soft. “This isn’t quite what I had in mind when I said you should come back to visit.” Arthur hadn’t been aware of any such arrangement. He blinked. Merlin’s voice, slurred and drowsy, responded something vaguely resembling ‘sorry’, and Balinor laughed . 

Arthur stepped back, away from the room, and slipped noiselessly away down the hall. There was no question in his mind; that scene was not meant for his eyes. Nonetheless, he couldn’t get it out of his head. He’d had no idea Merlin and the dragon lord had fostered such a relationship in the mere two days they’d been acquainted. In truth, he’d found Balinor to be a rough, sharp-tongued, somewhat uncouth man, so very unlike Merlin that he couldn’t understand what would draw the two to one another at all. Yet he’d seen proof beyond all doubt that not only was there some tie between them, inexplicable as that seemed… but there was also something more to Balinor that he hadn’t seen: something Merlin had drawn out. 

Outside, the small refuge community—village or whatever it might be—was still alive with activity. Lights had come on in the next-door houses, and Arthur heard quiet voices conversing nearby. Judging from his and Merlin’s reception the first time, he guessed that visitors were none too common here. 

Arthur dropped into a chair in the living room and pressed his palms against his eyes wearily. Gwaine had settled on the couch across from him and closed his eyes. His open exhaustion reminded Arthur of the meeting which suddenly seemed an eternity ago—Guinevere’s reappearance, then Percival and Lance who had both been abused by Morgause Fox. For a fleeting moment, he’d thought things might be alright again. They’d all been safe and together again. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a shaky breath. Nothing made sense anymore. His protection at the hands of Rodor had been stripped away. Morgause and Morgana were using people like tools against him at every turn from Lance to Merlin… And Merlin himself— Merlin who was accustomed to skittering out of the room at the first mention of the word ‘magic’—had apparently grown comfortable enough to feel safe in the presence of the dragon lord. He’d even fostered some kind of strange friendship with Balinor. 

Arthur wasn’t sure whether he dozed off or not. The floorboards creaked in the hall as people passed the living room. Voices murmured somewhere nearby. They faded into the background. Arthur’s eyes were closed, his thoughts wandering from Merlin, sick and pale, to Guinevere left behind in London, no doubt to be both angry and upset when she woke. And he wished fervently that she were here, leaning against him, her breath ticking the hair round his ear, reassuring, comforting… safe. That he hadn’t left her so distraught… that he could reach her right now—tell her that Merlin was alive and that they were taking care of him. 

“Arthur?” He opened one eye and squinted at the speaker. Mordred was back, standing restlessly before him with a steaming mug in his hands. Arthur sat up to take it, trying to force the image of Gwen’s face out of his mind. “What happened?” Mordred’s expression was dark with worry. “Your friend Gwaine. He told me Morgana did this.” Arthur gripped the mug and shook his head. 

“I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t there,” he said through his teeth. 

“I saw the media reports about her—that she was working with Morgause Fox.” Mordred paused, looking almost guilty. “I don’t understand. This has to be a mistake. She knows you—both of you.”  Arthur rubbed his eyes and sighed heavily. 

“She’s confused. It’s complicated, Mordred.” Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. He forgot sometimes that Mordred had known her too. She’d been kind to the younger boy—affectionate, even. He’d taken it for a caring instinct inspired by the boy’s injury, but now…  it seemed Morgana had always felt a tie to magic and its people. “She’s hurt and angry,” he said heavily, looking down at the mug Mordred had brought. “She and I… we grew apart. A lot of it was my fault, and now It’s too late to talk. She’s chosen her side.”

“But if you could …” Mordred was frowning seriously at him. Arthur sighed heavily. 

“Mordred–” 

“She wouldn’t turn her back on you. I know her too. If you had the chance to talk to her–” 

“If Morgana wanted to talk, I’d talk,” Arthur interrupted. “No one knows better than I do that I failed her.  I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I wish things could have changed sooner. But I’m not sure Morgana is open to talking at this point.”  

“You don’t know that,” he said. Arthur closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“No… I suppose I don’t. I’m sorry, Mordred. I don’t think it’s a good time for me to talk about this.” Mordred looked a little stung. He pursed his lips. “It’s not you,” Arthur said, trying to offer some comfort to the clearly troubled teenager. “I’ve had a hell of a day. I just need some rest. Thank you for the drink.” Mordred didn’t look satisfied, but he nodded and retreated quietly into the next room, leaving Arthur to lean back into the chair with a sigh.  

Silence dragged out for an eternity in the small home. The murmur of Balinor’s voice quieted shortly after Arthur settled in the living room again. Mordred had gone still too, perched on the opposite end of the couch from Gwaine, asleep perhaps, with his head resting on the arm of the couch, as though watching out the window. Iseldir and Gaius had gone as well, perhaps to speak to Brigid or whoever else lived in the little neighborhood… perhaps another friend of Gaius’ or some old acquaintance of Arthur’s. Arthur had run into enough familiar faces that he wondered if anything would surprise him at this point. But even as the thought drifted through his mind, Guinevere, Merlin, Balinor, Gaius… every name and scenario filtered through his thoughts until they faded away into a fitful sleep. 

Down the hall, the door opened, and Arthur started awake, his thoughts blurred with a thousand different faces and voices, and blinked rapidly at his surroundings. Pale rays of light were just starting to creep in through the window past the sofa where Mordred sat with his back to Arthur and the rest of the room.

“Another car just showed up,” Gwaine explained, appearing from the adjoining kitchen, squint eyed in the pale sunrise. His dark hair stuck up as if he’d just woken. Mordred was leaning his forehead listlessly against the windowpane, half-slumped over the back of the couch, but he perked up all at once, sleep-glazed eyes lighting with sudden energy. 

“She’s here!” he cried, scrambling to his feet.  

“What… who?” Arthur stared at him, but before he could ask further, the younger man was out the door in a flash, darting towards the road where the pale headlights of a car were shining. 

Arthur stepped out onto the porch of the small house with Gwaine close behind him and shielded his eyes with a hand as he turned towards the road, looking into rising sunlight where a car had parked a little ways down the road beyond his car. Iseldir was outside too, alert and dressed, and Gaius stood at his side—another odd reminder of how closely tied Merlin’s uncle was with the Druid community. 

Arthur made out Mordred’s figure, returning shortly with a companion: a woman, shorter than Mordred by a head at least, her brown hair pulled back in a neat bun, but as she came closer, it was her eyes he recognized, familiar as they were. There was no question where Merlin had inherited those from. He’d met her many times in his years of friendship with Merlin. Arthur drew in a breath, eyes opening wide. It can’t be. He was certain from the moment her face came into the porch-light, and her face lit with a smile when she caught sight of her brother, Gaius. How could she have gotten here so quickly? 

“Hunith.” Iseldir extended a hand in greeting. Arthur stood frozen. “Welcome. Thank you for coming.” Had Iseldir contacted her about Merlin? It took at least a day to get travel papers approved from Ireland.    

“Thank you for contacting me,” Hunith answered quietly. “How is he? Has it gotten any worse?” The gray-haired Druid shook his head. 

“No, he’s doing well. Hunith, I’m sorry. I tried to reach you while you were traveling. He’s with your son. Merlin is unwell.” Arthur’s thoughts jarred to a halt. His sentiment seemed to register just as sharply with Hunith whose eyes widened.

“Merlin? Merlin is here too?” She turned to Gaius. “What happened?” Gaius put a hand on her arm, but whatever reassurance he was about to offer was lost. Hunith’s gaze fixed on Arthur who stood in the shadows of the doorway. “Arthur?” Her voice rose in astonishment. Arthur didn’t move. 

It had been right before his eyes the whole time, and suddenly dozens of pieces slotted into place with a certainty that startled him: Balinor’s own statements about his past; his ‘home in Ireland’ and the woman he loved there—the woman whom he had never married; Balinor’s question to Merlin: ‘You took your mother’s last name?’ Merlin’s strange behavior in the dragon incident; his unusual connection with the dragon lord, especially his defensiveness for the man; Balinor’s hand on Merlin’s forehead; their comfortable banter; Hunith’s prompt arrival. 

This wasn’t mere coincidence. It wasn’t luck. This was how Merlin had known that they needed to search for a dragon lord. This was why Iseldir had known who Merlin was before Arthur introduced him. This was how Merlin had been able to find their way into the Druid refuge by circling the dolmen. This was why Merlin got so uncomfortable when anyone talked about magic. 

Hunith hadn’t come to see Merlin; she hadn’t even known Merlin was there. Hunith Astur had come to see Balinor, the father of her son. 

Chapter Text

The pale morning rays that had greeted Hunith’s arrival had long since broadened to a golden glow of sunlight spread across the green Dartmoor fields—full noon daylight. 

It was an idyllic place he had chosen, Hunith reflected, resting a hand on the doorframe. Neither of them had slept, but her eyes and mind were fully alert. There had been questions—questions about Merlin, his health, past… his magic. They’d spoken. Both of them were restless and anxious. Her mind wandered continually back to the small room down the hall. She’d known he was somewhere in the thick of all this. She’d seen him behind Arthur as he gave his talk. She’d known without question that he was somewhere near as the trouble circled around Uther and his family. It had been her fear that this was only a matter of time 

But for the moment, Merlin had a respite—just this moment. She was here. She’d helped soothe him back to resting easily and left him sleeping at last with Iseldir keeping watch over her injured and troubled son. Merlin always seemed to find trouble, she reflected with a heavy heart. Just now, however, Merlin was not the only one she had questions for. There were many things she needed to know. 

She traced the edge of the screen door with her fingers. She pushed the door open quietly and stepped out onto the porch. Balinor turned his head and lowered the cigarette. 

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said, watching him crush it out. He lifted his shoulders. 

“I know.” He leaned forward, resting his hands on the rail, and closed his eyes. She moved forward to stand beside him. It seemed like an eternity ago that their relationship had been something they both understood. So much had changed—not least the person who constituted a common purpose for them now: a common worry. Yet that wasn’t why she’d come at first… Perhaps she’d assumed too much to think that he would want her here? That she could help? 

“What have they said?” she asked. He opened his eyes just enough to peer sideways at her. “About you,” she clarified. His shoulders hunched a little. He turned his face away and shook his head. 

“Maybe six months now,” he answered at last. She twisted her hands together. That little. “You didn’t have to come, Hunith.” She consciously relaxed her body and laced her fingers carefully together. Twenty years. It had been more than twenty years. Perhaps he wouldn’t want her here any longer. She drew in a breath. 

“If there’s anything I can do to help—anything at all… I’d like to stay.” He looked at her. “Whatever time we have is worthwhile to me.” He bowed his head. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. She watched him a minute longer, still and pensive. It wasn’t an answer one way or the other. 

“There are ways we could get treatment for you,” she ventured. Hesitant, she stretched out a hand and let her fingers rest lightly on his sleeve. “If we could get you out of England, perhaps to America—”

“Hunith,” he interrupted. She moved to withdraw her hand, but he covered it with his own. “There’s nothing we can do. If I had access to treatment from today on–if I could even afford it–that might prolong my life another few months, and that’s the best-case scenario.” She did. She let the words hang in the air for a moment, then she took his hand between hers. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” She raised her head. There was a hint of a smile in his eyes. “I never expected to see you again. I certainly never thought I’d have a son. As you say, whatever time I have left… at least now it will be worth something to me.” Hunith’s throat tightened. There was nothing more she could say. He turned his hand to cup hers, and his thumb brushed over the back of her hand. “You haven’t aged a day.” She laughed aloud and tried halfheartedly to retrieve her hand from his grip. 

“I don’t remember having so many gray hairs at thirty.” She pulled back to give him a reproachful look, but he kept a gentle grasp on her hand, smiling back now. 

“I don’t think the gray hair mars your looks,” he replied mildly. “I meant more who you are, Hunith.” She stilled to look curiously at him. “It couldn’t have been easy—you alone with Merlin. But I knew as soon as I met him, you hadn’t let circumstances change you.” He released her hand and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “You couldn’t have known when you left. Even I didn’t. I’m glad you hid. It would have been worse to see you executed.”  

“I know… I’m still sorry for what I missed.”

“I’ll fill you in.” She smiled. Tentative, he reached an arm up around her shoulders, and she wordlessly moved closer. It was shy, hesitant, as thought they were getting to know one another for the first time again. Yet they were living on borrowed time. It was fortunate they were here at all, and there were things that had to be said now—to be asked, regardless of what she wished. “I was hoping…” She paused, faltering. “That you might be able to fill me in a little too.” She sighed. “Merlin has scared the life out of me a few times before. He’s good at finding trouble. But I think this time the trouble found him.” She turned to look at him. “Do you know what’s happening? What did Merlin get himself involved in?” He shook his head ever so slightly. 

“Merlin didn’t ask for any of this.” He withdrew his arm and leaned on the rail. “Hunith, I only know what the Druids have told me—mostly what the boy Mordred tells me. A lot of it is very vague.” Hunith folded her hands. 

“But?” she prompted. He looked down at his hands. 

“The Druids have long held faith in a prophecy passed down through the generations. No one knows quite how old it is any longer. They believe that it is finally coming to pass. Merlin…” He turned towards her. “You are no doubt aware that he is unusual.” How often I have wished that he wasn’t… Hunith laughed softly. 

“You could have prepared me for that, perhaps?” He shook his head.

“Nothing I could have said would have prepared you for him. He is exceptional, even among those who live here,” Balinor clarified. He stopped and looked towards the door—a gesture Hunith knew all too well. They were still alone. “The Druids call him Emrys,” he continued quietly. “They believe that he is the most powerful warlock ever to walk the earth.” Hunith took a breath. The words made her skin prickle with unease. “They have a prophecy passed down for generations. It says that a young leader of the common people will rise together with Emrys. It is said that their voices will bring peace at last between common people and those with magic.” 

“They know this…?”  He sighed heavily. 

“Mordred named him when he was a small child. His family was said to have second sight–some prophetic abilities. I understand they crossed paths when Merlin was thirteen. Mordred himself was no more than eight.”

“And the Druids really believe in this?” Hunith turned a worried look on Balinor. Merlin had the strength and courage to tackle such a task. She didn’t doubt it.  But the thought worried her for Merlin’s sake. He had already carried such a burden in his secret and his struggle to hide it, to live safely, to find his place in the world. 

“So it seems,” Balinor said. Her heart sank. Oh, Merlin…

“And who is his counterpart in this prophecy?” she asked slowly. His eyes turned towards the house once more, and she followed his gaze. Balinor shook his head. 

“They think it is the Pendragon.” Arthur’s blond head was visible at the edge of the window. He was speaking with his American friend just inside. “He doesn’t know a thing about the prophecy, of course,” Balinor added quietly. 

“Why Arthur?” she asked. He smiled a little. 

“They say was born of magic.” 

“Arthur?” She almost laughed. “Surely not.”  

“Uther was not always its enemy,” Balinor said with a shake of his head. “There are many of the older Druids here who have heard the story that Uther called on magic to help with the birth of his son.” Stranger things had been said, she supposed. Certainly Arthur and Merlin trusted one another. She had seen them grow up, seen them grow from bickering children to staunch allies and friends. But the thought of them facing such a burden? It made her heart heavy nonetheless. As if Merlin and Arthur hadn’t faced enough already in the last month—more even than she knew. 

“Do you believe it?” she asked. “This prophecy?” There followed a pause. Balinor’s brows drew together in a pensive expression.  

“I’ve never set any stock in those tales. They’ve done precious little good for sorcerers over the ages.” 

“Some prophecies are self fulfilling,” she observed. He nodded slightly. 

“Perhaps… I don’t think Merlin believes it though.” Another pause. “But there have been many changes since Merlin appeared here. And I do believe there may be something concrete to the Druids’ faith in him.” 

“It’s a lot of weight to place on his shoulders… a lot of expectation.” Hunith said. She knew her disapproval manifested in her voice. She couldn’t help a spark of resentment towards the Druids for letting Merlin hear such a prophecy about him—for expressing such expectations to one so very young. He was scarcely twenty one. 

“Perhaps it is something they should have kept quiet,” Balinor said, as if he’d been listening to her thoughts. “I believe the blame for that lies with Kilgharrah. I can’t fix that mistake.” He shifted. “But whatever the prophecy may symbolize… Merlin certainly has the potential—the strength of character to live up to it. That I can believe.” Hunith bit her lip. “What seemed ludicrous to me was the Druids’ claims that the Pendragon would become their ally.” 

“Arthur,” Hunith corrected him quietly. 

“Arthur,” Balinor acknowledged, inclining his head a little. “But born of magic or not, he is Uther’s son, Hunith.” She raised her head to look at him, a touch of protectiveness springing up in her at the statement—for Arthur who had striven so hard to be his own man: to stand for himself alone. But Balinor stilled her protest with a hand on her wrist. “Arthur was raised to fear and hate magic. No son of Uther’s could grow up differently. You know that. And when Arthur came the first time, he was here to beg for protection against the dragon. It was something I wouldn’t have put past Uther.” Hunith shook her head quietly in turn, and his hand moved to rest on her shoulder as his tone changed. “But I saw the way Arthur turned to Merlin each time he questioned me. I saw the way he listened to Merlin’s advice. It seems that Arthur was willing to hear counsel. To consider other possibilities from those his father taught him.” He turned his head, and Hunith followed his gaze to the blond head of hair still visible over the back of the couch. “And now… he brought Merlin here seeking help. It seems that Merlin has done the impossible. He convinced the son of Uther Pendragon to trust sorcery.” She nodded quietly. There could be no other explanation. Arthur had brought Merlin here of his own volition, in secrecy, accompanied only by friends. He had placed Merlin’s life and the safety of himself and his friends squarely in the hands of known sorcerers. Arthur himself might not have fully realized it, but he had made a choice. 

“He convinced Arthur to trust sorcery,” Hunith amended. “Arthur is his own man.” 

“That he is,” Balinor agreed. A pause. Hunith watched Arthur disappear around the corner, following Gwaine and with the young Druid Mordred close behind. “They may not have turned an entire country,” Balinor observed, “But they’ve both done something remarkable.” 

“A prophecy could mean a number of things. Perhaps they were only meant to set things in motion,” Hunith suggested.  

“Perhaps.” He looked away from her again, out at the silent road. “Or perhaps it was no more than a tale we told our children to give them hope.” She curled her fingers around his hand and smiled. 

“Would that be such a bad thing?” she asked. He chuckled. 

“He’s so very like you. Always hopeful.” She laughed softly. 

“He’s amazing. He was a source of endless worry for me,” she shook her head. “And he was my reason to hope for the future.” Ever with a smile on his face and an eager curiosity about what was to come. 

Close behind them, the porch door opened.

“Hunith.” She turned. “Merlin’s awake.” Gaius looked between them briefly. Hunith released Balinor’s hand and nodded to him with a grateful smile. 

“I’ll be right there.” Gaius nodded in return, a faint gleam of amusement appearing in his gray eyes, and shut the door quietly. 

“I’ll go.” Balinor’s hand settled on her shoulder again, stopping her. She turned to give him a questioning look. “You’ve been traveling. You’re exhausted. You need food and rest.” 

“Merlin—”

“Has kept you awake many more nights than he has me,” Balinor interrupted. “Get some food and rest. Just for a few minutes, then come join me. You look like you need it.” Hunith opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, and she recognized the sparkle in his dark eyes as he spoke again, steering her back from the door. “Hunith, he’s not an infant. He can cope without you for a few hours. I can probably even manage to feed him without your help.” Despite herself, she found her lips twitching upwards. “Get some rest,” he insisted, releasing her. She put a hand on his arm. 

“If anything is wrong—if anything changes—” 

“I’ll let you know,” he promised. She stood reluctant for a moment, then withdrew her hand. 

“Thank you.” She somewhat reluctantly let him go and stood quiet as he stepped inside. He stopped to speak with Mordred who reappeared around the corner, then Balinor vanished down the hall after Gaius. 

The restless air of the small house seemed to have crept into the Druid boy Mordred as well. He was attentive, offering Hunith whatever food he could find in the kitchen and hovering from time-to-time nearby. He was keeping half an eye on the guests in the living room. Percival and Gwaine had acquired a tablet, and she could hear their voices murmuring quietly. Mordred turned with the mug of tea water he’d heated clasped between both hands and moved to block a newcomer reaching the room. 

“Arthur.” The blond, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen, gave Mordred a weary and almost exasperated look. “You have to talk to her. She’s not… she couldn’t have wanted to hurt him. There must be some mistake. She probably needs help—” 

“She tried to kill me,” Arthur told him. “If that was a mistake, it was a pretty damn spectacular one.” 

“Maybe she’s been enchanted. She might have—”

“She’s not enchanted.” Arthur’s voice was laced with irritation. “ She has magic, Mordred. She resents me.” The boy blinked at Arthur, and Hunith’s heart ached a little for him. He didn’t respond to the accusation. He put the mug he was holding in front of Hunith and left the room. 

“Mordred has magic too,” Hunith said. Arthur didn’t look at her. He turned his back to her and stared intently at the kettle on the stove. He was easily as restless as Mordred. She’d seen the beginnings of recognition in Arthur’s face as soon as she’d spotted him on arrival. His silent retreat into the house had told her more than she needed to know. “You wanted to ask me something,” she prompted gently when Arthur made no sign of moving. He turned his head, though still not looking her in the eye. 

“You didn’t know Merlin was here.” It wasn’t framed as a question. But she answered it nonetheless.

“I came to see a friend,” she agreed. Arthur’s eyes flitted to her face then away again. 

“A Druid?” Hunith smiled slightly at the question and the trace of challenge in Arthur’s voice. 

“I think you know.” He looked up again, cautious, almost guilty. “You can ask what you want to know. It’s alright.” Arthur shifted. 

“You already knew Balinor, didn’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“You knew he was a dragon lord too?” She hadn’t realized that Arthur knew that too. It caught her off guard for a heartbeat. But Arthur’s expression and voice hadn’t changed. She nodded. 

“I knew that too.”

“And Merlin?” There, Hunith surmised, was the root of the problem. 

“You know, don’t you?” She tilted her head curiously. Arthur frowned back at her. “Balinor is Merlin’s father. That’s what you thought, isn’t it?” Arthur nodded faintly. 

“I saw you together.” He looked a little sheepish about it. She smiled reassuringly. 

“We haven’t seen each other in many years—not since before Merlin was born. Merlin knew no more about this than you did,” she said. “I never even told him his father’s name. It wasn’t safe. Perhaps Balinor recognized Merlin’s surname. Or someone else told him. You’ll have to ask Merlin that.” Arthur didn’t respond to that. He ran hand through his hair. 

“You always knew? About Balinor… that he’s a sorcerer?” he asked. Hunith pursed her lips.

“No. I had known him for some time before he told me.”  

“It didn’t bother you.” Arthur’s tone implied a statement rather than a question. She lifted her shoulders.

“Arthur, when Balinor and I first met, England was under the reign of the Pure. Balinor’s relationship to me… it was illegal by their laws. Sorcerers were supposedly meant to keep their bloodlines pure, especially a bloodline as important as that of a dragonlord. He was hesitant to tell me. He was afraid it would end things between us.” Arthur was quiet for a long moment. 

“So… Merlin was ‘illegal’?”  he inferred, squinting back at her. She laughed. 

“Yes, the son of a dragon lord born from a woman with no magic. Merlin has always been illegal. The Pure would have hunted him for being half-blood. The Purge would have had him killed for being Balinor’s son. Dragon lord lines were eradicated quite thoroughly. Merlin never had a chance. It wasn’t safe for his parentage to be known. I never told anyone after Balinor disappeared. It was the best I could do for him, to keep him safe.” The look on Arthur’s face was conflicted. She rested her arms on the counter, looking at him thoughtfully. “Does it bother you–Merlin’s heritage?” Arthur seemed hesitant to answer. He curled his fingers inside his pocket and took a breath. 

“It’s not so much that,” he said. He shifted uneasily. “If my father would have killed Merlin, then he should have killed me too,” he said. Hunith raised an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I was born of magic,” Arthur answered, his voice so quiet she had to lean forward to catch it. Hunith frowned. 

“How is that?” she prompted. He lifted his shoulders ever so slightly. 

“I was told there were stillbirths before me. Apparently… my father solicited the help of magic. I should have been a stillbirth too. Magic preserved my life.” Hunith was silent for a long moment, processing that information. She had just been speaking of this with Balinor. There had long been rumors of Uther’s dalliances with magic users before the Purge, but even Balinor only knew it by hearsay. That Arthur had been stillborn and subsequently given life? It meant something far darker and heavier than merely magic to assist with fertility issues. 

“If he asked for a life to be preserved, then he touched upon one of the most fundamental principles of magic,” she said quietly. “To create a life, another life must be taken. The balance of the natural world is restored by the exchange.” Arthur’s expression darkened, and she reached across the counter to touch his arm. 

“Is that how it works?” he asked. 

“Always,” Hunith answered. Balinor had told her that very early on as he explained to her how magic worked. Necromancy was one field where most sorcerers never dabbled. The ethics of it were gray at best. It was never wise to play god in such matters. 

“So my father knew it would cost her life…” 

“I don’t know. Perhaps. Perhaps not. It was rumored Uther had connections to sorcerers, but few of us knew with whom or how close he was. We stopped asking those questions when he started the Purge.” Arthur was looking down and away, avoiding her gaze. His eyes were fixed on a scuff mark on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

“What for?” Her brow furrowed. When had he learned this? She could see how heavily it weighed on his shoulders.  

“I’m the reason my father started the Purge. You could have raised Merlin in peace. Maybe… Not alone.” His shoulders hunched a little. She shook her head. 

“Arthur.” She reached across the counter to touch his arm. “You are not to blame,” she insisted. When he didn’t respond or raise his head, she gave his arm a gentle squeeze and continued. “I remember when you and Merlin came to Ireland that summer years ago when you were sixteen.” She smiled. “I always worried and hoped I’d made the right decision, sending Merlin to London to stay with Gaius. But when I saw the two of you, I knew that I had. You were always bickering, always up to some trouble, but you always had his back too. You helped each other grow, and you challenged each other. You two were like brothers. You still are.” He looked up just enough to meet her eyes, still with that troubled expression on his face. He looked tired. She patted his arm. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I know this can’t be easy for you.” He looked worn and at the same time deeply troubled. For all that he seemed to have lost his faith in Uther, it still had to have taken its toll on him to lose his father so recently. He took a breath. 

“Was it for you?” he asked. She smiled a little. 

“No. Not easy. When I learned about Balinor, it changed things between us. It introduced new challenges to our relationship. Under the Pure, we weren’t supposed to be together, for the sake of his bloodline, and when the Purge began, he wasn’t safe, nor was I in association with him. But insofar as who Balinor himself was, it didn’t really matter. He was still the same man I’d gotten to know—the same person I came to care about. Nothing had changed in who he was. I only saw him more fully for who he was.” 

“And you saw nothing wrong in it?” Arthur prompted. 

“No more than you did,” Hunith answered. Arthur looked back at her again, eyes narrowing. “There is no evil in sorcery, Arthur. Only in the hearts of men. I think you already believe that. You brought Merlin here for help, didn’t you?” she pressed. Arthur’s shoulders tensed. 

“I didn’t have a choice. I had to help him,” he said roughly. 

“You always have a choice,” she returned. “And you would have done it still, had you known about Balinor sooner, wouldn’t you?” Arthur didn’t meet her eyes this time, but he nodded slightly.

“Of course.” He clasped his hands behind his back again, gaze downcast. 

“Thank you,” she added quietly. 

“For what?” Arthur flitted a glance up, and she smiled. 

“For saving Merlin’s life.” 

Merlin turned on his side and stared hard at the plastic cup on the table beside him. His chest felt hollow, and his stomach was turning nauseating somersaults with every breath. 

“It will help with the pain,” Balinor said. Merlin’s fingers trembled as he spread them, staring at the tablets in his palm. Were his eyes even turning gold, he wondered. 

“I don’t want them.” His voice came out hoarse. He tipped his hand downward and let the pills roll across the little bedside table. 

“You’re going to need them.” 

“It’s gone,” Merlin murmured. 

“Gaius told me.” Merlin blinked at him. There wasn’t even a scrap of surprise or shock in the man’s face or tone. 

“My magic is gone. I’m crippled ,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“You are not crippled.” Balinor’s response was firm. “You’re recovering. Give yourself some time to rest.” He took the pills off the table. “And take these. There’s no reason for you to be in so much pain right now.” Merlin pushed himself up shakily. He stretched out a hand, palm up. Try as he might, it was like losing a sense. He simply couldn’t reach it, however hard he tried. His eyes didn’t even flicker.. 

“Look. It’s not there!” 

“I don’t need to see.” Balinor caught his hand before he could try anything and pressed the pills into Merlin’s palm. “No one can take your magic from you.” Merlin jerked his hand back.

“Why? Did Iseldir tell you I’m special? Did he tell that fairy tale about me to you too?” He gritted his teeth over the quiver in his voice. 

“No.” Balinor remained infuriatingly even-toned and calm. “Kilgharrah told me ‘that fairy tale’.” 

“I’m not Emrys,” Merlin said through his teeth.  

“I never said you were,” Balinor returned. 

“I’m not a hero or savior. I’m not an all-powerful sorcerer. Everything—” He stopped to take a breath. “ Everything I try to do goes wrong.” He curled his hand into a fist round the two smooth pills. Will. Freya. Lancelot. “Everyone I try to help gets hurt.” Or killed. “Everything I try to fix gets worse . I’m a nobody. And without my magic, I can’t even do anything to help Arthur.” He glared down at his fist clenched around the pills. “I’m useless.” 

“None of that is true,” Balinor responded stolidly. “You certainly are not a nobody.” Merlin hunched over, staring miserably at the floor. 

“I lost the only thing that made me somebody,” he said flatly. “If I can’t use my magic… I might as well die.” 

“That,” Balinor said, “Has never been true. Not of you or me or anyone with magic. Your magic does not define you. If it did, Uther might even have been right in his condemnation of sorcery. You mean a great deal to many people. I didn’t need to know you long to see that. You have your mother’s strength and kindness. That is far more important than any gifts of magic I may have passed to you. You are her son. That would make you important to me, even if you weren’t mine.” Merlin shook his head wordlessly. “You have friends who brought you here at the risk of their own lives. That ought to tell you something. They didn’t bring you because you were useful, or because you had magic.”
“They wouldn’t have brought me if they had known,” Merlin said through his teeth. How would Arthur have reacted…? Balinor ignored the comment. 

“For my own part, the prophecy has nothing to do with what I think of you. It never has. But if you’re worried about your magic—if that’s what troubles you most, you shouldn’t be.” He tapped Merlin’s hand curled around the pills. “You are of dragonlord heritage and a warlock. The spell Morgause used might have worked on another sorcerer, but not on you. It is part of you. You can no more lose it than you could your own heart. You were born with it.” Merlin lifted his head enough to squint at the man.  

“How do you know that?” 

“Your mother told me.” Merlin straightened up a little, and Balinor rose stiffly to his feet. “You may recall that you sent for her. So,” Balinor picked up the glass of water on the table beside him. “You haven’t quite done everything wrong. There’s little I could have wished for more than to see her again, and I never would have asked myself.” Merlin dropped his eyes again, and the cool glass touched the knuckles of his hand. He took it in silence and swallowed the two pills. 

“Come on. You’ve been out for a while. You’ll feel better once you’re on your feet.” 

Why he had to move , Merlin didn’t understand. But he’d stopped arguing. Balinor seemed determined. Merlin’s leg still seared with every clumsy step. He shut his eyes a few steps down the hallway. Damn, damn, damn… He was beginning to wish he’d taken the painkillers several hours ago. 

“Merlin!” Gwaine’s voice greeted him when he reached the living room. He was quick to rise and take Merlin’s weight from Balinor’s shoulders. “Feeling better?” Gwaine asked, helping to settle him in an armchair. Merlin shrugged and silently accepted the offered blanket from the American. He shut his eyes, waiting for the pain in his leg to fade down to its usual dull throb. 

“I’ll bring you something to eat,” Balinor said. Merlin bit his lip and responded with a terse nod. He didn’t want Gwaine, and Arthur’s full attention for the next five minutes until Balinor and his mother returned with an attempt to coax food into him. He wanted to shrink into himself and disappear. 

“Still cold?” Gwaine’s voice asked. Merlin shook his head, but pulled his blanket closer round his shoulders nonetheless. 

“You okay?” Merlin opened one eye. Gwaine had returned to the table where the tablet sat, but Arthur was on his feet, both arms folded over his chest, waiting for an answer. 

“No,” Merlin muttered. Silence followed the pronouncement. A few seconds into the awkward stillness, Merlin lifted his head enough to look back at Arthur’s face again, and he suppressed a weary sigh. Arthur’s brows were drawn together and his hands were buried deep in his pockets. Evidently he didn’t know how to respond. “I got shot,” Merlin said finally. “I’m not exactly going to feel okay for a while. I’m… fine.” 

“You didn’t just get shot.” 

“Let the man rest, Arthur,” Gwaine protested. But Merlin’s attention was engaged now. He squinted at his friend. 

“What?” 

“Yesterday,” Arthur said. “You were talking about magic. You said it was cold… that the magic was cold.” Oh… 

“I don’t know what I said yesterday, Arthur,” Merlin said, turning his head away. Hell… he did not want to talk about magic with Arthur right now. He already felt sick and miserable. “What about the others?” Merlin ventured in a valiant effort to change the subject. “Gwen, Elyan, and Leon?” 

“Everyone else is alright. They’re back in London with the military,” Gwaine supplied. “Elyan has probably made contact and caught up with them by now.”

“Hmm.” Merlin nodded absently to himself. Safe then. Within the room, he heard shuffling. It sounded like Gwaine and Arthur were clearing out. They seemed perturbed, as if worried that Merlin might shatter if they bothered him. The footsteps moved away—towards the kitchen it seemed. 

“Merlin.” Merlin opened one eye. Scarce a foot from his chair, Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His lips were drawn in a thin line. He was the only one left. “If anything were to happen to me, you would… You’d make sure Gwen was alright, yeah?” Merlin forced both eyes open and blinked at his friend. Where the hell did that come from? 

“’Course I would. She’s my friend.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. Something was very off about this situation. “Arthur… are you alright?” Arthur straightened a little too abruptly to look relaxed. 

“I’m fine,” he said. Merlin squinted at him. “I just want her to be safe… and happy in her life. She deserves that.” Merlin pushed himself up a little further. 

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he said firmly. Arthur was acting just strange enough to stir a touch of energy from him, despite the resurging ache-throb in his leg. 

“You don’t know that.” Arthur’s voice acquired an edge. “You almost died .” He gestured emphatically at Merlin, and Merlin frowned back. “We could all have been buried in that building,” Arthur said. “Lance was cursed to get to me. Gwen was captured and held in an attempt to manipulate me. I’m a wanted fugitive as far as Cenred is concerned. There are people who want me dead —who want you dead because you’re associated with me.”

“You’re also a national hero according to the rest of the country,” Merlin retorted. “And you’ll have their protection the moment you go back. This time Rodor will know what he’s up against. And so will we. We’ll be more careful.” He leaned his head back against the chair. “Arthur, if you want Gwen to be happy, you should take care of yourself. She loves you. Do you really think there’s anything I could do to console her if you died?” Arthur pursed his lips, hands tucked in his pockets again. 

“I don’t…” He shook his head, half frowning. “She… she’d be fine. She’s got other people in her life.” 

“You are a moron. ” Merlin closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. “That is not the point.” Arthur’s feet scuffed on the hardwood floor, and a pause followed. 

“Just…” He shifted. “Take care of her… And yourself,” Arthur added hurriedly. And without further explanation, he retreated, following on the heels of Gwaine, leaving Merlin alone in a quiet room. 

“Maybe it’ll be easier,” Merlin muttered sarcastically. “Won’t ever have to tell Arthur I’ve got magic anymore.” 

“You’ll tell him.” Hunith’s voice was firm. “You’ve still got your magic, Merlin.” She reached for his arm, and Merlin grimaced as he climbed awkwardly out of the car with her help. “You’ll have time to tell him everything. But first, we have to take care of you.” 

“By making me walk on this leg?” Merlin grumbled. Hunith raised an eyebrow at him, and he bit his lip as he let her take some of his weight and support him out of the car. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. He didn’t like feeling this helpless. It was less the leg–much as that ached–and more the empty feeling when he tried and failed to reach for his magic. 

“We’ll sit you down.” Balinor shut the car door and came around to take his arm on the other side, helping him limp out into the grass. “You’re here to meet someone.” Merlin squinted at him, but he let Hunith help him sit down. 

“Other Druids live here?” he asked. 

“Not Druids,” Balinor answered evasively. 

The warm weather and gentle breeze were soothing to Merlin’s frayed nerves. He settled gratefully in the soft grass. Why Balinor would insist on this, he didn’t know. He’d already met Kilgharrah. But it occurred to him as he settled in the grass that this was the first time the three of them had gone anywhere together as a family. 

“Alright?” Hunith rubbed his shoulder. He nodded, and her hand stayed on his shoulder as the great dragon appeared, shadowing the three with his dark wings as he lit on the grass before them. 

“Hunith.” Kilgharrah dipped his head. “It is a pleasure to see you again.” 

“Likewise,” Hunith replied, smiling.

“Arthur did well bringing you here.” Kilgharrah turned his attention to Merlin. “You will both be safe under Iseldir’s protection for now. But you should have sent for me.” 

“I… didn’t know I could.” 

“I am always at your service,” Kilgharrah answered. Merlin faltered, lost for words, but Kilgharrah carried on. “Where is the young one?” 

“Who?” Merlin asked slowly, drawing out the word as he glanced from Kilgharrah to Balinor, His eyes caught on the latter though, and his brows drew together. 

“She’s here.” Balinor was reaching for Hunith’s shoulder with one hand. Both Hunith and the dragon shifted closer, but he waved Kilgharrah aside. “I’m fine,” he insisted gruffly. The dragon’s worry reflected in Hunith’s face, but she only moved a touch closer so she could support Balinor. “Kilgharrah was meant to bring you a message,” Balinor told Merlin. “But it seems you reached us first.” He looked up towards Kilgharrah and smiled. “There’s someone you should meet.” Merlin raised his head, and his breath caught in the same heartbeat as he heard Hunith gasp. From the air beside Kilgharrah, a small, winged figure glided down towards grass, silken-fine snowy wings straining back as she landed. He stared in mute silence for a moment. 

“You… going to tell me what was in those painkillers you gave me?” he asked slowly. Balinor laughed and stiffly knelt down in the grass next to Merlin. 

“She’s real,” he promised, reaching out to her. The tiny creature crossed the grass and climbed up onto his knee to nudge inquiringly at his hand. 

“But…” Merlin blinked. “I thought…” He trailed off, turning on Kilgharrah. The great dragon’s eyes gleamed. 

“It seems,” he said, “That I am not the last of my kind after all.” 

“That’s amazing.” Merlin stretched out a hand tentatively, and the dragon ducked out from under Balinor’s hand to regard the younger man with lively silver-blue eyes. 

“Her name is Aithusa. There had been rumors about her around the Druid community. Didn’t believe any of it until I saw her myself.” Balinor brushed a hand over the tiny dragon’s wing, and she jumped back to the ground and made her way over to Merlin and Hunith. Aithusa extended her neck to inspect Merlin’s fingertips, sniffed, then inched closer, and to his surprise, nuzzled her snout into his hand like a large cat. He held his breath. Her skin was smooth and warm to the touch, and she seemed to be humming softly. Despite himself, he smiled down at her. 

“Aithusa,” he repeated quietly. “Hello.”She seemed to recognize the personal address. She raised her head, then crept closer and touched his leg gingerly with her nose. Merlin sucked in a breath, but rather than pain, he felt a trickle of gentle warmth seep through his body, warmer and stronger than the healing magic Iseldir and Balinor had applied. “Thank you,” he breathed as she edged closer, investigating him with shy curiosity. He ran a cautious hand over her head and down her back to touch her smooth wings. “Where did she come from?” Kilgharrah shook his head slightly.

“We don’t know. Iseldir thinks she crossed over from another country. Her arrival is hardly the first strange thing to have happened lately. The land is changing, Merlin. No other dragons have come here for decades. I believe she is a good sign for all of us.” Balinor settled beside Merlin, and Hunith knelt on his other side, and she offered a hand for Aithusa to inspect. 

“Magic is far from dying, Merlin,” Balinor added quietly. “You can feel Kilgharrah and Aithusa’s presence the same as I can. It is as much a part of you as your own thoughts. The sorcerer who attacked you—what she tried to do was unacceptable, and it might have been effective on another sorcerer. But you are far more than that. You are a warlock and the son of a dragon lord.” Merlin fixed his eyes on the little dragon. 

“You don’t think she did any damage?”  

“I didn’t say that,” Balinor answered. Merlin closed his eyes and swallowed. “But I do believe that you are stronger than the curse she put on you. Your magic is with you, as it has always been. Gaius tells me you’ve been known to use it even when you weren’t aware of it yourself.” Merlin worried his lip with his teeth absently. It was a long time since then… but he’d made a light. And that same light, according to Arthur, had appeared the day Merlin was battling a different curse and guided him to safety. He turned his hand over, palm-up and shook his head. 

“It’s not…” 

“There’s no hurry,” Hunith told him quietly. He shut his eyes. There was always pressure. Any number of things could happen in a moment when he was helpless and weak. Not only to him, but to Arthur, to Gwen—all the others… He closed his eyes, and something brushed against his arm. Almost unthinking, he turned his hand over to rest it on Aithusa’s back, and she pressed her head against his hand. 

“There.” Balinor’s hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed. “You’ll be alright.” Merlin blinked and opened his eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. Just inches from his fingertips, Aithusa had drawn back and was looking at a small, pale sphere of light. It felt weak, tentative, but it was there, alive and frail. He turned his hand over to cup the sphere and took a deep breath. He felt weak, and his magic did too, but it wasn’t gone. 

“We’re not alone.” Kilgharrah broke the moment with a quiet warning. Merlin’s tentative smile faded away, and he looked up. In the same moment that he spread his wings, Kilgharrah vanished into thin air. A second later, Aithusa was gone as well, rippling and vanishing much the same way Kilgarrah did. Hunith, already up, reached for Merlin’s hand, but he climbed to his feet on his own, his injured leg half-forgotten; the pain had already faded to a dull ache. 

“It’s alright. That’s Iseldir,” he said. Beside him, his orb of light rose, pulsing brighter than before. He recognized the silver-haired figure stepping out of the car by the road. But he also recognized urgency in the man’s brusque step as he approached them—a hasty and unsettled air that he’d never seen in the older man before. 

“Iseldir?” Balinor’s brows together in a deep frown. Iseldir’s expression was grim.

“There’s been news from London.” Merlin sucked in a breath. “The city is under lockdown. Cenred has the city center—” 

“I have to talk to Arthur,” Merlin interrupted, pulling away from Hunith’s steadying hand to head for the cars.

“Emrys.” Iseldir’s voice stopped him in his tracks. The Druid had never addressed him aloud by that name, nor for that matter had Modred, who had followed at the Druid’s heels. Merlin turned slowly, and the look on Iseldir’s face made his heart sink before the man spoke. 

“Mordred.” Iseldir’s gaze turned on the quiet teenager. “You have to tell him.” Merlin turned on the boy whose eyes were downcast. 

“What’s happening?” he demanded. Mordred didn’t look up as he answered: 

“Arthur has already left.” 

Chapter Text

It was ironic, Gwaine reflected, that he’d met Merlin and Arthur in a moment where he could save them from an ambush. Now he was following Arthur right into what was about seventy percent likely to be an ambush. No… eighty. He didn’t trust Morgana. But Arthur was absolutely determined—enough to try and leave without telling anyone. It was more luck than anything else, he suspected, that he’d been able to follow Arthur out of there. He still felt a nagging sense of guilt as he pulled the car up to the side of a narrow road in what looked like an outlying industrial complex. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Gwaine frowned at him from the passenger seat. Merlin would have stopped this. Or insisted on coming along. Merlin, who could hardly stay on his feet right now, who still looked pale and shaky, would surely have tried to follow Arthur into this harebrained scheme. It hurt to see Merlin like that. Through all they’d been through, Merlin had managed to maintain that warmth, the bright smiles and cheer that was so characteristic to him. That, and his habit of keeping a keen eye on Arthur. He seemed to feel he was supposed to look after Arthur. The two of them were as close as brothers. He’d take this hard. 

“It’ll only be Morgana, no one else.” Arthur was climbing out of the car. Poor Arthur and his boundless hope and faith in others… Gwaine pulled a skeptical face, but he stepped out along with Arthur, scanning the strange industrial part of the suburb they’d reached. “Just… take Gwen somewhere safe. And tell her I’m sorry,” he said, pressing the key fob into Gwaine’s hand as he met him around the front of the car. Gwaine raised an eyebrow and took it with a little shake of his head. 

“She’s gonna be pissed, you know?” 

“But she’ll be safe,” Arthur asserted. Would she…? Gwaine pursed his lips. He could only hope things would work out right by now. He shook his head and blew out a breath. 

“You’re an idiot,” he said. Arthur smiled faintly. 

“Yeah, well what’s new?” he asked wryly. It earned him a faint chuckle from Gwaine. At least Arthur still had his sense of humor. 

He let Arthur take the lead, hanging back by the car to dip a hand into his pocket, fingers brushing the burner phone he’d tucked into it before they left Dartmoor. The fob settled beside it. He felt it buzz against his fingers and closed his eyes. Let it be soon enough, please. Merlin might not be the only one fixing to kill him after this, but better everyone was alive to give him grief than not. 

Daylight was almost gone. Gwaine fell in step with Arthur, winding between the empty buildings to a wide open back lot enclosed by chain link fencing. 

“Now we wait?” Gwaine looked sidelong at Arthur whose lips were drawn in a thin line. He frowned and nodded faintly. 

“She’ll be here,” he said. Gwaine tucked his hands back into his pockets. Something about this felt deeply wrong, but Arthur had been determined. Come on… He brushed his fingers over the phone deep in his pocket and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“Our agreement was that you would come alone.” 

Gwaine’s eyes snapped open. From the shadows of the lot, he watched as Morgana stepped out into the open. 

“I needed my own surety.” Arthur lifted his chin. “Someone to make sure she gets back safely. We can talk when you send Gwen away with Gwaine.” 

“Surety was not part of the deal. You’re not here to bargain,” Morgana said. 

“No. I suppose bargaining isn’t your style. You prefer to threaten me by holding the lives of other people in the balance.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “How could you do it, Morgana…? All those people you killed to get to our father… attacking innocent people? Attacking Merlin?” Morgana laughed. 

“Merlin? Innocent? Perhaps you don’t really know him,” she said, her voice laced with cold anger. Gwaine’s gut twisted. Morgana had done that to Merlin? 

“I’m not here to talk about Merlin.”  Arthur’s voice acquired an edge of carefully controlled tension. “I want this to stop—hurting and using other people. This is between you and me. No more people have to get involved. Let Gwen go and we can talk, just you and me.” Morgana arched an eyebrow, and Gwaine set his jaw. He didn’t like the look in her eyes. 

“Gwen?” Her lips quirked in a slight smile.  

“Morgana…” Arthur took a step forward, and Gwaine caught at his sleeve. “What is this?” 

“You must think very poorly of me. I wouldn’t hurt Gwen. This was never about her.” 

“So that was a lie.” 

“I needed to get your attention. Is it so wrong for me to want a chat with my brother?” Morgana’s eyes had a bitter glint to them, and Gwaine retreated a step warily as she approached. 

“You used Mordred to trick me.” Arthur was staring at her in shock. 

“Mordred wasn’t tricked,” she responded coolly. “He knew he was helping me. I told him I wanted to talk things out. We just needed the right excuse to get your attention.” She smiled. “Does it bother you—my connection with Mordred?” Arthur shook his head faintly, looking as lost as Gwaine felt. 

“Did you know I heard his voice in my head when we were children? He understood me. He understood what it felt like to have magic, to have lost security and peace in his life because of the way Uther treated people with it.” She curled her lip. “We’ve kept in touch, Mordred and I. He’s been more like a brother to me than you ever were.” Arthur’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything, merely shaking his head slightly. “Did you know that Mordred is the last of his family?” Morgana continued. “He was the child of powerful and well known Druids, and his mother, father, and sister were caught and executed by order of Uther’s Purge. Do you think Uther would have executed me if he had known? Or would he have simply thrown me in a dark cell like he did the dragon?” 

“Morgana, I didn’t know… You never told me,” Arthur protested weakly. 

“Why would I?” She took another step closer, eyes narrowed. “You were his golden child, the one who did everything right–expert marksman, clever scholar, obedient son. You were everything he wanted. You reported so diligently to him. Why would I ever have trusted you with my secret?” Arthur was shaking his head again. 

“I would never have told him. I helped you get Mordred out safely. Why would I have turned you in? You’re my sister.” 

“Your adopted sister according to Uther,” she snapped. Behind her, Gwaine backed away, without quite stepping out of arm’s reach of Arthur. He was trying to shift his eyes to his shoes, painfully aware that this conversation hadn’t been meant for her ears. Arthur was still shaking his head, watching Morgana as she circled him. 

“That never mattered to me,” he said, his tone raising in pitch with a touch of shock. “I know we fought, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care. You were the only sibling I had…” 

“Yes, I’m sure it was nice to have another sibling so you could be the favorite,” Morgana sneered. 

“Okay. You wanted to talk. So let’s talk,” Arthur said, no longer looking at Gwaine. Neither of them seemed to remember he was here. “You could have asked me to meet. You didn’t have to lure me out with threats against Gwen.” Morgana shook her head with a smile that bore no real warmth or amusement. 

“It was too easy. You were always so gullible.” Arthur was quiet for a beat, then visibly took a deep breath and raised his head to look her in the eye. 

“I know,” he said. “You were always the smart one between us.” The change in his tone had an almost immediate effect. Morgana’s shoulders tensed.

“Uther never thought so.” Her voice was cold. Arthur’s lips pulled in a thin line and he shook his head.  

“He was wrong. The way he treated you was wrong,” he said. Gwaine saw her pause, stop circling, and her eyes fixed on him steadily as he continued: “And I stood by for so much of it. When we were little, I was so desperate for his approval that I let him hurt you. I didn’t question the moments where he favored me over you or put you down. I knew he was wrong–that you’d always been quick witted and better in school, and so many other things he never recognized… I didn’t argue. I didn’t stand up for you. And for all of that, I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” she echoed. There was an edge of disdain in her tone. “You bought his anti-magic propaganda, shared his hatred for what I am and let him look down on me and my beliefs for years, and you’re sorry ?”

“I was a kid, Morgana.” Arthur’s brows were drawn together in a troubled frown. “I know it’s not an excuse, but I didn’t have a lot of other influences to show me something better.” 

“Neither did I.” Morgana’s eyes flashed. Gwaine tensed. The spark of anger was distinct and clear, but still Morgana made no move to attack them. Maybe she really had wanted to talk? 

“I know.” Arthur sounded weary. Gwaine watched as he closed his eyes for a second then looked up and met his sister’s eyes. “I’ve been learning a lot about… our father lately. Things he never told me—no one told me—while I was growing up. Morgana… I wanted to think well of him. For me as a child… the Purge was Uther rooting out the associates of the Pure, ridding the country of people who had tried to destroy it, and the ban on magic… was a bitter necessity. I didn’t know that he used magic to save my life at birth. I didn’t know he even worked with sorcerers before I was born, or that he turned on them afterwards. I didn’t know how brutally he hunted down people with magic, or that he deceived and trapped them. I’ve learned a lifetime of things about him since we last parted ways in Oxford, and not just from Morgause.” 

Morgana had gone quiet. Even as Gwaine watched, some of the tension melted from the set of her shoulders. She was watching Arthur, brows drawn together and jaw set, but her eyes were fixed on him. He hardly dared to breathe. “I watched him die less than a month ago. And it was… almost harder to lose him knowing that I’d lost my respect for him. I’ve spent the last month… rethinking everything he ever taught me, wondering if I can trust a single word of it… whether he believed it in his own twisted way, or whether he was just a hypocrite and… what it means that he liked me best—whether that makes me just as twisted as he was. I don’t know who he was anymore, and I’m not even sure I know who I am if I divorce myself from everything he raised me to believe. It’s been hell. I feel like I lost a whole part of myself.” He stopped, swallowed, and started again after a second when Morgana didn’t intervene. “But I realize these are all things that you confronted and accepted a lot sooner than me. You tried to tell me so many times when we were growing up together, and I didn’t hear you. I couldn’t. I was… terrified of what happened to me and everything I believed if I accepted how broken he was and how profoundly he shaped me. I don’t know what to say to you except that I’m trying now. And… that I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. Truly, I am. I’m sorry for the things our father said against you. I’m sorry that he made you afraid of yourself and for yourself. I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you. You’re right. I wasn’t a good brother to you. I wish I’d been someone you felt safe sharing your secrets with.” His admission was followed by silence. Morgana’s throat worked. She pursed her lips, then shook her head once, short and sharp, and her eyes were overbright. She blinked rapidly. 

“And what can I do with that, Arthur?” she asked. Her voice was strained. “Where were you back then ? When I had nightmares of what he would do if he found out… when I wanted my own brother to have my back, to believe I wasn’t alone in that house, surrounded by the Patroni trained to kill people like me? That was when I needed you. What good does it do now?” 

“None.” Arthur bit his lip. “There’s nothing I can do. I can’t go back… and  it means nothing for me to say now that I would have done better if I had known. But… I wish every day that I could go back and do it all right. You deserved better. I was trying to keep the peace and act as a go-between for the two of you, and it wasn’t right. I should’ve been less of a coward for your sake if not for my own.” Gwaine’s breath caught. Morgana was staring at Arthur, her eyes wide, but it wasn’t Morgana who held Gwaine’s attention in that instant. 

“Arthur…” Gwaine reached out to catch Arthur's arm. The shadows around them were stirring. Arthur brushed his hand aside, shaking his head. 

“Morgana, please… I don’t know how to make things right, but I want to try.” There was conflict in her eyes. She parted her lips, and her fingers curled over her sleeve as she threw a glance over her shoulder, but the moment was gone. Morgana started backing away first, before a newcomer’s voice cut through their conversation. 

“Well done , Morgana.” A woman with blond hair and striking dark brown eyes stepped out from the darkness in the back of the lot. Two men followed close at her sides, and behind her, a posse of armed persons were fanning out. Gwaine didn’t even turn to look at the figures closing in, shutting off their exit. “Arthur Pendragon. You’ve been a thorn in our side for a long time.” 

“Morgause…” Morgana reached for her sleeve. The sorceress didn’t so much as look back at her. 

“Kill them.” 

“Arthur, get down!” Gwaine lunged at them. 

“Wait—!” He caught a glimpse of Morgana, her hand still outstretched, her mouth open in a shout of protest. The weapons behind them never fired. 

A sound like a crumbling building drowned the other noise in the street, and the sky bloomed the color of molten lava. “Stay down,” Gwaine hissed. Arthur flattened himself to the ground beside Gwaine. Overhead, the plume of flame dissipated, leaving a gust of blistering, hot air to sweep over the space as gunfire burst all around them. Then even the crack and rattle of gunshots was drowned in a second deafening roar that rang out above their heads. A dark shadow swooped over the lot, and the lot was engulfed in fire a second time. 

The heat was stifling. Someone started screaming as the flames leapt up along the edge of the fence and crackled close-by. Gwaine tried to force the mental image it conjured out of his head. He tasted the sting of acid in the back of his throat nonetheless and battled down a wave of nausea. “Come on.” He caught Arthur's sleeve again with his fingers and started to crawl across the pavement. Arthur, still visibly shell shocked, blinked at him, and he poked him with his foot. “S’go!” he hissed. Arthur started moving behind him. His eyes were watering, and he seemed a little winded from the fall, but he was squinting up at the sky, hands drawn up under his shoulders.

“The dragon,” Arthur rasped, blinking back tears from the stinging of the smoke in his eyes. Another scorching wave of heat washed over the space, perhaps another blaze of fire. Gwaine didn’t look back to see. 

“I don’t think it’s on their side,” he said in a rough whisper. That said, the dragon might not be with Morgause, but he didn’t know whose side it was on—perhaps its own. It wasn’t a good thing in this situation, was it? 

The dark figures swept past overhead again, shrouding the lot in darkness for a heartbeat. Gwaine lifted his head just enough to peer around, and as he looked, across the lot a dark cloudy bank of gray fog rolled out from the gaps between the buildings. 

“What the fuck?” he breathed. Arthur shifted beside him and kept a hand at his elbow, wary of losing track of Arthur in the cloud. 

It was unnaturally thick. Something about it made Gwaine’s skin prickle. He slowly drew his feet up under himself and crouched low next to Arthur. “You alright?” he whispered. Arthur shuffled up to crouch beside him. 

“Yeah, you?” he murmured. Gwaine hummed an affirmative. Another burst of gunfire rang out into the fog. Arthur’s hand gripped Gwaine’s collar and pulled him down again. Bursts of yellow-orange bloomed in the gray fog in tandem with the crack of gunfire. It lasted only a few seconds. The two of them stayed on the ground, still and quiet until it ceased. Gwaine tapped his fingers against Arthur’s shoulder and pointed, hand close to Arthur’s face so he could see. There were footsteps somewhere near them in the fog. Gwaine climbed quietly to his feet and gripped the back of Arthur’s shirt, keeping hold as they started to move through the fog together. 

He could barely see one step before himself. He had no idea where they were going. They could easily walk straight into Morgause’s arms. There was no telling where this fog had come from. 

For a minute, they stopped and stood side-by-side, listening in the silence, catching the distant sound of footsteps and voices around them. Any move they made might attract the gunfire again. Gwaine kept his fingers resting on Arthur’s shoulder, wary of being separated. He hardly dared to breathe, let alone speak. 

He heard the sharp intake of breath from Arthur. Gwaine turned, searching in the fog for something he’d seen and his stomach dropped into his boots. Before them, a small pale blue orb hung in the fog, suspended at about eye level. He took a step back.

“ Shit… she found us,” he hissed. Arthur’s hand caught his elbow and held him still. Gwaine froze, staring at him. “Arthur, we need to go,” he said in a faint whisper. Arthur shook his head. 

“No. It’s alright.” He extended his other hand, and Gwaine watched in disbelief. The orb drifted closer, pulsing a little brighter as Arthur’s fingers brushed the edge of its soft blue glow. “It’s here to help. It’s from a friend.” Gwaine gaped. 

“How…?” he asked. They’d just been with the Druids, yes, but there were several sorcerers present here, and Gwaine didn’t know or trust any of them. They weren’t the ones he’d met at Dartmoor. 

“Trust me,” Arthur said quietly. Gwaine hesitated, but as Arthur spoke, before the pale light, the fog billowed away, clearing an open path for them. “Come on.” Arthur ushered him forward, and as he took a step, the way grew clearer, until he could see everything in the pathway. 

The fog billowed about them when they stepped forward to follow the light. It muffled Gwaine’s senses unsettlingly. Sound dulled into a distant murmur. His skin was brushed by a thousand tiny droplets of water, but along the open passageway in the fog, he could see clearly. After a few steps, they reached the wall of a building. The fog crowded close up against them, leaving a narrow path along the wall. Gwaine laid a hand flat against it, and his fingers traced the brick as they circled the building, following the orb’s guidance. 

The orb of light flickered, then pulsed a sharp, bright flash at them. Arthur froze in his tracks, looking back at Gwaine, then held up a hand in noiseless warning. Stop. Gwaine pressed his lips together. It was almost as if the little mage-light orb and Arther were… communicating.  

They stood still. Several fog-shrouded figures had appeared nearby. Gwaine grabbed Arthur’s arm and pulled him back, trying to move him before they were spotted. It was too late. He saw the figures turn. 

“Stay where you are, Pendragon,” warned a voice. The orb of light flickered dangerously like a tiny flame in a breeze. Shit… So much for his attempt at reinforcements. They’d be too late at this rate. Gwaine shifted closer so his shoulder touched Arthur’s. He should’ve told Merlin, should’ve told the Druids, Gaius, anyone… if he could’ve even stopped Arthur by doing that? I’m sorry… Close by, he heard the click of weaponry. “He’s this way!” one of the figures shouted. For a sickening moment, he saw the sights of a pistol outlined in the thick fog. They had nowhere to run. The orb had all but disappeared—now a ghost of a glimmer in the fog—and they had their backs to a wall. Arthur had trusted the damn thing. It had been a trap after all. 

The figures never reached them. As if it had a mind of its own, the fog swirled suddenly thicker around Arthur and Gwaine, until Gwaine could feel the moisture with each intake of breath. They shrank back against the wall. There was the sound of a scuffle alarmingly close by. Another firearm went off, a short, sharp crack. Then silence. The fog was wrapping around them like fingers. 

“What happened?” he whispered hoarsely. Any doubt of whether the fog was sorcery had gone from his mind now. 

“I don’t know,” Arthur whispered back. The two of them stayed frozen in place, waiting for several minutes, and the soft light of the orb flickered to life again, brighter than before and casting Arthur’s pale face in its glow. “Come on,” Arthur breathed softly. Gwaine looked skeptically back at the light but followed again. They moved forward with caution, keeping to the wall. 

The wall ended. Gwaine’s hand stretched out into open space, and he felt a current of chilly air play around his fingers. The light moved right, past the wall. He followed it into the open, stepping into a clear alleyway without a trace of the murky fog.  

“Arthur!” All at once, the orb winked out, as if it had never been there. Gwaine turned, looking back at the rolling fog behind them, but it was gone without a trace. And behind them, as he turned back, was a familiar face. 

“Elyan?” Arthur gasped. The word was half a bark of relieved laughter. At the corner of the building some yards away, Elyan beckoned vigorously. Gwaine didn’t need a second invitation. 

“Let’s go.” He started towards Elyan, but Arthur wasn’t moving. He was hesitating, staring at the fog in the place where the orb had vanished. 

“Arthur.” 

“Morgana’s back there.” 

“Yeah, we’re not going back for her,” Gwaine said with a huff, planting a hand between Arthur’s shoulder blades to propel him forward. Elyan wasn’t alone either. As they approached him, several more uniformed persons were appearing, and he heard the sound of wheels crunching on pavement and van doors.  

“We’ll sweep the area,” Elyan said firmly. “Come on. We need to get you out of here.” Elyan and his companions were falling in quickly behind Arthur and Gwaine to block the way should anyone else emerge from the dark fog behind them. 

“Come.” Elyan ushered them into the back of a car. 

“Alright?” One of the soldiers asked quietly as they were steered into a seat. Gwaine nodded, and Arthur took the seat across from him, leaning over to push his fingers up into his hair with a shuddering sigh. “We’ll have you safe shortly.” 

“Thanks for the tip.” Elyan leaned across the van to offer Gwaine a bottle as they started to pull out. Behind them, another unit was watching. He had no idea if Cenred and Morgause’s people were still out there. He didn’t want to look. He could feel Arthur’s eyes on him and suppressed a sigh. 

“You called them.” Arthur’s voice was taut and not really a question.

“You’re welcome,” Gwaine said wryly. He could see the tension wired in every line of Arthur’s body, but he wasn’t about to take complaints. He was feeling the anxiety leak from his tense shoulders as he leaned back in a seat in the van. 

“I just needed a little longer. I was going to reach her!” Gwen grimaced as she heard the raised voices down the hall long before she got to them. 

“From where, the grave?” It was her brother’s voice accompanying Arthur’s that she heard as she passed one of General Rodor’s many adjutants leaving the room. “Arthur, she brought Morgause along for the ride. Do you really think Morgana was there to hear you out? What did you expect?” 

“I just needed one more minute,” Arthur argued.  Gwen turned the corner, stepping into the room. Arthur and Elyan were facing each other across the table. She locked eyes with Gwaine who was sitting by the corner of the table, arms folded, quiet. He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head towards Arthur with a small smile as if to say, ‘ Can you believe this one?’ Gwen smiled faintly back. The other two hadn’t noticed her in the doorway. 

“One more minute,” Elyan responded, “And Morgause would have had all of you in her pocket. You can’t negotiate with sorcerers like her.” Gwen turned her head to look at her brother from the corner of her eye. His input silenced Arthur for the moment. The blond dropped his gaze, shoulders hunched. He and Gwaine were both scraped and bruised. The fact that they were both in one piece was — Gwen reflected with a sinking feeling — likely because of Gwaine’s surreptitious call to Elyan, who had brought in Rodor’s support to extract the two. That call had come in just over two hours ago, after days of hearing nothing from the three who had left that night to search for Merlin. 

“Morgana came to meet me alone,” Arthur said at last. “I don’t think she wanted Morgause there.” There was a desperation in his voice that made Gwen’s heart ache for him. “I think she followed Morgana and used her to get to me. She wanted to talk — actually talk.”  

“Did she?” Elyan asked testily. “Because according to Gwaine, she got you to come talk to her by claiming she had Gwen captive. She twisted your arm to get you there. That doesn’t sound like good intentions.” 

“She said she needed a reason to bring me there.” Arthur frowned. Gwen’s jaw clenched.

“Arthur,” she said. Both Elyan and Arthur’s heads turned abruptly. “I was never in their hands… It was a suicide mission. You very nearly got yourself killed for nothing.” She hadn’t wanted to believe this of Morgana, but the scenario sounded damning. Arthur’s eyes turned down on the table and he took a breath. 

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he said. Gwen approached him around the table, reaching for his hand.

“What do you mean?” 

“I think she was listening,” Arthur murmured, low and soft. While Elyan and Gwaine could surely hear it, she knew it was really meant for her ears only. 

“She lied to you.” Gwen shook her head. 

“Gwen…” She looked up. The American, seated quietly at one end of the table, had spoken up for the first time since Gwen had seen him that day. “He might be right.” He seemed reluctant, but his usual laissez faire demeanor was gone, replaced by a pensive frown. Arthur looked back at him, lips parted over an unformed word. “I don’t know if she brought him there with entirely good intentions, but I was there for that conversation. She looked hostile when she first approached him, but…” He looked back at Arthur. “I saw her face when you apologized. She stopped looking angry. She was more… hurt. She had her hand out. She looked upset when Morgause showed up. I think she even tried to stop her attack.” He shook his head. “I’m not her biggest fan, but I’m inclined to agree with Arthur on this one. Morgause is beyond reason, but Morgana… I think she’s still there. She can still be reached. She was listening.” Gwen’s fingers laced between Arthur’s and squeezed tight. 

“So Morgause followed her?” He shook his head. 

“I don’t know, but she was alone when we first met.” He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry… I know I didn’t handle the situation well. I thought she had you. And I thought… maybe I could really talk to her. Make her understand. Tell her how sorry I was.” 

“I don’t think anyone handled that situation very well,” Gwaine responded with a shrug. 

“How could we?” Elyan shook his head. “There were too many unpredictable factors. By the time we got there, you were cloaked in a fog, and a dragon was circling overhead.” 

“The dragon!” Gwaine slapped a hand down on the table, his eyes lighting up at once. “Has no one else been wondering about that?” 

“The dragon was there?” Gwen was looking from one face to another, wide eyed. “Sorry… what?” 

“Exactly!” Gwaine pointed at her. “Isn’t anyone else interested in knowing why the dragon that tried to burn down London a few weeks back is now working as a distraction to help us escape?” He turned a pointed look on Arthur who shook his head. 

“Gwaine, my acquaintance with a Druid doesn’t mean I know anything about dragons.” Druids… Gwen closed her eyes and breathed out slowly through her nose. There was a lot here that she didn’t understand; she fixed on something she could wrap her tired thoughts around for now. 

“Was anyone hurt?” she asked her brother next to her. 

“There were only a few injuries, all minor,” Elyan said. “The fog kept us from engaging directly. We picked up the rest of your party too.” 

“What–?” Arthur squinted at him. “Who else did you tell?” He shot an accusing glare at Gwaine who lifted his shoulders. 

“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I only contacted Elyan.” Elyan gave them both a squint as he got to his feet in response to the footsteps in the hallway. 

“Merlin and Gaius…? I thought you knew,” he said. There were voices in the hallway, and Gwen’s fingers squeezed tight around Arthur’s hand. Merlin? Every other thought had flown right out of her head. She hadn’t had a moment’s time to ask Arthur what happened—why he’d disappeared that night without a word, where Lance, Gaius, and Merlin were, or anything else that passed in the last handful of days they’d been apart, and Merlin had been—he’d been… 

“I should have known you two were both involved in this.” Leon turned the corner into the room. “You were the bane of my entire career with your disappearing acts.” The smile on his face belied his complaint, brighter than any smile Gwen had seen him wear in weeks, but she hardly stopped to look. Leon was walking slowly, one arm around his companion’s shoulders to steady him and Gaius on his other side. He was there—pale and drawn, but on his feet and very much alive . She felt Arthur’s hand squeeze hers back tightly and caught a glimpse of his expression, easily as shocked as hers. The relief that crashed over her as she heard his voice made her knees weak. She let out a soft choked sound, almost a sob.  

“Trust me, they weren’t my idea. This one in particular was all Arthur.” Merlin turned his eyes on Arthur, accusing despite how weary he looked. “I nearly had a bloody heart attack when you turned up missing. Arthur, what the hell were you thinking? Did you think any of it through? You really just ran off alone.” He looked shaky and perhaps it was her imagination, but he seemed skinnier than ever, and he was draped in a military issue jacket at least two sizes too big for him. 

“ Merlin ,” she breathed. Her voice was thready and weak, but a smile broke across her features to match Leon’s. Merlin blinked, turned towards her, and the fire faded from his eyes. 

“Sorry, Gwen.” He mustered a somewhat sheepish smile. “It’s good to see you.” Her throat had already tightened so much that she couldn’t speak. She let go of Arthur’s hand and crossed the room in a heartbeat to throw her arms around him. “Er… Gwen?” Merlin’s voice rose an octave when she tightened her hold. 

“I th—” She shook her head and loosened her grip a little. “I thought you…” she choked. He stiffened, then his arms came up to hug her back tightly. 

“Oh, no… God, no. I’m okay.” He didn’t look okay. Gwen pressed her forehead against Merlin’s shoulder a minute longer as she struggled to rearrange her face and steady her breathing.

“You… the gunshot, and all that fire…” she shuddered and slowly let go, blinking several times to try and shake the tears stinging at her eyes. She scrubbed a hand over her face. 

“Not as bad as it looked?” Merlin offered—a weak attempt at humor that made Gwen huff. She patted his arm before reaching out to catch Gaius’ hand for a warm squeeze. 

“I thought I’d never see you again… either of you,” she said, shaking her head. 

“He’s stubborn.” Gaius smiled, a little sadly, Gwen thought as he kept a steadying hand on Merlin’s arm. Gwaine’s shoulder brushed Gwen’s. He was crowding into their space, pushing a chair over. 

“Hey, sit down. What’re you doing up on that leg?” Gwaine reached for Merlin’s arm, and he and Gaius shepherded him into a chair. 

“Merlin, what are you doing here?” Arthur’s voice was tinged with worry and bewilderment. His hand settled on Gwen’s shoulder as he moved up behind her. 

“Following you , you prat,” Merlin huffed. 

“You shouldn’t be running around like this. You’re supposed to be recovering,” Arthur argued. 

“Then don’t go running off like that!” Merlin grunted and sank into the chair with a grimace. “Why didn’t you say something?” he said, blinking up at Arthur. “Mordred told us you’d left.” 

“Because of this ,” Arthur said, gesturing at him as he tipped his head back with a sigh. “You should’ve stayed. You were there to get help.” Arthur looked worried. Gwen’s throat still felt tight. Merlin looked so small and tired, wrung out. But he was alive , and she couldn’t help but repeat that over and over in her mind. 

“Right, while you ran off to get yourself killed,” Merlin huffed, closing his eyes. 

“I didn’t… I wouldn’t have.” Arthur was frowning, and something about his tone had changed. Gwen looked back at him, but it wasn’t only Arthur whose expression was different now. 

“No… we had help. Not just the dragon. Someone was looking out for us.” 

“Would you two like to share with the class?” Leon asked mildly. 

“There was a light.” Arthur turned to Gaius. “Like the one I saw years ago in London. A blue sphere. It led us to safety.” 

“Light…?” Merlin’s voice was small. 

“The mage light?” Gaius asked. But it was Leon whose expression caught Gwen’s eye. He had turned from Arthur to Merlin and Gaius, and there was something about his keen expression that puzzled her. The more so, because Merlin, pinned under his attention, had leaned back in the chair, and his face lost what little color it had left. Gaius’ hand settled on Merlin’s shoulder and squeezed firmly. 

“Where were you, Arthur?” Leon asked, and his scrutinizing gaze shifted back to Arthur. The barest second of hesitation followed, before Arthur answered. 

“The Druids. We would have been shot without the fog and that light.”

“Your guardian angel,” Leon said quietly. It wasn’t the first time Gwen had heard him use that term. Leon had long said, tongue in cheek, that Arthur had a vigilant guardian angel watching over him, but never had it felt so real before. Why his attention was drifting back to Merlin, though, Gwen couldn’t pinpoint. 

“They must know who it is.” Arthur had looked back up at Gaius. “Someone is protecting me. Someone with magic. I need to speak with Iseldir again.” 

“You should have told me.” Morgause turned on Morgana the moment the doors closed behind them, leaving the strategists of their movement in heated conversation and out of earshot of them. 

“I was handling it on my own.” Morgana tried to keep her chin up. Her heart was pounding as she met the fiery look in Morgause’s eyes. The set of Morgana’s jaw and her steady gaze belied the twisting feeling in her gut as she braced herself for the storm. 

“This is the third time he has slipped through our fingers,” Morgause snapped. “He is gaining traction. Cenred is growing impatient with our plans, and Alvarr, the superstitious coward, is talking about Emrys again. We need Arthur and his pet warlock out of the way.” Morgause turned as they reached the corner and her eyes fixed sharply on Morgana. “You knew Arthur was with the Druids, and you didn’t tell me. Why?” Why? Morgana took a breath. 

“I wanted to be sure before I spoke to you. I…” 

“You lured him all the way out here successfully. How?” Morgause demanded, cutting over her.  Morgana gritted her teeth, feeling an uncharacteristic reluctance to share that last card up her sleeve. “Morgana.” Her name felt like an accusation on Morgause’s lips. Morgause was frowning at her. “I thought you wanted justice for our people.” And there it was: the shift from anger to that quiet hurt which stung so much more. She swallowed. 

“I do .” She shook her head. “But–”

“Arthur would have us move on as if nothing happened–as if we aren’t owed retribution for every life lost, for the decades lived in fear.” 

“But–” 

“But what? You trust Arthur Pendragon to set things right?” Morgause cut over her harshly. “He has his father’s silver tongue. He’ll promise you every reparation, every apology and stab you in the back when he’s earned your trust. Look at the facts, Morgana. We offered him the truth about his birth, the lies behind Uther’s justifications. Even then he crawled back and tried to save the murderer’s life.” Morgana’s eyes dropped to the ground. Uther’s death had left a vacuum. She didn’t know how Arthur felt, or why he’d come back to help their father. She knew that she could neither allow herself to grieve, nor could she feel glad that Uther was dead. She had hated him so bitterly, but his death left her feeling lost, unmoored. She couldn’t even be certain she’d done the right thing anymore. And Arthur… What if she led to the same fate for him–her own brother? Did she really want to see Morgause end his life too? 

“Morgana.” Morgause turned and her fingers touched Morgana’s chin, gently tipping her head up again. She felt sick, frozen in place by the touch. “What happened? How did you know where Arthur was?” she asked quietly. Morgana swallowed. 

“Mordred told me,” she admitted. 

“Mordred,” Morgause echoed softly. A little smile crossed her face, but it didn’t put Morgana any more at ease. “You always had a soft spot for the boy.” She shook her head. “How long has Mordred been speaking with you?” Morgana looked down at her hands. Her connection with Mordred had been tenuous at first once he left for the Druid refuge, but it had grown stronger as the troubles in England stirred again, as Mordred himself grew in his own powers. He had learned to reach out and find her, just as the dragon used to find them and speak into their minds. 

“I knew where he was for some time. He only recently reached out to me.” It was longer than that. She had sought out Mordred actively after she moved out of Uther’s home. Despite their long correspondence, however, there was much Mordred hadn’t told her. Looking back, she wondered how many other details she’d missed. Mordred had spoken often of Emrys, ever hopeful, ever believing in the prophecies, but she’d never made the connection between Emrys and Merlin until recently. 

“And he told you where Arthur was.” 

“He… said he could reach Arthur. And that Arthur had been in contact with the Druids.” Morgana looked down. It wasn’t strictly speaking a lie. 

“Why? What could he possibly gain from them?” Morgause demanded. The silence that followed was uncomfortable. 

“I don’t know.”  She held very still. “Mordred didn’t either. He’s only sixteen. They don’t tell him these things,” she said. Morgause’s eyes were sharp on her. She could feel her heart hammering so hard in her chest it almost hurt. 

“Find out,” Morgause demanded. She nodded, and a tiny bit of the tension inside her unwound. Morgause had bought the lie. “And don’t leave out important details like this again.” She nodded. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Morgause closed her eyes briefly, taking a breath. 

“We cannot afford any more mistakes. Learn what Arthur is doing with the Druids. We need to keep him from facilitating bonds with them.” She nodded again. 

“I’ll find out.”  

“Good. See what you can learn.” Morgause’s hand settled on her shoulder and squeezed gently. “We’ll talk tonight. We need to strategize once you have the information we need.” 

She left Morgana standing in the hallway as she strode away. Morgana’s heart was hammering. She didn’t lie to Morgause often, but Mordred would be unhappy enough to learn what had happened to Arthur at their last meeting. To get him entangled in Morgause’s web… What would that lead to? You always had a soft spot for the boy… Morgause didn’t like her weakness where Arthur was concerned either. Would Mordred become the next target? 

She took a breath, slowing her racing heartbeat. No. She’d keep him safe. Once they had the Druid alliance, things would be better for all of them, including Mordred. She just needed to help Morgause for now. There would be time to make everything else right, once sorcerers were free again. 

Chapter Text

The barracks reminded Arthur a little of the hospital: dark but not quite silent. The hallways echoed now and again with footsteps. A few lights still glowed outside the door and one within, casting a pale sheen over the room. The place had an air of guarded tension. How long it had been, Arthur reflected, since he’d slept in a proper bedroom? He hadn’t even had a hotel room in the last few days—only a couch in an old, small house in Dartmoor as he waited for a judgment on his friend’s life. 

Across the room from him, the thin bed-sheets rustled. Arthur rolled over and peered at the bunk opposite. He could just make out Merlin’s face, at last relaxed in a deep sleep, untroubled by the creak of the mattress above him.

“Arthur?” It was barely a whisper. Arthur sat up and blinked at the stripe of light from the doorway. He sat up the rest of the way, quick to recognize the voice and the familiar figure silhouetted in the doorway, her face framed with curls. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep.” Arthur stretched out a hand. Gwen slipped in and pushed the door mostly shut behind her. Outside, Arthur could hear more footsteps and some voices beginning to murmur. “Are you alright?” he asked. The mattress dipped beside him. 

“I’m okay,” she said. Arthur wrapped an arm around her. 

“Did you get any sleep?” 

“A little. Everyone is up early in these places.” Arthur said. “I saw Leon out in the halls. He said Rodor has contacted the government. There’s a lot of interest in my connection with the Druids. Members of at least three parties want my help to facilitate peace negotiations.”

“Including Fox’s former party?” Arthur asked quietly. Gwen shifted. 

“Yes… Some of them too. The party has been splintered since she and Cenred started their attacks around the city.” A pause. “Many of them have become part of a coalition,” she added. “They favor amnesty and forming alliances with the Druids to focus on rebuilding.”  Arthur shook his head quietly.

“What’s the use of a coalition right now? We’re in a state of emergency. No one’s even trying to set up an election right now. This is pointless.” Gwen frowned, and he let his arm drop. He could feel the weight of her gaze on him even as he stared down at his knees. 

“It’s not pointless. Rodor may be interested in fostering an alliance with the Druids, but any alliance he makes will last only as long as he holds power. He’s a general, not a politician, and we won’t be in a state of emergency forever.” No… Arthur wrapped his arms around himself, suppressing a shudder. There were but a few options to end the situation. The country could devolve into full-blown civil war and tear itself apart, or one side could come out on top to rule over the shambles. 

“Even if this… coalition is in favor of reaching out,” he said, “Do you really think the Druids will take the offer?” 

“I think we have to try.” Gwen put a hand on his arm. “And I think they will be more likely to listen if the offer comes from you. Haven’t they already given you their help before?”

“One of them helped me find Balinor. That’s all.” 

“Not exactly.” Gwen tilted her head. “I met Iseldir Leod too. Merlin brought you back to his home to get treatment for the burns on your shoulder. Didn’t you say he saved Leon’s life too?” Arthur inclined his head a little. “And you knew him much longer than that.”

“I think he still feels he owes me a debt for helping rescue Mordred when we were young… perhaps not anymore now that he helped Leon and Merlin.” Arthur sighed. “But even if he did still feel beholden to me for some reason, those things were on a much smaller scale. This is…” He shook his head. “I can’t ask him this . To encourage the Druids to take part in a huge public political movement after they’ve hidden safely and in peace for decades.” 

“You’re not asking for yourself,” Gwen reminded him. “Arthur, it’s that or leaving the country to destroy itself. The Druids live here too. This is entirely in their interest.” 

“I’m not sure they see it that way,” Arthur responded. 

“They should. You know what the country would become under Morgause. It would be no better than it was in the decades past, whether it was Uther or the thirty Archons. The tables will merely be turned in favor of a different side. Morgause has turned on them. You’ve heard the stories of what she’s doing. People are going hungry, losing contact with their loved ones… people have died in the explosions and attacks she’s perpetrated. It’s in everyone’s interest to prevent another reign like that.” Arthur bowed his head. He knew that. 

“But why would they work with Rodor? He worked as a military advisor to my father for years… why would they trust anyone with ties to Uther?” he asked. 

“They’re working with a coalition of leaders, Arthur… and you’ve been building your own name. You publicly disagree with Uther’s policies.” She ran a hand up and down his shoulder. Gwen of all people knew how confusing that loss had been for him, privy as she’d been to his years of conflict with Uther, even if Arthur hadn’t made it as public and clear as Morgana made her battle with the man. “Arthur, this is worthwhile. Seeking the Druids’ help may be the only way to bring peace for the country without thousands dying,” Gwen added. Her words sent shivers up his spine. 

“I know,” he said hoarsely. He knew as well as she did that he and Gwaine would be dead by now if it weren’t for his mystery protector. If it weren’t for magic . 

Across from them, Gwaine stirred, and the bunk creaked softly. A trickle of doubt flitted through Arthur’s mind, alongside the subtle undercurrent of worries that had plagued him ever since the appearance of the silver-blue light. “Merlin didn’t like the idea, though,” he murmured. Gwen’s head shifted against his shoulder.

“No… he didn’t seem to. But he doesn’t seem like himself right now.” That was an understatement. Arthur pressed a hand to his eyes with a sigh.  “Arthur, is he really alright?” she asked in a voice so soft he barely made out her words. Her gaze was bent on the lower bunk where the faint lighting in the room illuminated a head of messy black hair. Merlin’s face was half-hidden under the blankets he’d pulled around himself. Arthur hesitated. He could feel the distress written in the tense lines of Gwen’s back and shoulders.

“I think so.” He was afraid the statement sounded no more confident than he felt about it.  

“I thought…” Gwen faltered. “I really thought he was gone. If you’d assumed that too—”

“No,” Arthur interrupted. “Gaius was there. Merlin wouldn’t have been abandoned.” She pursed her lips but nodded and relaxed against his side again with a sigh. 

“I’m glad you found them,” she murmured.  

“Me too.” He closed his eyes and let his head rest against hers. He felt an almost dizzying sense of relief having her beside him again. Following the chaos and fear that had ensued in the last few days, it was a comfort beyond words to have her safe, alive, unhurt. In the face of the bombardment of revelations he’d experienced at Dartmoor, he was grateful for her support. He could trust her. He knew that. But more than that, Gwen wasn’t already tangled up in the web of relations with the Druids like Gaius and Hunith, even Merlin. 

“I don’t know how Merlin got here,” Arthur said. Gwen raised her head. 

“I had guessed that he didn’t come with you. You looked as surprised as I was.” Her eyes gleamed with gentle amusement. “But I’m not surprised he came after you. He’s always followed you into trouble.” Arthur pursed his lips. 

“There’s… a little more to the story this time than that,” he said. 

“So I’ve noticed,” Gwen said mildly. Arthur dropped his gaze. 

“I wanted to talk to you earlier,” he said. 

“I know.” Gwen stilled him with a hand on his arm. “It doesn’t matter. I only wanted to know if there was some way I could help.” Her gaze flitted to the bunk opposite again. “You think Merlin knows something about this guardian angel Leon talks about?” The thought had crossed Arthur’s mind. It made him uneasy. Merlin had lied in his account of his arrival—or at least left out huge parts of his story. Of that, Arthur was certain. 

“I’m not sure.” He took an end of the worn blanket beside him and began rolling it between his fingers. “There’s something strange going on with him, and he’s not really helping to clear it up at all.” She watched him in silence as he twined the end of the blanket around one hand. “There’s a good reason I didn’t expect Merlin to be here. He wasn’t just shot. When we found him, the bleeding had stopped, and he seemed… not alright , but stable. The bullet hadn’t gone anywhere vital. I thought we could get him treatment and have him sent somewhere safe to recover. But… he was cold—really cold. Gwaine and Percival were wrapping him in blankets and coats, and he was still shivering like he’d fall apart.” Arthur turned his eyes down and stared at a scab on the back of his hand. 

“Could be shock,” Gwen suggested worriedly. Arthur shook his head slightly. It had felt like something more. Merlin had been so adamant even through his disorientation. It was about magic. Both of his hands, and more so his palms, still felt scraped and raw from the desperate scramble to pull rocks and rubble off of Merlin. Gwen reached over and found his hand in the semi-darkness, and he resumed: “He was sort of conscious and talking a lot of complete nonsense. He told us to leave him, that he was dying, and when we asked him what was wrong, he started talking about magic. He said the magic was cold.” He took a breath, and Gwen’s fingers laced between his as he continued: “Merlin hasn’t told me anything about what happened. I’m not sure he remembers. But I think that woman—the one who attacked us—must have conjured the wind and fire. She did something to him with magic.” 

“He’s not…” Gwen’s grip tightened. “You don’t think Merlin could be like Lance?” Cursed? Possessed? Arthur still didn’t know where Lance was. He hadn’t heard from Lance or Percival since they parted ways as he took Merlin back to Spinster’s Rock. 

“No.” Arthur’s voice sharpened. The thought made him feel sick. He couldn’t make out the expression on her face well in the shadows, but he could hear the tremor in her voice. He slipped his hand out of hers and rubbed her arm. “He’s not. I promise. From what Morgause said earlier, I think they meant to leave Merlin for me to find. He was just a warning—to remind me of what they could do to… anyone close to me. I don’t know. I think… maybe they meant for him to die. Maybe… they didn’t think I’d seek help from magic for him.” Gwen’s breath hitched. They sat a few seconds longer, watching the steady rise-and-fall of the blankets on the bed across from them. It had been a frighteningly close call: far closer than either of them cared to admit. “Merlin says he doesn’t remember any of this either,” Arthur said. “But when we first found him, he was convinced that the curse—or whatever it was—was killing him. Gaius couldn’t treat him, and… I didn’t know what else to do.” Gwen squeezed his hand, and a little smile tugged at her lips.

“You took him to the Druids.” He nodded. 

“I don’t know what they did, but… he seems okay now.” 

“You did the right thing,” she said firmly. He let out a breath. He should have known he wouldn’t have to explain to her. She understood not only what he’d done but why. Because she would have done the same.

“So,” Gwen fixed a shrewd look on him. “You left to come back and find me, leaving Merlin in their care. Merlin figured out your harebrained scheme and he and Gaius followed to rescue you from your own stupidity. Am I close?” Despite himself, Arthur responded with a small chuckle. 

“Thanks, Gwen,” he responded with a trace of sarcasm. She arched an eyebrow, and he sighed. “Yes… I get it. You and Merlin have both read me the riot act. It wasn’t my finest moment,” he admitted. “But honestly, it’s a bit more complicated than your version.” He raised his head to glance around again. Both of the room’s other occupants were still fast asleep. Gwaine was even snoring softly on the top bunk. Arthur wondered fleetingly whether some of the chill still lingered in Merlin. Unlike Gwaine, he was very still and quiet, and buried under his baggy jacket and two blankets. Since finding him again, Arthur hadn’t once seen Merlin without a blanket or coat wrapped around himself. He felt almost guilty, talking in undertones this way with Merlin asleep only feet away from them, but he didn’t particularly want to leave the room, almost uneasy to let the others out of his sight after everything they’d been through in the last weeks. “Gwen…” he lowered his voice. “There are things that Merlin’s been keeping from us. A lot of things.” Gwen blinked once at him, her head tilted slightly to the side. In the faint light from the doorway, her eyes gleamed. 

“I’ve always known that . Merlin has elements of his past and person that don’t quite make sense.” Arthur blinked at her. 

“This is different—” he started emphatically.

“ Arthur, ” Gwen hissed. He stopped. She was shaking her head, and he realized that Gwaine had stopped snoring, and on the lower bunk, Merlin was stirring. He and Gwen sat still for a moment, but Merlin merely turned his head into the pillow so his face was half-hidden against it and settled again. “I know,” Gwen spoke at last in a low voice. “But forgive me if I’m not very surprised. Merlin was never normal. You remember Will Dempsie, his best friend back at home. Will had magic. You told me that yourself. Merlin was also the one who found the Druid boy Mordred back in London. He and Morgana hid the boy before you and I got involved. All that was strange enough, even before it was coupled with the fact that the Patronus chief Aredian scared the wits out of Merlin.” Gwen’s hand shifted to cover his again. Arthur frowned. Mordred he hadn’t forgotten, as he’d seen the boy recently. Will he remembered less, never having met him. Then there was Aredian. He remembered how terrified Merlin looked every time Aredian the ‘Witchfinder’ came around. Morgana hated the man too, but Gwen was right. He’d just always assumed Merlin was petrified of magic and everything related to it, but now… now it seemed like a different story. “What happened this time?” Gwen probed. “Something particularly out of the ordinary, I take it.” He hesitated. The question suddenly didn’t seem so straightforward as he had first thought.

“Hunith was there at Spinster’s Rock,” he said after a moment’s pause.

“What?” Gwen’s eyes widened.

“She arrived shortly after we did. There was no way she could have been notified and arrived so quickly. It was obvious that she didn’t know Merlin would be there. I heard her speaking to Iseldir and Gaius before she came inside. Someone contacted her long before Merlin arrived. She came to see Balinor.” 

“Balinor,” Gwen echoed. “He’s the dragon lord, right? The one you and Merlin went looking for last time.” Arthur nodded slowly. “She knows that man?” Gwen asked. Arthur huffed softly.  

“Yeah. She’s known him a long time. He’s Merlin’s father.” Arthur leaned forward, staring down at the ground. He heard Gwen draw in a quiet breath. They had never asked about Merlin’s father. He had never spoken about his father. Arthur had just assumed Hunith’s husband died. It hadn’t been strange to him. His father almost never spoke about Ygraine either. 

“Hunith told you that?” Gwen asked.

“More or less.” For a while the room was utterly silent, and several long minutes passed before Gwen responded: 

“It makes sense.”

“How?” Arthur stiffened, and his brows drew down over narrowed eyes. “How does any of this make sense?” 

“Think about it, Arthur. Merlin’s always been uncomfortable talking about magic. He was more spooked than I was when Aredian came to scour our neighborhood, yet he was quick to protect the Druid boy. He never wants to talk about magic, but when we actually come face to face with Iseldir, he seems comfortable. It’s always been there. We just didn’t have enough pieces to make a clear picture.” 

“I always assumed he was scared of it,” Arthur muttered. Until Merlin had met Iseldir, that was. Just as Gwen said, that had been one among many uncharacteristic moments he’d witnessed—the sudden air of self-assurance and determination that had manifested in his ash-sprinkled, worn-looking friend in that moment. Arthur pressed a hand to his face with a sigh.

“He might have been afraid of it, in a manner of speaking,” Gwen said. “Any discussion of magic probably unnerved him. He wouldn’t want to bring any trouble to his family.”   

“No.” Arthur shook his head stubbornly. “It couldn’t have been that. I asked Hunith. Merlin never even knew who Balinor was before. Hunith said she never told him. They only met recently.” 

“Balinor wouldn’t have been Merlin’s only exposure to magic,” Gwen reasoned. And again, Arthur was reminded of Will, Merlin’s friend whom Merlin had mentioned even recently, as they were both reeling from the dragon’s attack. He had asked Merlin if the stories Balinor told about the Purge were true, and Merlin had told him a harrowing story about his best friend, Will, who disappeared at eleven years old after being accused of sorcery. 

“Right… Will.” Arthur exhaled heavily and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. Gwen nodded. 

“Look what happened to Will when he was accused of magic. It’s no wonder he was afraid of anyone mentioning it,” she said. Arthur ran his fingers through his hair. “Gaius was connected to the Druids as well,” Gwen added. “He’s the one who contacted them to help get Mordred safely away.” 

“So Merlin has always known sorcerers… He and Gaius both.” Somehow that didn’t make Arthur feel any better. “Why didn’t he ever say anything?” he murmured, raising his head enough to squint at the sleeping figure. 

“What was there to say? If what Hunith says is true, he didn’t lie. He didn’t know his father. With Will or anyone else he might have known, he probably felt that it wasn’t his secret to tell.” Arthur didn’t answer. The issue seemed much bigger than Merlin’s parentage. It felt strange—uncomfortable even—to imagine Merlin living an entire side of his life that Arthur had never seen, recognized… even conceived of. “What about the light, Arthur?” Gwen quietly broke into his train of thought again. “You sounded like you knew something too. You said it was from a friend. Was it someone Merlin brought with him?” When Arthur didn’t answer, she pressed a little further: “Was it Balinor? Surely he would have come if Merlin asked him.” 

“Maybe…” Arthur’s mind turned back to the man—stiff and slow—his hair peppered with still more gray than the first time they’d met him. He thought of Hunith’s words when she first arrived. How is he? Has it gotten any worse? He was ill. And it must have been serious for someone to contact Hunith. He doubted the dragon lord had gone anywhere just now. One thing he was sure of, however: “But the light wasn’t Balinor’s.” 

“You know whose it was though?” Gwen asked. Arthur shook his head, hunching his shoulders a little. 

“I saw it before, several years ago: the night Merlin was in the hospital back in London.” Gwen shivered. 

“Leon mentioned that,” Gwen said. Arthur inclined his head. 

“I didn’t talk about the light at the time. I was in enough trouble without discussing magic in my father’s hearing. You remember how long I was in the doghouse after slipping out that night. But the light Gwaine and I saw today—it’s exactly the same as the one I saw that night. It led me somewhere safe. I don’t know who sent it or why… but whoever it is, I owe them my life twice now.” Gwen’s shoulder pressed against Arthur’s. She leaned her head against his, and Arthur put an arm around her again. “Do you think Merlin knows who it is?” she asked. He considered, casting half-an-eye on his sleeping friend. 

“I’m not sure what Merlin does and doesn’t know anymore,” he said quietly. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore, save the reality of Gwen, here beside him, her head on his shoulder, warm, safe… here with him. It was enough to make him wish for a moment that he could speak to the unknown conjurer of the light—if only to send a message of thanks for bringing him back safely to this moment. Gwen hummed thoughtfully and turned her head to peer at him from the corner of her eye. 

“Do I need to ask if you’ve actually spoken with Merlin about this?” She didn’t. He could see that she already knew. He sighed. 

“How am I supposed to bring it up? You saw the way he reacted yesterday when I started asking about how he got here.” 

“You could start by sounding less accusing,” Gwen recommended. Arthur lifted his shoulders. He couldn’t help a twinge of anger at the thought of just how many things Merlin clearly hadn’t mentioned—not least that he had some tie to the Druids—one which Iseldir had probably known. “You could speak to him,” Gwen said, “Or you could wait and see what comes up. But speculating any further won’t help. We still don’t have the full story.” Arthur nodded. 

He pulled his legs up onto the bed and watched the shadows fall across the doorway as people passed by outside. Merlin’s background was one of the many mysteries that would have to wait. There were more pressing problems at hand for now. 

“I’ll talk to Rodor today,” he said. “There must be a safe place he can take both of you where Fox and Cenred won’t find you again.” Gwen lifted her head from his shoulder and squinted at at him. 

“I think I speak for Merlin too when I say we’re not going anywhere,” she said. Arthur’s arm slipped from her shoulders. 

“You have to. You’re not safe,” he argued immediately. “This is the second time someone has tried to use you to get to me. What happened with Lance could happen to any of us. Your relationship with me puts you at risk.” Her lips thinned, and he recognized the hardening expression on her face. He pulled away from her. “Guinevere, Lance was cursed. Percival was injured. Gwaine was stabbed five minutes after meeting me. I bring trouble for everyone close to me.” He gestured emphatically at the sleeping figure on the bunk across from them. “Did you not notice Merlin… Merlin almost died .” He swung his legs over the bed and stood to pace a few steps away, then turned back. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and she was looking at him, but her expression hadn’t changed. He shook his head in agitation. “If anything happened to you…” He stopped and swallowed. Chilling images flitted through his mind of Gwen shivering and pale, stained with blood as Merlin had been, if he’d come to meet Morgana and found her lying on the pavement in the open parking lot. If Morgana had been telling the truth, if she’d been holding Gwen hostange, if Gwen had in Morgause’s hands, being tortured or questioned, held somewhere far away where he couldn’t have found her again… “I don’t know what I would do,” he said tightly. 

“Arthur.” Gwen rose, and Arthur was prevented from taking a step back when she put a hand on his arm. “I’ve taken good care of myself this far, haven’t I? I’m not going anywhere. That’s my choice to make.” He stood frozen as her fingers traced his cheek and turned his head so he was looking down at her face, half-lit by the glow from the cracked-open door. His breath caught, and he dropped his gaze hurriedly, but he could feel her fingertips brushing the hair around his ear and the pad of her thumb stroking his cheek. Despite his halfhearted attempts to pull away, Arthur’s heartbeat quickened, and his cheeks warmed. She reached an arm around his shoulders and leaned close. He silently gave in and wound his arm around her waist and kissed her. She leaned her head against his and slipped her other arm around his back. “I believe we’re going to find a way out of all this. But even if we didn’t, if these truly were to be your last days, I would want to spend them with you—not somewhere safe waiting for a man who might never come back.” Arthur brought a hand up to smooth Gwen’s hair. 

“I don’t want you to be hurt.” 

“I don’t want you to get hurt either. But I can’t keep you out of trouble.” Gwen smiled half tolerantly, a trace of sadness in her eyes. He cupped her cheek with his hand. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. We’re both here.” She pulled him closer, and this time he responded readily, deepening the kiss with an almost desperately passionate feeling. Worry and care melted away as he pulled her close against himself. 

Behind Arthur, someone coughed quietly. Arthur relaxed his hold on Gwen and drew back, breathless. Damnit, Merlin. 

“If we’re going to be roommates for a while,” a drowsy voice drawled, “We might wanna have a talk about overnight guests.” It sounded distinctly un like Merlin. There was no cheeky grin nor blue eyes sparkling with humor. For once, Arthur’s former flatmate remained sound asleep. Arthur glared up at the occupant of the top bunk. 

“We… she wasn’t—” 

“S’alright, princess.” The American sat up and pushed his dark hair back from his face, grinning. “I don’t mind if you want to have your lady friend over. Long as you’re quiet,” he said brightly. Heat rose instantly to Arthur’s face, and he spluttered.  

“Thanks, Gwaine,” Gwen deadpanned, unperturbed. “We’re glad we have your blessing.” Gwaine chuckled. 

“Don’t think I’m the one you ought to worry about.” He tilted his head towards the door and hopped down from the bunk to his feet. Gwen made a little sound of surprise and turned from Arthur’s side to see the newcomer who had quietly nudged the door open behind them.

“I could talk to the General about getting you two a room if you’re really that desperate.” Elyan had his arms folded across his chest. 

“Elyan!” Gwen yelped indignantly. Elyan shuffled back as she started towards him to chase him out.

“Hey! I’m just here doing my job!” he laughed, catching her by the arm as she tried to push him back out of the room.. 

“Rodor sent you to be a nosy brother?” Gwen snarked. 

“No, that part comes free. I like to go above and beyond my job description.” He grinned. Gwen pulled out of Arthur’s grasp and backed away to glare halfheartedly at her brother. “You have a visitor,” Elyan added more soberly.  “She’s a politician and public relations representative from the New Liberals—” The smile dropped from Arthur’s face in a split-second.

“I won’t be talked into giving another statement,” he said. His expression darkened. “How did she get in here? Is Rodor in the habit of letting Paparazzi onto his base now?” 

“Arthur.” Gwen tilted her head to the left, indicating the bottom bunk again where Merlin remained sound asleep. Arthur gritted his teeth and followed Elyan out into the hallway with Gwaine close on their heels. 

A thin stream of sunlight was just beginning to peer through the hallway windows. Morning… Arthur wondered distantly when the entire night had passed.

“She’s only recently arrived. There’s time for you to get breakfast first.” Elyan ushered them forward. They were far from the only people frequenting the hallway, and he steered them towards the heart of the building. 

“What does she want?” Gwaine asked. What the hell do you think? Arthur gritted his teeth. 

“She believes she may be able to help us reach out to the Druids,” Elyan answered. “You did discuss that yesterday—” 

“She’s from Fox’s party. I want nothing to do with them,” Arthur said. Gwen’s brow creased and she turned to shake her head slightly at Arthur.

“She may be our best opportunity. Her party has been the foremost in promoting amnesty. They’ve long since disowned Fox as a member of their platform. Fox was an outlier. Working with them would signify a gesture of compromise to the Druids. As you said, they’re going to need the right encouragement if they’re even to consider working with Rodor.” Arthur jerked his head—a short, sharp gesture of dissension. 

“I’ll find another way to reach out to them.” 

“Arthur,” Gwen’s voice dropped. “I know you have bad associations with the party, but you aren’t bound by your father’s political agenda any longer.” 

“This isn’t about my father,” he responded at once, aware that his defensive tone lent no credence to the statement. Gwen’s expression hardened. 

“What is it about then?” she pressed. “This is a political party—not a single hostile person. You don’t have to negotiate with Fox or any of her associates. She was never party leader—only an extreme member of their group.” 

“Odin allowed her—”

“Odin reined her in,” Gwen reminded him. “Several times. He has never been anything but reasonable, including in his conflicts with Uther.” Arthur curled his fingers into his palm. Gwen’s gaze remained steady. “For all of our sakes,” she said, “I think that you should speak with her.”  

“I doubt she’ll give you a choice,” Elyan put in. Arthur shifted his attention to Gwen’s brother. 

“How did she get in?” he demanded for the second time, not keen on responding to Gwen’s enjoinder. Elyan shifted. 

“She’s the General’s daughter.” 

“Oh. So it’s a problem of nepotism, not leniency,” Arthur sniped, scowling again. 

“Arthur,” Gwen cut in. She gripped Arthur’s arm, and he twisted about to see the object of her attention. He groaned. You’ve got to be bloody joking… Leon stopped in mid-conversation with someone by the door.

“Arthur!” He stopped and turned, beckoning to his companion. 

“Leon.” He said through his teeth. He had no need to ask the identity of the young woman at Leon’s side. Her dark blazer and neatly turned down white collar, her step and bearing, and her pulled back hairstyle with nothing out of place, and her acute, inquisitive gaze bespoke a young professional, but not a soldier. “You’re my bodyguard, not my media advisor,” Arthur said, earning himself a raised eyebrow from Leon, distinctly unimpressed. He fixed his gaze briefly on the young woman. “Don’t waste your breath. I won’t give any further statements.” 

“Hang on, Arthur…” Gwaine’s hand lit on his shoulder, and the American brushed past him. 

“Mithian?” The dark haired young woman’s lips curved in an amused smile. “Well I’ll be damned,” Gwaine declared.

“Hello to you too, Gwaine,” she replied, eyes dancing. Gwaine beamed and stepped forward to wrap her in an enthusiastic hug. She tilted her head to scan his face with lively interest as he drew back at arm’s length. 

“What…?” Arthur stared at the two of them, and Gwen looped her arm through his, lifting a shoulder. 

“Why is it that you’ve gotten yourself into some new trouble every time I see you?” the woman asked in a laughing tone. Gwaine held up his hands in surrender. 

“Not of my making this time,” he said, grinning broadly. 

“Gwaine, what—” Arthur stepped forward with barely sustained impatience. 

“Don’t get your panties in a wad, princess.” Gwaine clapped a hand firmly on his shoulder. 

“You know her?” Gwen inquired, moving to stand at Arthur’s side again. The American’s grin widened. 

“Nah. I’m in the habit of hugging random strangers. She took it well.” Opposite him, the woman rolled her eyes. 

“The story changes every time he tells it. My mother worked at the British embassy in Washington for some years. Gwaine and I attended the same school for most of our childhood.” She extended a hand to Arthur. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Arthur didn’t move, and her smile faded a little. Gwaine stepped forward before the tension could escalate.  

“Mithian, this is Gwen Smith and…” he inclined his head towards the stiff-backed blond. “The famous Arthur Pendragon. Arthur, Gwen, this is Mithian.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Mithan smiled. Her gaze shifted to Arthur. “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. I’m not here to pressure any of you into anything. I’ve seen the lengths some of us go to in order to avoid the public eye.” Her gaze flitted to Gwaine and the American smiled fleetingly back at her and lifted his shoulders. Arthur took a breath. 

“Thank you, but my concern is not staying out of the media. This hardly seems like the time to be seeking support for an election.” Mithian tilted her head, a flicker of surprise showing in her eyes. 

“It certainly is not. That was never my intention,” she assured him. “Politics notwithstanding, you have been the voice of reason and unity for the country since this conflict began. We ‘re at war with one another, and I believe you might have the influence to help draw us back. Word is that you have connections with the Druids which my party has been hoping to use to make an offer of peace. But I do understand your reluctance.” Gwen gave Arthur’s arm a firm squeeze before letting go and giving him a gentle nudge. Arthur hesitated a moment, and Mithian took a step back, as if to turn away. 

“Please,” Arthur turned a brief glance on Gwen, and stepped forward as Mithian returned her attention to him. “Forgive me for my initial reaction. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” He extended his hand, and Mithian’s smile returned. She took it in a firm grasp. “I won’t promise anything, but I would like to hear your proposal.” 

Merlin was unreadable. Arthur was realizing that more and more in the wake of his friend’s brush with death. Merlin, now awake, sat across the table from Arthur, listening with an impassive face, the meal tray in front of him all but forgotten.  His hands offered the only sign of disquiet. His fingers wandered restlessly over the tabletop, fidgeting with his cup and fork until he settled both hands in his lap. It reminded Arthur of his habit of running them through the tassels of his worn scarves. He’d lost his scarf in the last nearly fatal fiasco. 

“You really think Rodor is willing to take a chance like this?” Merlin asked. “He would have to decriminalize magic.”  

“He has the power to do it. The remaining questions are whether people will turn out in favor of it and mainly whether the Druids will be willing to consider working with him and Mithian’s coalition. They’ll need to trust her promises of seats in government and a hand in future legislation surrounding magic.” Arthur watched Merlin’s hand move up to trace the edge of his tray. “Rodor thinks that if I reach out to them, the Druids will receive the gesture more favorably.” 

“He’s probably right.” Arthur blinked, and Merlin looked up at him. “They trust you. They’ve allowed you to set foot in their safehold twice now. They wouldn’t have let you in otherwise.” 

“You think I should do it?” Merlin’s eyes instantly turned down to his tray again. “If I do this, everything my father worked for will be for nothing.” He watched his friend’s downturned face intently. “We would have to change everything about the way we live—make a place for them in our cities—or world. Do you think that’s the right choice to make?” 

“I don’t think I’m the right person to ask,” Merlin said. 

“I’m asking you.” Arthur leaned forward over the table. “It’s not like you to be silent.” 

“There’s a lot at stake,” Merlin responded. 

“And I’m asking for your advice.” Arthur waited in silence, watching Merlin’s fingers turn his plastic cup around slowly. When Merlin spoke again, his words were slow and quiet. 

“Arthur, I think the answer is already right in front of you. I’ve watched you growing into your beliefs for far longer than this conflict has been going on. You felt that things were wrong for years, even before you left Uther’s home. Now, you’ve spoken out against your father’s policies openly. You’re following your conscience, as you have for a long time. As hard as it’s been for you to break free of what you were raised to believe, you’ve consistently put the value of lives over the biases you were taught to uphold.” He looked up from his untouched food with a small, tired smile. “You know what to do. There has to be an end to the retribution. It means making amends, offering apologies, extending hands to people many of us were taught to fear. But all of that will be worth it if we can stop the cycle of bloodshed. No victory could be worth the number of lives lost in the last two wars.” Arthur nodded faintly. How much more intimately Merlin understood that cycle, that pain and loss than he’d ever realized. He found himself silently turning over all the questions and doubts he had discussed with Gwen in the early hours of the morning. Here was Merlin, the son of a dragon lord; friend to a sorcerer, or perhaps to several, and familiar with the Druids… There was a lot he didn’t know about his childhood friend. That left some hurt still deep in his chest, for the man he thought he’d known. And yet, he had been steadfast and true. He kept coming back through danger, pain, and suffering to stand at Arthur’s side. 

“ If I do this,” Arthur said at length, “Will you still stand by me after the decision?” Merlin lifted his head, and in a moment the hesitation and doubt had cleared from his face.  

“You know I will, Arthur.” He did. And he needed no more confirmation to clear the lingering doubts from his own mind for now. There would be time enough to discuss Balinor and all of Merlin’s complex history later. Right now, he needed his old friend, and if anything, Merlin’s hidden history with magic would make him an asset in this endeavor. 

“Good.” Arthur stood, and the resolution formed in his mind even as he added: “Because I want you to come with me.”  

Chapter Text

“We will be in talks with the Druid contingents within the week.” A cluster of press were crowded around as the dark haired woman raised her voice above the clamor. Mithian Rodor of the New Liberals stood at Arthur’s side in the front of the press room, waiting for a moment until the noise died down. “This is a chance to make things right for all of us. The Druids have agreed to accept Arthur Pendragon as liaison to their community, and I will be accompanying him to represent our offer. My coalition has drafted an Amnesty Act with the interest of considering the input of the interested parties in the magic community before putting it to a vote. This is imperative not only for our future but for that of the entire world.” 

“You believe this is bigger than England?” A voice from behind the cluster of microphones asked. Arthur turned to look at the speaker, his brow creased in a slight frown. 

“It has to be,” he said. “The War on Sorcery started in England. It was here that the Pure took control and here where the tables were turned and the Purge killed thousands of sorcerers. The rest of the world is watching how we handle this third iteration of the conflict. We may not necessarily be the bellwether for how other countries handle the issue, but we will certainly have an impact. Our choices matter, both now and in the greater scale of history.” 

“And it is your position that this country can be safely shared between the different peoples?”

“It already was.” Mithian answered. “There is ample evidence that sorcerers lived alongside us for generations.” She looked to Arthur beside her. 

“The evidence exists in most records, material and textual,” he supplied. “The Druids were attested far back into the sixth century B.C.E. We have ritual stone circles mired in ancient lore, grave sites, talismans and medallions attached to legend. There are ancient texts written about necromancy and the veil between worlds. All these histories live in the Druid communities, and many of them have passed into common lore. This is only how it looks in England. Every country has its own community of sorcerers. Some believed in them more than others. But it was never a question of whether they existed — merely a question of whether we were looking, listening, and open to seeing what was there all along.” 

“You believe these were all signs?” One of the reporters asked. “Not superstitions and myths.” 

“Every myth has a core of cultural truth,” Arthur responded. “I believe that there were many signs of the presence of magic. It lived among us, possibly for as long as humankind has been on this planet.” Mithian nodded her agreement. 

“Our coalition maintains that the coup of the thirty Archons who called themselves “the Pure” cannot and should not stand for what the entirety of the magic community believes or wants. We have seen countless different sects rise up to do violent harm to their countries in the name of a better world, a greater future for humanity. These Archons were hardly the first. They likely will not be the last. Unseating them from power was the right choice. But blaming their crimes on magic users and slaughtering them did nothing but perpetuate a cycle of bloodshed that has caused suffering for all the peoples of this country.” 

“Arthur Pendragon.” Another voice from the crowd pressed forward. “You would openly condemn the Purge, then?” pressed another voice. 

“Absolutely.” Arthur’s reply came without hesitation. “The Pure attacked their own. They killed sorcerers whose bloodlines they considered corrupt. The Purge was only the next step in that decade of bloodshed. Both movements targeted magic users, and both movements were wrong and inhumane. The country will need generations to recover from the injustice of the Pure and of my father’s Purge. Nothing I can do will ever atone for those wrongs. But I hope that we will take this moment to start rebuilding. We can recognize those who were wronged for who they are — for their worth and their humanity. We can recognize their immeasurable loss and pain, and we can offer them a future where they are seen and valued and can begin healing.” 

“He’s posturing,” Ruadan growled. 

Lying. Posturing. It was all the same. They were all liars, Morgana reflected silently: Uther, Merlin, Gwen, Ruadan, Alvarr. They had all lied to her. Ruadan himself did little but lie. He and General Cenred were cut from the same cloth. But Arthur…? Had he really lied to her? It was more disappointment that gnawed at her as she watched. If he really meant it—if Arthur had truly changed, why hadn’t he before? Hadn’t she deserved a brother like this, who saw her pain, understood, wanted to stand by her as she struggled? 

“It doesn’t matter if he’s posturing.” Cenred looked up from the screen, eyes narrowed. “Arthur Pendragon has the ear of the public. People trust him, and he has connections with the Druids. We don’t have time to fight the draw he has on either population.” 

“I don’t believe Pendragon is the main problem,” Alvarr leaned over the table and jabbed a finger at the screen. “What of Emrys?” 

“Merlin Astur?” Morgause’s tone sharpened. Alvarr inclined his head.  

“He’s alive. He and Pendragon together could pose a serious threat. We don’t have much time to rally the support we need—”

“Your Emrys is a cripple.” The scorn in Morgause’s voice cut through Alvarr’s protest. “He will not trouble us again.” 

“You should have killed him when you had the chance, Morgause.” Ruadan shot a venomous glare at her. “The rumors about him are still alive, even if you stripped him of his power. Those who believe in the prophecy are rarely logical. ” Ruadan’s hatred for the Emrys myth ran deep. Alvarr however… Morgana bit the inside of her cheek and slid a sideways look at their most uneasy ally. 

“Killing him could have turned Avianna and Aglain against us,” Alvarr pointed out warily. Alvarr had fought with Morgause over the Emrys myth and nearly parted ways when Merlin became a target. When Tauren had returned with tales of Merlin—the supposed Emrys—protecting Uther, he had fallen in line, but Alvarr was more and more uneasy by the day. His alliance with Morgause was tenuous, and Morgana had the feeling he would have broken with her if she had killed Merlin. He still didn’t seem convinced by Morgause’s promise that Merlin was stripped of his magical powers, but Morgana had felt it; the flow of magic through her hands—Merlin shivering beneath her touch. Cripple. It seemed a strange word to use for Merlin. Her image of him hadn’t changed from the bright-eyed, smiling, gangly young man who had sat across from her at a table in a coffee shop not so long ago. He had been her ally—her confidante. He was quick tongued and opinionated, the first to speak when he felt that she was wrong and the first to defend her brother, despite—as she now knew—his own connection to magic. 

Did Arthur know, Morgana wondered, that his closest friend and confidante had been lying to him too? Did it matter to Arthur? Surely it would matter. She had been stung to learn of Merlin’s secret life. But then again, if Arthur didn’t know now, he might never find out. Merlin was weak. He wouldn’t be able to fight again as he had before when he defeated Nimueh.  

“Ruadan is right.” Cenred broke the tense silence with an impatient jerk of his head. “Emrys might serve as an example for the Druids and for Pendragon of what happens to the traitors, but his connection with Arthur Pendragon is a problem, and their faith in him is hardly destroyed. What makes them so sure he is their Emrys? ”

“Mordred Witega.” Morgause shook her head. “His family were said to have a second sight. Most of them have believed Mordred since he named Emrys years ago.” 

“Then we need to combat his influence,” Cenred said. The man paused, and his gaze settled briefly on Morgana. No… her heart clenched. No more public appearances… no more shows… She’d taken a fierce joy in her public statements when Uther was in power, each one a jab at the hypocritical man who had adopted her yet never called himself her father, never told her the truth, forced her to hide her true self. But since his death, it all felt empty. The cameras made her want to crawl into a dark, quiet place away from it all. “We need a new government in place soon,” Cenred resumed in a clipped tone. “The country will crumble without its systems up and running. Our advantage,” his gaze turned on Morgause, “Was our influence among the magical populations. Now their heads are being turned by this talk of Pendragon and the sorcerer standing at his side. Too many of them have heard his name, and he doesn’t look like a cripple. So I need to know how much support his unity campaign might draw away from us.” 

“Ruadan and I will not be enough,” Alvarr answered. “The other three have not supported you this far. Avianna is opposed to us. Aglain and Finna have made no statements.” The former Druid squared his shoulders and leaned over the table, frowning deeply at the paused playback of Arthur’s speech. “If Pendragon can coax support from even one of the remaining Druid communities, our position could be jeopardized.” 

“You told me one was a pacifist.” Cenred crossed his arms before him on the table, looking between the two sorcerers. Ruadan’s lip curled. 

“Iseldir. He refuses to contribute support to any battle. He could still siphon support away from our cause, turn his own sphere of influence in favor of ‘Emrys’.” 

“He has argued for a truce these past many years, spoken often of reaching out, making common ground with those Common folk who speak for amnesty,” Alvarr agreed. “And Pendragon’s proposition no doubt looks appealing to him. More than likely, his influence could turn Aglain in favor of the idea.”  

“Which is why it’s important,” Morgause said, “That we reach Pendragon before he has a chance to speak with the other representatives.” Morgause reached over and turned the tablet-screen off. “We cut him out of the picture and end these negotiations before they happen.” 

“We haven’t been able to locate him since he slipped through our fingers before your very eyes,” Ruadan observed icily. “Have you considered the possibility that Pendragon already has the support of someone in the Druid community?” He did. Morgana went very still. She knew Arthur had close ties to Iseldir. Morgause didn’t want them to know that though. 

“Arthur Pendragon is not beyond our reach.” Morgause’s eyes gleamed, and her hand on Morgana’s shoulder shifted. Morgana felt her stomach twist. She hadn’t wanted to use Mordred again. She hadn’t meant to put the teenager in the middle of all this. He was still a child. Passing his information on to Morgause made him a puppet in her war. She was afraid where that might lead. 

“Arthur slipped through our fingers, as you put it, because we were unprepared and didn’t know about Merlin’s abilities,” Morgause said. “This time, Merlin is no longer a factor, and we will have the element of surprise thanks to an inside source—information from the Druids on their planned route of travel.” Cenred stood.  

“This has to work,” he said. “My resources have already been bled enough.” He turned on Morgause and Morgana. “I want Emrys and Pendragon both. Either could be dangerous still without the other. Once they’re out of the picture, we can focus our attention on the government to get Morgause back in a position of influence.”  

“You will have both of them,” Morgause agreed, rising as well. “Our location is certain. We can intercept them on their way North. We will dispose of the Druid myth once and for all.” 

“We’ll have the route monitored. Be ready,” Cenred said. 

Morgana kept an eye on the three men until they left the room then pushed her chair back and turned. 

“Morgana.” Morgause’s voice stopped her. “The plans have not changed?” 

“No. They still plan to meet the three representatives at Castlerigg Stone Circle,” she said. Iseldir had used his sway. He at least seemed to believe Arthur. She wondered if she should have too. Morgana looked up, her brows drawn together. “Alvarr won’t want to attack travelers to Castlerigg,” she said. The ancient stone circle was considered sacrosanct to all Druids—a site dated back to 5000 BCE, it had been religiously preserved. Truces had been formed there since before England was united as a country. Travelers to Castlerigg for formal negotiations were supposed to be under its protection as a sacred site for pilgrimage. 

“Alvarr doesn’t need to know,” Morgause said firmly. “We map out their route and stop them before they reach it.” Morgause set a tablet down on the table and slid it over to Morgana who was avoiding her eyes. Castlerigg unsettled her. She didn’t like the idea of stopping Arthur and Merlin’s journey there. But Morgause was setting things right… wasn’t she? This was for the best. 

“Morgana.” Morgause tapped the table. Morgana looked down as the tablet was nudged closer to her. “Your spell was not strong enough.” Morgause touched the screen, showing the video of Arthur, pausing as the camera panned to the people behind him. Morgana had seen the clip several times already and knew before she looked at what Morgause was pointing out. It was difficult to discern whether Merlin was pale, or whether the lighting merely made him look so. Yet Merlin it undeniably was. He stood between Gwen and the young American, Gwaine, as straight and steady as the others… He had not only survived. He was on his feet… and to all appearances, well.  Morgause stared at the screen for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. And she wondered, as she said it, whether she was. The twisting feeling in her gut when she first saw Merlin’s face again hadn’t been fear or anger. She had felt sick, even as she drew on her magic to cast the spell on him. She was angry, bitterly so, even angry at Merlin, but she hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Morgause’s hands slid the tablet out of her grasp and set it aside. “This is a crucial moment for all of us. Your resolve cannot falter again.” Morgana lifted her head to look her sister in the eyes. 

“It won’t,” she promised. Morgause smiled. 

“Of course it won’t.” She put a hand on Morgana’s arm. “This will all be over soon. We will be free, just as I promised you.” 

Free. That was what she'd wanted. The freedom to be who she truly was without fear or apology. To fight beside Morgause for that freedom and do whatever it took to earn it. It was what she'd wanted. Once. At a time when she had thought she knew who she was.

“Give yourself time, Merlin. You’re healing. It will come back.” Gaius was reassuring, calm. It hadn’t calmed his mind much. He hadn’t been able to conjure the fog. That knowledge gnawed at Merlin deep inside. Mage-lights were simple magic that even Druid children could master. It was all he could manage at the time. Kilgharrah’s fire and Gaius’ fog had bought him just enough time to lead Arthur and Gwaine free of the meleé, struggling with his shaking hands as he maintained a tenuous connection with the magic. He’d felt weak, like his tie to the magic might snap and leave him helpless again.  

“You’ve been very quiet lately.” Merlin raised his head, roused from his own quiet thoughts and the hum of the van’s engine he’d been listening to for several minutes. He sighed. They couldn’t have more than an hour’s drive left, and he’d been hoping Arthur wouldn’t start asking questions again. His mind was racing every time he thought about the meeting they were approaching. Would the Druids name him? How would he explain ‘Emrys’ to Arthur? How would he take it? Did the Druids know how weak he was? 

He laced his fingers over his knees. But what had he expected? Arthur had maintained a demeanor of curious enquiry for the past several days. His usual stubbornness kept him prying tenaciously away at Merlin’s silence. 

“It’s called thinking,” he offered. Arthur had turned in his seat to look over the back at him. “You might want to try it,” Merlin added dryly. Arthur, entirely un-amused, ducked under his seatbelt so he could turn properly towards his companion. 

“For God’s sake, Merlin, I’m trying to have a conversation. Talking to you right now is like pulling teeth.” Merlin fixed his eyes on his hands a moment longer. “Come on. What’s eating you? Are you worried about the negotiations? We already brought up most of the concerns at the talks beforehand—”

“I’m not worried about the negotiations,” Merlin interrupted. Arthur arched an eyebrow again. 

“A straight answer. I thought you’d given those up,” he deadpanned. Beside Merlin, Gwaine huffed. 

“Yep. Definitely should’ve brought Gwen along.” 

“Rodor only wanted people the Druids had met before—”

“I know, I know,” Gwaine cut over Merlin’s flat explanation. “I was there. Listened to the General’s whole explanation myself.” The American offered a lighthearted grin and nudged him. “Relax, Merlin. We’re teasing. Don’t take it the wrong way, but the princess is right. You’ve been wound up in knots for days.” Arthur leaned his arms on the seat back and frowned at him. 

“Don’t tell me you’re getting another of your funny feelings ?” 

“No…” Merlin flitted a glance at Arthur. “Yes… I… maybe. Can we just drop it?” The look on Arthur’s face communicated a clear no. Arthur had never been one to leave matters hanging once he’d gotten it into his head to dig to the bottom. His scrutinizing look was making Merlin increasingly uncomfortable. Arthur seemed to be onto something, and magic-related enquiries were on his mind for more than one reason. His press conference with Mithian and now the initiation of negotiations with the Druids had gotten the wheels turning. “I…” Merlin fumbled for an answer that would turn the conversation elsewhere. “I just don’t like leaving Gwen behind.” The expression that crept across Arthur’s face quickly made him wish he’d thought of something else to say. 

“If I’m not mistaken,” Gwaine intervened, “Gwen has escaped more than one sticky situation on her own and helped you two with some scrapes as well. She’s a smart girl. She can take care of herself.”
“Should’ve gotten her on that plane.” Arthur scowled now. 

“If you think anything could have convinced her to take an easy ride out of the country, you don’t know the first thing about Gwen,” Merlin scoffed. Arthur ignored him. No doubt he didn’t need reminding. Gwen was as unhappy about Arthur going without her as Arthur was about leaving her. 

“It’s a moot point.” Gwaine shrugged. “That plane was here to retrieve citizens of the United States from what the government has declared a warzone. The only one they really would’ve taken was me.” His lips twitched in a wry smile. “My grandmother was quite insistent that I go.” 

“Why didn’t you go?” Arthur’s attention turned on the American. Gwaine quirked an eyebrow.

“This was my father’s country. It’s where I chose to make my home. At any rate…” He lifted his shoulders. “This may be the first time in my life I’ve found a place where I can be of some real use. I may not be any official ambassador, but I can make some good connections for you—catch the attention of the right people across the pond.” Arthur’s brow furrowed in an anxious frown. 

“You didn’t have to stay to help me, Gwaine,” he said. Gwaine’s eyes narrowed in mild amusement.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t stay just for you.” 

“No.” Merlin glanced up, and he smiled, forgetting for the moment his malaise. “I was rather under the impression you stayed for someone else.” 

“Of course, mate.” Gwaine shouldered him playfully. “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t get yourself into further trouble.” 

“Come on,” Merlin cajoled. “You’ve been following her around like a puppy all week.” Gwaine shrugged, and his grin changed to a subtler, self-deprecating smile.

“Trust me. I’m not Mith’s type. She’s made that clear in the past. I’ll only annoy her if I start asking again.” Merlin shrugged. 

“So don’t. Maybe she’ll ask you next time,” he said. Something told him that Mithian might look at Gwaine differently now, both of them several years older, perhaps a little wiser. Gwaine shifted his gaze back to Arthur with a shrug. 

“I’ve got a lot of reasons to stay,” he said more soberly. “It’s a good thing you’re doing here, Arthur, and I’m honored to be a part of it. Anyway,” He smiled again. “I put my ass on the line for you and Merlin here before I even knew your names. Did you think I’d leave you two in a spot of trouble now?” Arthur’s responding smile reached his eyes. 

“You liked our odds, if I remember rightly,” he said. “What would you bet on our odds today?” Gwaine’s answer didn’t come. Merlin’s seat belt snapped tight around his chest as the car came to an abrupt stop. Merlin pushed his feet against the seat in front of him and gulped in a breath of air, partially winded. What the hell? In front of him, Arthur grasped at the seat-back, then leaned forward trying to peer up into the front. 

“Leon, what’s going on?” Arthur turned halfway to face forward. The hitherto silent Patronus’ brow creased, and he raised a hand to touch the small device tucked into his ear.

“There’s some trouble up ahead,” he said. “Nothing too big. They’re just clearing the road before we—” Wham. 

The car jolted violently sideways. Something connected with the side of Merlin’s head. The world tilted wildly. Either Arthur or Gwaine—he couldn’t tell—began shouting. Then the shouting was gone, drowned by the sound of water roaring in his ears, and Merlin’s vision faded away into a sea of velvet-black.  

A soft groan. The sound was a spark of light in Merlin’s clouded mind. He struggled momentarily for a grasp on his senses. Spots of light danced before his eyes. His ears were ringing softly. He couldn’t see up or down and breathing came with difficulty. Something was wrapped tight around his chest, constricting his lungs. Merlin shifted, and his body turned freely, as if hanging suspended in the air. 

Noises, fumbling, the rustle of cloth… He blinked. A sticky, warm liquid trickled down over his eyes. Someone was murmuring nearby—above him, next to him… He let his eyes drift closed again. 

“Merlin… hey.” The voice sent a stab of pain through Merlin’s head. A hand brushed some of the damp, stickiness back from his eyes, leaving the skin there cool and stiff. “You still with me? C’mon, Merlin…” Merlin forced his eyes open. The only thing he saw at first was a pale gray-green shirt and a pair of hands reaching out to steady him. He was hanging, he realized—dangling from his seatbelt which stretched tight across his bruised, aching chest. Sideways, he realized dazedly. The car was lying on its side. They had rolled over… Perhaps once or twice… he didn’t know. He felt as if he’d taken the force of the collision with his own body. 

“Gwaine?” he croaked. He reached up to grasp at the belt, blinking again to clear his eyes as more blood trickled down his forehead. A hand looped under his chest, and he let out a choked gasp. “ Ahh… ”

“Easy. We’re gonna get you out of here,” Gwaine said quietly. The seatbelt buckle was unclipped. Another stab of pain lanced through his head, and his sight darkened again momentarily as he was lifted up free of the belt. His shoulder bumped the edge of the door, and Gwaine hoisted him through with the help of another pair of hands.  An arm steadied him as he opened his eyes in the pale evening sunlight, now outside the car. 

“Got him?” Gwaine heaved himself up through the door next to him. Someone else grunted affirmation. “Alright. Let’s get you on the ground.” Leon’s voice, Merlin recognized belatedly. “Come on, Merlin, work with me.” Leon gripped his arm, and Merlin climbed down off the car. “Easy… head down between the knees. Just breathe a moment.” Leon helped him to a seat and he leaned forward, shivering as he let the shock wear off a little, feeling the solid pavement underneath him. Several pairs of shoes scuffed on the pavement beside him. He bit back a groan and raised his head. 

“Is everyone alright?” he asked. Leon stepped down from the car. Arthur was seated on the ground close by, one arm wrapped around his ribs and ashen-faced. Merlin leaned forward to peer at him. 

“Arthur?” Arthur blinked dazedly at him. 

“Hell, Merlin… you look…” 

“Better than you,” Merlin huffed. 

“It’s a head wound,” Leon said, looking back at them from his perch on the side of the car, helping the driver and passenger side occupants from the front. Both were climbing out a little dazed, bringing their weapons with them as they and Leon began to assess their surroundings. “Head wounds bleed a lot. Doesn’t look too bad. Long as you’re not having balance or vision issues, it just needs cleaning. Arthur may have broken a rib, though. Should’ve kept the seatbelt on properly.” Merlin winced sympathetically. 

“Right, thanks for the advice,” Arthur said through gritted teeth. Merlin wiped the blood from his forehead with his sleeve, squinting at Arthur. A cracked rib was manageable, but sure as hell not pleasant. 

“I’m okay,” he reported as he staggered to his feet, finding his balance again. “What happened?” he asked, crossing over to Arthur to check on him. Leon didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the road. 

“The other vans are gone. Communications are down. We’re alone,” he said, scanning their surroundings. Gwaine was helping the van’s driver climb down from the car and accepted a handgun from him as the two soldiers circled around the fan to check for what had caused the accident. 

Merlin was scanning the area with a sinking feeling. The air was crackling with energy that screamed a warning to him. There were other magic users here. They were near, but not near enough for him to guess at their strength, let alone identity. Rodor had taken precautions for this meeting. Someone had tipped Cenred off, but who? The only people who knew about the location of this meeting were himself, Arthur, Gwaine, and the Druids at Dartmoor involved in reaching the other representatives.  

“Move back to the buildings,” Leon instructed, waving the three civilians back. The other members of their armed escort were fanning out in a semi-circle as Merlin and Gwaine helped Arthur to his feet. “Keep an eye out. We’ll establish contact with the others and be out of here soon.” Merlin closed his eyes for the barest second, trying to summon up the strength infused in his body from the adrenaline of the collision. He didn’t feel nearly as confident as Leon sounded. He hiked Arthur’s arm a little higher around his shoulders as Gwaine took his other side, and they retreated to the shelter of the buildings, moving with Arthur’s stumbling gait. Iseldir hadn’t come with them, maintaining a neutral position until connections were made with the other three representatives. Merlin wished the Druid had accompanied them now. He was trying to extend a tendril of consciousness, reach out to the dragons. Balinor had said the connection should come naturally, but… his magic still felt faulty, weak and thready. 

“Alright?” Merlin helped Arthur lean against the wall, watching with concern as he took a labored breath. Leon had backed up to the corner with them and was scanning the street, weapon drawn. He dropped to one knee. 

“Go!” he barked back at them. One member of the escort moved back behind them to clear the way as Merlin ducked under Arthur’s arm again. There was no use. The gunfire started as Merlin and Gwaine started to haul Arthur back around the next corner. Merlin heard a shout and stumbled backwards, not daring to look or wonder whether it was Leon going down with a bullet. He would’ve stayed, and tried to shield Leon, but the man would never have let him—not again. 

“Come on, prat.” He hauled Arthur’s arm higher around his shoulders. “We can’t carry all of your weight.” Arthur stumbled. 

“I can’t,” he gasped, pulling his arm away from Merlin’s shoulders. “Merlin, please.” 

Merlin staggered, and Gwaine shifted to support more of Arthur’s weight. 

“Merlin, we’ve gotta give him a minute,” he warned, frowning. Arthur didn’t look well, and Merlin couldn’t help but worry, wondering if there was some other more internal injury—whether they might puncture a lung hauling him about. He should’ve had proper attention. 

“Okay… just a minute,” Merlin relented, fighting the anxiety clenched tight in his chest. Arthur steadied himself with the wall and leaned his forehead against it, fingers curling as if seeking something to grasp there. 

There were voices out on the street. The gunfire had stopped. Merlin  went quiet and listened. Was that a good sign, or a bad one? If Leon wasn’t firing, had he been taken out, or had he retreated somewhere safe? What had happened to Mithian and the other vans? He shut the thoughts out harshly and turned. 

“How bad is it? Let me see.” Merlin took the hem of Arthur’s shirt gingerly. Perhaps he could mitigate the pain enough to buy them some time, let them move further. Arthur caught his wrist. 

“Merlin, it’s over,” he breathed. “It’s too late. They’re looking… for me… not you. You have to go.”  

“We’re not leaving you,” Gwaine responded, bracing him with a hand to help as he leaned forward and swayed. 

“Wait here,” Merlin murmured as he stepped a foot away. They were standing in an alley between two buildings. He took a breath, facing away from Arthur and Gwaine, and let himself map out the nearby area with a careful trace of magic. The nearby passageways opened like a map before him, and he pinpointed the other presences nearby—two... no, three, maybe more people approaching, two with magic. His head was starting to pound again. But he could feel his magic tingling in his hands, restless, alive… Armed people he could probably manage… probably. If he could get just enough magic to shut them out, push them away. But the other sorcerers? He reached out with a tendril of consciousness, feeling along the edge of the building beside him, and he instinctively felt for the flaws in the structure. He could bring down debris, even block the alley between them. But a collapse was too unpredictable. It might cause more of the building to crumble than he intended, and might hurt other people inside or nearby, including Gwaine and Arthur. He would have to find a way to take the men out face to face. Maybe he could leave Arthur here, just for a moment… 

“Merlin… you okay?” Gwaine probed warily. He opened his eyes to find Gwaine frowning at him. 

“You can’t help me.” Arthur shuffled back, clutching at the wall. “Please, both of you, just go.” 

“Shut up,” Merlin hissed. “They’ll hear us.” Arthur fumbled and caught Merlin’s sleeve, and he lunged forward to catch Arthur. Gwaine shuffled forward, and the two of them guided him down to sit on the ground. “Okay…” Merlin gripped his shoulder. “Just stay there. Try to breathe easy. It’s alright. We’ll find a way out of this,” he murmured. Gwaine was looking up, tense and wary. 

“Merlin—” Arthur stopped when they both heard the voices, now close enough to make out some of the words they were speaking to one another. Merlin’s head snapped up. They could have heard us. His body thrummed with warning and the undercurrent of protective magic. His fingers twitched. Arthur had gone quiet. The footsteps grew closer, and the presence Merlin had noted earlier washed over him with sickening clarity. There were definitely at least two sorcerers. Powerful ones. They were still a ways off, but they were coming. And he was alone and injured… accompanied only by two other people without magic, when he was scarcely sure he could protect himself from another sorcerer. 

The footsteps stopped. The silence that followed rang louder than any of the gunshots in his ears. Then a small object bounced off the wall across from where Arthur was leaning and rolled on the ground near their feet. 

“Merlin!” Gwaine’s shout did little good. Merlin felt his stomach drop as he spotted the small grenade rolling across the ground towards them.

There were no two options at the moment. The explosive might have ten seconds left. It might have zero. He didn’t have time to wonder how long he had, or whether his magic would even come at his behest. He caught a single glimpse of Arthur’s ghostly-white face before he dropped to his knees mere inches away from Arthur and Gwaine and closed his eyes, reaching for the connection so deep, so familiar his entire life.

It came to him, flooding his senses like liquid sunlight pouring through his limbs. His eyes snapped open. He threw out a hand, sending the grenade skittering away towards the wall.

“ Scildan! ” He barked the spell, and the shield flared to life around them, a shimmering bubble of energy. The explosion happened so fast, he hardly saw anything. The heat and pressure curled against his shield for a second. He felt the impulse against his shelter, but it held. Shrapnel bounced harmlessly off the transparent shield. For a moment he was left breathing hard, crouched in front of Arthur and Gwaine with his hands outstretched and trembling. 

He didn’t move from where he was for several seconds after the blast, shaking with adrenaline. The shield flickered out of sight as his hands finally dropped. 

“Holy shit ,” Gwaine breathed, and Merlin looked back to meet his wide eyed expression. He rose to his feet, feeling as if his knees might give way at any second. 

“We need to go,” he said brusquely, reaching for Arthur’s arm. Arthur pulled it away, and he felt his stomach drop. 

“What… was that?” Arthur’s eyes were fixed on him. Merlin’s heart hammered in his chest. 

“Fucking incredible is what,” Gwaine cut in. He extended a hand to Arthur. “Come on.” 

“Who the hell is he?” Arthur’s eyes were darting wildly back to Merlin. 

“Complicated question, mate. No time.” Gwaine hauled Arthur bodily to his feet, earning a groan of pain for his efforts as Arthur’s face went paper white again. Merlin stepped forward as the footsteps approached them around the wall. By the time the three armed persons appeared, he was ready. He flicked an almost careless impulse of telekinetic force at the newcomers, sending them flying back into the wall opposite, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground. Gwaine stopped to snatch one up while Arthur kept to the wall, watching with a shocked expression. 

“Get inside,” Merlin ordered Gwaine, turning on a locked door beside two dumpsters. “ Tospringe.” The lock clicked open at his command, and Gwaine hauled Arthur inside. 

Merlin pushed the door shut behind them with another flick of his wrist as he jogged over to where Gwaine was settling Arthur on the ground again. They wouldn’t be able to hide here for long, especially if the other sorcerers could map out nearby hallways as Merlin could. “Let me see the injury,” Merlin knelt in front of Arthur, trying to brush his hand away where it was covering the injured ribs. 

“I’ve got the door.” Gwaine stood, taking the rifle with him. Merlin could feel the damage easily by a cautious probe. He used a gentle tug to set the break in place and held it for a moment until Arthur’s breathing became slow, shaky wheeze. He couldn’t fix it. At least he could make sure it didn’t puncture anything for now. He’d never learned much with regards to healing magic—nothing beyond repairing simple cuts. 

The shuffle of feet outside alerted Merlin to further danger. He tried to pull away, but Arthur was gripping his shirt again, keeping him still. 

“You’ve lied to me,” Arthur muttered. “All… this time.” Merlin swallowed and silently pulled free of Arthur’s hold to rise unsteadily to his feet. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounded empty. With every second, he felt more light headed and utterly drained, but he could hear more voices nearby—now muddled with the soft sound of rushing water in his ears. He shook his head, trying to blink away the spots dancing in his vision. Arthur slumped against the wall again, eyes barely open, and Merlin couldn’t tell if the blond had really stopped fighting against his help or if he was merely in too much pain to respond negatively. He was scarcely able to stay on his feet. And he and Arthur… they were going to die here. He didn’t think he could stop another hand-grenade if he tried. He turned slowly to look Arthur in the eye, and his throat tightened. “I’ve used it for you… to protect you,” he said quietly. What little of it was left. But whether or not Arthur heard… It didn’t matter anyways. Arthur probably wouldn’t remember a word of this. He was struggling to breathe where he sat against the wall. 

“Merlin…” Gwaine’s voice was low, wary. Merlin climbed to his feet, swaying for a moment, and caught himself against the wall, blinked rapidly. 

“Get away from the door,” Merlin warned. Gwaine retreated a step, his weapon raised. 

The door didn’t open. It burst inward, flying off its hinges. Gwaine opened fire, and a split second later, the gun was ripped from his hands by magic. It was flung aside, and Gwaine thrown back against the wall. Merlin tried to stagger towards him, but his path was blocked as Morgause stepped through the door, turning a burning gaze on him. Merlin lifted his chin. He recognized almost at once Morgause and her companion—the dark-haired sorcerer Ruadan, regarded as an outlier among the Druids. Morgana was nowhere to be seen, nor did he sense her presence. 

Merlin’s knees threatened to buckle beneath him, and his head and vision spun. His magic seemed to falter, like the rest of his flagging, weary body, but he braced himself, calling on every last scrap of energy within him.  

“Leave them.” He raised a hand in warning. “I’ll come with you as long as you leave them.” 

“Oh, we’ll leave them.” Fox’s voice was filled with scorn. “Have no fear of that.” Merlin’s other hand curled into a trembling fist. “Well done, Emrys ,” she added in a sneer. “I didn’t think you still had it in you.” Merlin braced his feet apart. Both of his hands shook now. He was still feeling the effects of her curse in every inch of his weakened body and in his sapped energy. But he kept his hand up. 

“If you want them,” he growled, “You’ll have to kill me first.”  

“Come, Merlin ,” Morgause’s voice changed to soft, silken cajoling. “Drop the act. There’s nothing left you can do to save them.” In the cloying atmosphere of thick, smothering magic that followed Morgause, Merlin felt a brush of something else—a familiar presence which trickled into his consciousness like a ray of sunshine, piercing the darkness: the same gentle presence that had brought his magic back to his fingertips in Dartmoor. Merlin lifted his head to look the sorceress in the eye, and for a moment his hand stopped trembling. He turned his hand and his eyes lit gold. 

“ Astrice!” he barked. The flash of fire and light caught in Morgause’s palm and dispersed in a burst of flame. The sorceress laughed. 

“Child’s play.” Without a second’s warning, Merlin was slammed back against the wall. The impact drove breath from lungs and sent black spots dancing across his vision once more, fogging his already pain-muddled thoughts. 

“Merlin…” Merlin’s fingers twitched. That voice… he’d never expected to hear again. A voice that reminded him of amber eyes, long dark hair, a shy smile… magic, strawberries, a fleeting moment of peace before the storm. If he was hearing her voice again… surely he was dying. “ We’re here. Merlin, you need to reach them. Hold onto them and I can get you all out together. Can you do that?” 

He couldn’t move. How could he reach Arthur and Gwaine…? 

“Freya, I’m sorry…” 

Someone had a hold in the back of his shirt. His collar was choking him. Merlin’s feet dragged on the ground, bumping the doorframe on his way through.  

“Hold on. Just a little longer.” 

The arm was uniform-clad. One of Cenred’s. Merlin squinted through half-open eyes. He was being dragged outside into the alley. He heard a shout, boots scuffling on the ground. 

“Merlin!” 

“Gwaine…?” Merlin forced the word out through his throat, struggling against the choking pressure of his collar.

“Stop him!” 

Merlin heard the crack of a gunshot. He twisted free of the hand on his collar and flung the man holding him backwards onto the pavement. He was on his feet again a second later, his vision still dancing with dark spots as he searched for Arthur. He saw Gwaine first, lying on the ground nearby, and dove for him, getting a fistful of his shirt, then reached out for Arthur. One of the uniformed figures had a weapon trained on him. He snarled as he snapped the gun backwards into the man’s face, but there were four more arriving in that man’s place. Too many. He couldn’t sense how many more were coming, or where Morgause was.  

“Merlin, we’re here.”

The first cry of fear turned Merlin’s head. A pale winged figure materialized out of the air and plunged towards Merlin. A plume of fire blossomed above Merlin. The shouts turned to screams. Merlin rolled to his knees, never letting go of Gwaine’s shirt from where he lay still on the ground. Wings spread wide, Aithusa lit on the ground in front of another figure—Arthur, lying on his side on the ground. The dragon lashed her long white tail back and forth and let out a feral snarl as several rifles turned on her. 

“ Ic þé wiþdrífe !” Merlin flung out a hand. Through the dark spots blurring his vision, he saw half a dozen of the soldiers, guns trained on Aithusa, flung back like ragdolls. He lurched forward, dragging Gwaine bodily along with a strength he hadn’t known he had, and collapsed beside Arthur. He had them—he had them both. 

Morgause’s voice was screaming furiously—perhaps a spell. He wasn’t sure. Merlin reached for his magic, trying to shield himself, Arthur, and Aithusa again.

“ Scildan!” His shield was trembling like a weak light, about to flicker out. Then someone was kneeling beside him. 

“ Merlin .” A slender hand gripped his shoulder. He reached blindly for Arthur, and his hands curled around the cloth of Arthur’s shirt as his vision faded out once again. He had to keep hold of them both. Had to hold onto them. “We have them. It’s alright. We’ll get you out of here.” 

Merlin felt a sharp tug, as if he were being pulled off the ground. He felt the gentle touch of Aithusa’s snout and the hand on his shoulder. Then wind whipped around him, and everything faded, spinning him away into darkness. 

Cold rain and wind shocked Arthur back to sharp awareness. He rolled onto his side, bringing a hand to his face to wipe away the moisture there. 

“Let him go. Merlin.” A voice was speaking less than a foot away from him. “You have to let him go.”  The gunfire and smoke were gone, as were the people surrounding them. Everything about his surroundings had changed. 

There were houses some yards in the distance, half obscured by rainfall, and wind was whipping viciously into Arthur’s face as he tried to see what was happening.  Underneath his fingers there was no more pavement but rather grass, wet and slippery as he curled them into it. Merlin’s fingers were no longer clinging to his shirt either. He was turned away, hunched over another figure. The voice belonged to a figure beside Merlin: a woman who had a hand on his arm. 

“No. No, I can’t… I can’t leave him behind. I can’t…” He could hear Merlin’s voice, but he was squinting now as rain started to pour down at a harsher angle. He felt someone brush past him. The droplets lashed against his face, slanted by the cutting wind. 

“You’re safe. We’ve got him. You can let go.” A new voice, one he recognized, was coaxing Merlin. 

“Gaius…” Merlin choked. Merlin’s uncle knelt in the grass next to the young woman. Arthur clutched at his ribs and tried to sit up, squinting against the increasingly brutal downpour. 

“Merlin, I’m sorry…” the woman was speaking in a low, urgent tone. “We have to go back for your friend.” Next to her, something the size of a dog was moving in the downpour and a pair of white wings spread from its shoulders. A dragon… how? “Aithusa, come. We’ll be back shortly.” At the woman’s request, the dragon folded its wings in to its sides and leaned closer to her. She put her hand over her companion's back, then both of them disappeared into thin air with another buffet of wind. 

Arthur tried to push himself upright, find his feet in the slick, wet grass.

“Are you alright?” Through the rain, Arthur squinted. Hunith was looking down at him worriedly. He blinked in empty confusion at her. “Mordred will get you inside,” Hunith said. Mordred…? He couldn’t begin to process what was happening at this speed. 

“He’s… he needs help.” Merlin’s voice was frantic. “We have to help him.” Hunith’s hand left Arthur’s arm and she moved to kneel beside Gaius. Merlin hadn’t left his spot, hunched over the other body. “I have to—”

“Merlin.” Hunith was touching his shoulder. “Let him go.”  

A hand touched Arthur’s elbow.  

“Arthur.” Mordred was kneeling close beside him. 

“Mordred, what’s going on?” Arthur managed as he struggled halfway up onto his knees. 

“I don’t know.” Mordred shook his head. His curly hair was already starting to slick flat against his head in the downpour. “Hunith said we should bring you inside.” 

“No. No, please, no.”  

“Merlin, you have to let him go.” Hunith’s voice was steady. 

“Help me up.” Arthur gripped Mordred’s arm, staggering to his feet as the teenager braced him. The sharp wind had eased, though the rain hadn’t stopped. Arthur shielded his eyes with one hand. 

Gaius looked up, and his eyes locked with Arthur’s for a moment. Under Merlin’s hands, another figure was lying prone on the ground. Gaius was clutching a wrist in one hand, his other hand stained red, covering the figure’s side. 

“Gaius—” Arthur managed the single word, and stood still, staring in mute shock. “What happened? Is he alright?” Gaius shook his head slightly. 

“I’m sorry.” It can’t be… 

“Merlin.” Hunith’s voice was barely audible over the patter of rain. Merlin didn’t answer. He leaned forward over his knees with a strangled sound, and his fingers curled in the soaked jacket.

“No. No, no… ” Hunith crouched beside him with her hands on his shoulders. 

Arthur’s heart seemed to stop beating. Everything had slowed to a crawl. A piercing ring had started in his ears. He closed his eyes. He could see that face, alive and alert, smiling. A cigarette was between the man’s fingers as he leaned against a wall outside a bar in Oxford. The street-lights were reflected in the puddles by the curb. Gwaine, flicking his cigarette aside, was stepping up to Arthur’s side, facing down their five assailants. 

“I think I like our odds.”  

“Arthur?” Mordred’s voice was calling him. Arthur blinked. They weren't in Oxford. The rain was still pouring heavy and cold. But the smile was gone from Gwaine’s face. His eyes were open and unblinking. Merlin was leaning across his body, as if to shield him from the rain. There were puddles here too, reflecting lights from the nearby houses. A tendril of cloudy red was trickling into the puddle on the ground beside Gwaine.   

“Gaius.” Was that his voice? Arthur hardly recognized it. He sounded hoarse and shaky. “Gaius, do something.” He dropped to his knees, and Mordred buckled beside him, trying to hold him up. 

The rain was in Arthur’s eyes. His chest hurt so badly, he couldn’t breathe. 

“Help! I need help!” He felt Mordred’s grip tighten on his arm, and blinked, swayed… 

“Arthur!” Several pairs of hands were on him, and he closed his eyes as the ringing in his ears drowned out all other sounds. 

Chapter Text

Voices carried fairly well down the hall. He heard them off and on as consciousness faded in and out hazily. He didn’t recognize his surroundings, but he knew the speakers, groggy as he was. He knew the feeling that left him fuzzy headed and feeling like his mouth was full of cotton. It was a familiar and bitter name that harnessed his attention. Uther… The name was spoken in a tense, high pitched tone. He rolled over and grunted as he braced an arm on the bed, pushing himself up.

“You knew all of this?” 

“Most of it.” Spoken more quietly. “I knew Uther most of my life, Merlin.”

“And you chose to stay close to him after that?” He heard the scuff of footsteps down the hallway and closed his eyes as the dizziness subsided from sitting up. 

“There were no good choices for me. Separating from Uther was a statement in itself. I had been part of the discussions about the pregnancy risks and Arthur’s birth. At the time, your mother was pregnant with you, and I knew her association with me put her in a dangerous position if I were to break away from Uther publicly.” 

“So you stayed…? You remained friends with a murderer?” 

“I was paralyzed. Many of us were. I stayed hoping to prevent something worse.” 

“Like what? You surely didn’t think he would listen to reason from you?” There was something more than accusation in Merlin’s voice. It sounded rough, hoarse. 

“No.” Gaius sighed. “I never thought I made a good choice, Merlin… I had hoped I was choosing the lesser of two evils. I thought—I hoped —that I was protecting you and your mother. Your father fled to protect her. I put my head down and sheltered in place. ” 

“You…” Merlin started, then trailed off. 

“I am not asking you to understand. It was a terrible time. None of us knew if our choices would save us or those we loved or even protect ourselves. I had kept my dabbling in magic private, but it still put me in danger. I buried it deeply. I hadn’t practiced or even dared think of it until you came back into my life. Once the danger of my associations with sorcery had passed, I merely hoped that my connection to Uther might continue to keep you and Hunith safe. I don’t know if it was the right decision. During the Purge, we all made choices we didn’t sleep well with at night.” A long pause followed as Arthur got slowly to his feet, listening, and reached for the wall to support himself. 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Merlin asked.  

“I never wanted it to make its way back to Arthur.” 

“What, that his father lied to him?” 

“That his father traded Ygraine’s life for a child,” Gaius corrected. Arthur closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the wall. He couldn’t feel glad that information had made its way to him, nor about any of what he’d learned. But it seemed to be a bitter but necessary truth for him to hear. Perhaps, if he’d known it sooner, he would have spoken sooner, seen Morgana’s pain sooner. Everyone, Merlin included, seemed very eager to keep some significant and even life changing facts from him. 

“He found out anyway. At least it could have come from someone he knew and trusted rather than Morgause,” Merlin argued. 

“There are a lot of things Arthur should have known,” Gaius said. The admission didn’t soothe Arthur’s frustrations much. “We lived in a culture of fear and secrets for your entire lifetime, Merlin. I’m sorry that legacy continues to hurt both of you.” Arthur wrapped an arm around his ribs and stepped out cautiously into the hall. He could just see the back of Merlin’s head around the corner. Gaius was out of sight. Merlin was looking down. 

“What happens now?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll be helping Iseldir reestablish connections. It’s been difficult. We have to work around the chaos Cenred is creating.”

“More attacks.” A pause before Merlin added, “How many locations?” 

“Half a dozen at least yesterday. Emergency services are only doing damage control at this point. There are fires still burning from last night.” Gaius’ voice was low, tense. “The attack on your convoy left several people around it killed or injured. They’re getting more frequent and more deadly.” Arthur listened as the ringing silence followed Gaius’ statement. He felt sick. 

“Why…? The Coalition has stated the intention to extend Amnesty to all sorcerers. This can’t be about magic anymore.” What isn’t about magic with you…? Arthur gritted his teeth. 

“Maybe not.” Gaius sighed. “Or maybe they’ve seen too much and don't believe in Amnesty talks anymore.”

“And that justifies terrorist attacks on civilian buildings?” 

“Merlin, she’s been attacking civilian sites since the beginning.” Gaius sounded tired. There was a moment of silence before Merlin spoke again. 

“How is Leon…? Can I do anything—”

“Leon is fine,” Gaius interrupted. Arthur’s fingers curled into his palm. It took a heavy weight off his chest to hear that Leon was safe. But he couldn’t shake the image of Merlin crouching in the grass, heedless of the rain as Gaius and Hunith spoke to him. Let him go… Merlin, you have to let him go.  

“There must be something I can do.” Merlin’s voice broke. “It was my fault. Gwaine—” 

“Merlin…” There was a weariness in Gaius’ voice, as if this were not the first time he was responding to this line of inquiry. Arthur closed his eyes, leaning heavily against the wall in the hallway again, just out of sight. For a moment, the ringing in his ears returned. 

“The book, or Kilgharrah—there might be spells that—” 

“Absolutely not.” Gaius cut over the protest. “Necromancy, raising the dead, and conjuring spirits will lead to nothing good. You know what happens to those who dabble in such arts. To create a life, a life must be taken.” 

“It… it can be mine. I don’t care. Gaius, I have to—”

“Merlin.” Gaius cut him short with a sharp, almost angry edge in his tone. A long pause. Arthur stepped noiselessly past the corner. He nearly came face to face with a third person he hadn’t known was in the room. A pair of curious dark brown eyes fixed on him, and Arthur stared. She was standing close to Merlin who was hunched in a chair.  

“I have to do something ,” Merlin argued. His head was bowed over a thick book propped on the table before him. 

“You’ve done a lot already,” the young woman said. “You don’t have to do more for now.” She looked directly up at Arthur, and there was a guardedness to her expression that made Arthur stay rooted to the spot. He knew her. “Arthur.” She greeted him coolly, raising her eyebrows. He hesitated, before responding. Merlin tensed beside her.

“Freya,” he responded. She was here. Among the Druids. 

“Arthur, you should be resting.” Gaius rose from the sofa, his attention drawn by her, and Arthur lifted his chin and looked directly at the older man.  

“I want to speak with you.”  He reached for the back of an armchair. “Alone,” he added. His tone was sharp. He felt Gaius’ silent disapproval. Freya’s hand rested on Merlin’s shoulder, and her eyes were trained steadily on Arthur, as if suspicious. Merlin’s head stayed bowed over the book. 

“Arthur—” Gaius began.

“It’s fine,” Merlin interrupted. “I’ll go.” He quietly put the book down on the table and left the room. Arthur leaned his weight on the chair. There was a time when he would have cringed at the look Gaius leveled on him. But Gaius had known too. Known about Merlin, about his father, about so many things, and he’d known for a long time by the looks of it. Gaius Astur ranked among the ever-growing numbers of people who had lied and kept things—many things—from Arthur. 

“I’m glad you’re on your feet again, Arthur,” Freya said. He looked back at her with wary curiosity. He knew few things about how Freya came to be here, but he could guess. Certainly her affiliation was clear, if nothing else by the way she braced herself and looked after Merlin’s retreating figure. Freya scanned Arthur from head-to-foot, and there was patent disapproval in her eyes before she turned and left the room, following Merlin out of the room.

Arthur took a tiny breath, wary of his still-aching ribs. Freya at least couldn’t count as a liar: merely one of the many sorcerers and sorceresses who had crossed paths with him. That too was a rapidly rising number. But there was something else—something slightly more important about Freya—a memory dredged up from the depths of Arthur’s tired mind. She’d been declared missing. Gwen had found the missing persons ad. He wondered if Merlin had known where she was this whole time. It seemed somehow unlikely. Merlin had seemed genuinely shocked and distressed. Then again, he’d always thought Merlin was a terrible liar. That turned out not to be true either. 

“He is your friend, Arthur.” Gaius leaned down and picked up the book Merlin left. “You have no reason to fear him.” Arthur closed his eyes and leaned on the chair for support as he took careful, shallow breaths. He wasn’t afraid of Merlin. He was left wondering what, if anything, he truly knew about the man. 

“He can stay here with Iseldir. He seems friendly enough with the Druids.” Freya too, it seemed. How many of Merlin’s friends had been sorcerers, Arthur wondered? How deeply had Merlin been involved with this whole underground magical community all this time? Had Merlin been leading such a full second life as long as they’d known each other? He curled his fingers into the cushion on the chair-back. Gaius was shrugging his jacket on. He retrieved a bag from the end of the sofa—leaving apparently. “I’ll go back with you,” Arthur said.   

“You can’t. You’re not well enough.” 

“I feel fine,” Arthur argued. His fingers strayed down to the swelling over his ribs. It had gone down since he’d first arrived. He could breathe again, albeit no deep breaths. “I need to see Guinevere.” 

“You will,” Gaius promised. “But you need to wait here and rest for now.” 

“Fine. Take Merlin with you,” Arthur bit out. Gaius looked at him for a moment, his lips drawn in a line. 

“He needs his rest too. This hasn’t been an easy time on him. And you may need his help.” 

“I need a doctor, not a sorcerer,” Arthur said tersely.  

“There’s nothing more I can do for your ribs but leave some pain medication,” Gaius answered. “What you need beyond healing is protection that I cannot offer. Your life is in danger. I may be able to travel unnoticed and take word to the others, but you would not. You need rest and time to heal. You’ll be safe here for now.”  

“You think Merlin can protect me.” The comment was meant to be sarcastic, spoken through clenched teeth. Gaius seemed wholly unimpressed. 

“He already has,” he answered. He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and looked back at Arthur. “There are those who say that he is the greatest sorcerer ever to walk this earth.” 

“ Merlin? ” The unguarded disbelief came out before Arthur could catch himself. He knew Merlin had magic. That was indisputable now. He’d seen Merlin’s eyes lit gold creating the invisible wall that sheltered them from an explosion. He remembered trying to crawl, clutching his ribs, seeing Merlin clutching Gwaine’s jacket, reaching for Arthur as his eyes burned bright, as he tried to throw another spell and shield them… and then he’d been here, in the grass as the rain poured around them, as Hunith and Mordred and other Druids clustered around, trying to help. How Merlin had gotten in touch with the Druids, he didn’t know. It was one more thing on the list of secrets Merlin had kept. 

“Yes, Merlin.” Gaius’ tone was dry. Arthur closed his eyes for a split second, listening to the sound of Merlin and Freya’s voices in a room nearby. 

“I don’t care who or what he is. I’m not staying here with him.” Gaius’ brows drew down. 

“Take it up with Freya,” he said wryly. “You are here under her hospitality” That at least explained where they were. He set his jaw. Freya, at a guess, would chase him out before Merlin. “I understand that you're upset, Arthur,” Gaius added. “But I think you should give him the chance to explain.” 

“Why?” Arthur bit out. “So he can lie to me again?” 

“There is a difference between lying and having privacy. Merlin made some mistakes, but he did not owe you full disclosure about his person and life.” 

“Of course you would side with him,” Arthur retorted. 

“You were betrayed.” Gaius met this accusatory gaze evenly. “But not by Merlin. You can trust him. And right now, after everything that’s happened, I think both of you need your friends around you. Including each other.” Gaius turned and retrieved something from the end table, which he extended to Arthur. “There’s been a public statement from Gwaine’s family.” When Arthur made no move to take the slim laptop, Gaius set it on the table before him. It had been a day, maybe two. “You’ll want to see it.” Why…? 

Arthur gritted his teeth. He hadn’t seen anything of what happened since he was brought inside. He remembered Gwaine’s face as he watched Merlin’s spells in open awe—that light in his eyes that had been snuffed out only minutes later. His chest hurt. He leaned over the table, staring hollowly at the computer. “Arthur.” Gaius' voice coaxed his attention back again. He looked back, jaw clenched, but his flashing eyes met with no challenge from the physician. “You’ve already lost friends in this war,” he reminded Arthur quietly. “Do you really want to lose another?” Arthur made no response, and the physician straightened up, lifting his bag. “I will send word about Gwen and the others within a day if I can.” Arthur nodded. “And Arthur.” Gaius stopped in the doorway to look back at him. “I know you’re angry, but do not lay the blame for Gwaine’s death at Merlin’s feet. He’s punishing himself enough.” Arthur’s throat closed. He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he knew how to answer that. Gaius had already turned, and he sank into the armchair, teeth clenched, letting the physician leave in silence.

It rankled deep in Arthur’s chest that Gaius might consider him capable of doing that. That injustice settled somewhere amidst the mound of others, trivial as it was. The door down the hall clicked shut. The voices stopped. In the silence they left behind, Arthur raised his head, and with jaw still clenched, pushed the laptop lid open. Gwen was gone from him, somewhere in the nightmarish chaos that was London, hopefully safe with Elyan. Percival and Lance hadn’t been heard from in weeks, nor did he know if Lance was still left in his mind, or if he’d been destroyed by Morgause’s possession curse. God help them, hopefully they were still with a functioning military or some other entity that would protect them, or somewhere deep underground and hidden. Leon and Mithain were safe but for now. Rodor was putting out fires from the terror attacks in London. But Gwaine… He felt like he might be sick, just thinking of his friend lying in the rain, flat on his back, still and unblinking. 

Gwaine would have hated a public statement about his death. He’d come to England to escape the attention that came with his ties in the United States. He’d never flaunted them, hidden them even.  Arthur hated it. Gwaine would have hated it too. It was unlikely that Gwaine’s family even had him to bury, things being as they were in England. But he ran his thumb over the touchpad and let the familiar scene play: one punctuated with the flash and click of cameras, populated by microphones, reporters, a crowd of eerily silent listeners: a room of oppressive solemnity. It reminded him of his own statement to the country after his father’s death. That memory made his stomach twist. There had been too many of these statements lately. This one seemed more backwards, though. It was less unusual, to see a son delivering his father’s eulogy, as Arthur had. Gwaine’s relative, on the other hand, stood with her chin lifted, her face marked with lines of age and care and framed by dark silver-gray hair, the elder surviving her grandson. There was something about her that reminded him of Uther. Perhaps the grim set of her face and the lift of her chin as she turned to regard the microphones and the gathered press. 

It seemed strange to associate President Annis Deere with Gwaine. Arthur had briefly resented him for it—for keeping that facet of his person a secret. Now, he only wondered with a dull ache in his chest how Gwaine would have felt had he known that his grandmother—former president of the United States—would give his eulogy on public broadcast across the entire world. Arthur knew too before she opened her mouth, that there would be a political angle. How could there not be? Gwiane had died in a war, for a war: a man who was neither soldier nor politician.  

And he needed to wait no longer than her first sentence to feel the lurch in his stomach. He turned his face away from the computer screen and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“My grandson Gwaine was killed in the conflict in England two days since. Little is known of the exact cause of his death due to poor communications. However, I would like to cast some light on the rumors that have circulated regarding him. Many of them are unworthy, and Gwaine deserves the honor of a good memory.  

England is now, as it was during the years of my presidency, a country deeply divided against itself. My grandson grew up divided between that world and this, moving often between them as he grew older. It was Gwaine’s choice to attend school in his father’s country, and he chose to stay even after his father, my son-in-law Carleon, passed away. It was Gwaine’s choice to stay in England when the conflict escalated, despite multiple offers of safe passage back to the United States. England’s conflict captured his interest many years ago. Especially as The States began to move towards Amnesty, it became Gwaine’s focus in his studies, and he followed that interest back to England  before the issue reemerged with new urgency in the last year.

When last I spoke with my grandson, he told me of the conflict in his own words: of what misunderstandings had been born and perpetrated within the country regarding people of magical abilities. He spoke of the unspeakable treatment these individuals suffered at the hands of his country’s policing forces. Gwaine was neither a rabble-rouser nor a member of the troublemaking factions in England. He had a personal friendship with Arthur Pendragon, and through that connection, he worked with the English military under General Rodor and supported the growing political movements towards Amnesty. 

Gwaine chose to take up this cause for England in the last weeks of his life out of a conviction that he had to do everything he could to set the country on a better path and start to make reparations for her oppressed peoples. He communicated through military channels to contact myself and every policymaker, diplomat, and official he knew. He acted as an unofficial ambassador to the United States of America when his country’s embassy had already pulled out of England for their own safety. 

When he lived in the states, I often put pressure on Gwaine to accept a post in international relations. My grandson never wanted to be an ambassador or diplomat. The Gwaine I knew spent a lifetime moving to avoid the attention pursuant on his family ties. Yet in the last weeks of his life, he both channeled  his incorrigible enthusiasm and bridled the press attention he had tried so hard to escape for a cause he believed was greater than himself and more important than his wishes for privacy. 

I would not bring the matter up, were I not aware of how much this meant to Gwaine. The battle that he died fighting—the battle the people of England are fighting now—is not isolated to their country. It is one we all need to consider carefully. England has shown us that those who possess magic can stay hidden for centuries—possibly even millennia. But more importantly, she has reminded us that as far as we have come in the last two centuries, we are still capable of inhuman cruelty and irrational discrimination against those who are different from us: people who through no fault of their own were born with different bearing, face, lifestyle, or abilities.

Since the eighteenth century, the United States has seen different peoples fight for their rights: different races, genders, and cultures, and sexual orientations. Every movement has struggled, faced hatred, abuse of verbal and physical nature, and discrimination both overt and discreet. I believe that equality for the magical community will be the next step for justice in our country. 

There is an old saying that those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it.  Among the many things he was, Gwaine was also a scholar of history. He would often remind me that those who do study history are doomed to watch others repeat it. He recognized a pattern repeating itself, and he chose to fight against that cycle. He died for a cause he felt strongly about—for the protection of his country and all the peoples within it. Let us honor his memory by ensuring that today, as the twenty-first century draws towards an end, we do not repeat history once again. 

Gwaine leaves behind him the representatives of the Amnesty movement, Arthur Pendragon, Mithian Rodor, and their allies. At their encouragement, England has begun to move towards peace talks between the peoples of the country. The war over sorcery began in England, and she now takes steps to establish peace and justice. But the struggle she faces is ours as well. Let us ensure that Gwaine’s death will not have been in vain. Let us honor him and the others who have died and suffered on this account. We have a chance to make America one country where that battle need not be fought.

My grandson declared his loyalties and gave his life for them. The least I can do is offer my voice in the name of that same cause. For my own country’s sake, I stand with Arthur Pendragon.” 

Arthur’s throat closed. He snapped the laptop lid shut before he could hear any chatter of response from reporters and leaned his forehead down on the top of the computer with a slow breath. People were dying. People had disappeared, been captured, been tortured, injured, exiled… and his name was irrevocably tangled up right in the thick of it. 

A loud c rash cut through his thoughts . Arthur jerked his head up, and the shock of pain it sent through his body made him nearly curl up again. He cradled his ribs, waiting while the pain washed over him and subsided. Gaius had left, he guessed… no one had returned from the kitchen. He hadn’t noticed anyone else arriving. He climbed painstakingly to his feet, teeth clenched tightly over a little hiss of pain, and followed the direction of the sound. 

Merlin had his back to the doorway. Arthur stopped before he reached the kitchen, face to face with Hunith who had reached it in the same instant.  He’d seen almost no one but Gaius in the past couple of hazy days. The way she looked at him made his gut twist, like she was calculating her next move, wary. Merlin was crouching on his hands and knees, clumsily gathering up the shards of ceramic from a pool of murky-brown liquid. For God’s sake… Arthur bit back an exasperated sigh. A broken handle lay some inches away, and several large pieces in the midst of the steaming tea. 

“Merlin.” Arthur breathed out quietly through his nose. Idiot. “Leave it. You’ll burn your hand.” Merlin’s shoulders went stiff, but Arthur heard the soft clinking of broken ceramic slipping back onto the linoleum. He gritted his teeth yet again and braced his hands on the counter as he watched. “Can’t you just use magic?” he asked. He looked up and met Hunith’s eyes. Some of the wariness had changed to a guarded touch of… surprise. He exhaled softly. What did they all think he was going to do now that he knew? 

“That your idea of a joke?” Merlin’s voice faltered. Arthur stepped around the counter carefully.

“Move. You’re barefoot. You’ll get hurt,” he said. Merlin kept his head down. He rocked back on his heels and threaded his fingers through his hair. 

“Leave me alone, Arthur. You’re the one who wants me gone.” So he’d heard some of the conversation with Gaius. Arthur ignored his complaint. His eyes were fixed on the fine tendrils of red swirling through the murky puddle. He closed his eyes, and for a moment all he could see was that muddy puddle in the grass and the swirls of red leaking into it from Gwaine’s body.

“Arthur.” Hunith’s voice snapped him out of the memory. He looked down. The tea was creeping across the floor, now almost reaching Merlin’s feet. Arthur steeled himself for a moment against the wave of sickness in his gut. Merlin’s pleas were ringing in his ears. It could have been any of them lying in the grass with a bullet in their chest. What if it had been him? What if it had been Merlin ? He shuddered, and the movement made him wince. He shook his head slightly at Hunith and straightened up, moving away from the support of the counter. 

 “Get up,” he ordered.

“Think I’d rather sit, thanks.” Merlin didn’t even lift his face from his knees.   

“ Merlin —”

“Sorry, are we doing conversation now?” Merlin raised his head a fraction. “Because earlier, I got this subtle impression you didn’t want to talk to me.” The bitter sarcasm fell painfully flat. Merlin’s face was drawn to match his strained voice. Arthur ignored the attempt at bravado—or whatever Merlin was trying for.  

“Get up , ” he repeated. “Or you’ll track tea all over the carpet.” 

“Would you prefer that I drip blood all over it?” Merlin muttered. Arthur reached down, and Merlin flinched when he put a hand under Merlin’s arm. He stood pale and shaking, and lifted his chin, jaw set. “It’s a mug,” he bit out roughly. “I’m sorry, alright? I’ll clean it up—” 

“I don’t care about the mug,” Arthur cut him short. Merlin fell silent. He stayed quiet while Arthur steered him out into the living room and pushed him down into the armchair, leaving Hunith in the kitchen. Arthur didn’t bother ordering the man to stay and strode out of the room to round the corner and return to his own temporary room. He found the box he was looking for, sitting on the bedside table, right where Gaius had left it. Merlin was right where Arthur had sat him when he returned to crouch in front of the armchair. 

“Let me see it.” Merlin, hunched resignedly in the chair, lifted his head.

“What?” 

“Your hand. Let me see it,” Arthur repeated. Merlin blinked then extended a hand. “The other one,” Arthur clarified, an edge of impatience creeping into his voice. Merlin stretched out his right hand, and Arthur took it by the wrist. 

“It’s fine… Arthur, I can—”

“Shut up,” Arthur repeated flatly. It seemed to work, because Merlin kept quiet now, and he cleaned away the blood, keeping a careful grip when Merlin hissed and tried to pull it back. How the hell did you even manage that? It wasn’t a deep cut, but a long one, slanting from the top of his palm down across to his thumb. He finished a quick clean of the hand down to the wrist where the blood had trickled then wound the gauze around the injury, taping it in place. “That should stop the bleeding. You’ll need to clean your face,” he instructed. 

“What?” Merlin blinked at him. He sighed. 

“You’ve got…” he gestured at Merlin’s forehead and sighed before handing him a disinfectant wipe. “Just…  clean your face,” he said before standing up again. He left Merlin huddled in the chair and turned back towards the kitchen. 

A thousand aches washed over Arthur’s battered body as he reached the kitchen. Hunith was kneeling on the floor, carefully gathering the pieces of the broken mug now she’d mopped up the liquid. She looked up when he reached the counter and sat back on her heels. 

“Is he alright?” she asked. Arthur breathed out cautiously and leaned against a cabinet door, waiting for the throb in his ribs to settle again. 

“He’s fine. Just a small cut,” he reported. 

“What happened?” a third voice interrupted. Arthur sucked in a breath through his teeth. Damn it… He hadn’t really even registered the footsteps approaching. The pain left him dizzy. “Are you supposed to be up?” Freya was frowning at him, her brows drawn together.

“I’m fine,” he grunted. Freya looked skeptical but stepped past him to take the shards from Hunith. 

“Are you sure…?” Freya indicated shards in her hands, one streaked with a touch of blood, then looked back up at him. “It’s alright to be a little uncoordinated. I fractured a rib once. It took a few weeks before I felt ‘fine’. Maybe you should lie down.” 

“Merlin broke the mug,” Hunith reported as she got up and retrieved a kettle to fill with more water. 

“I didn’t stab him with the shards if that’s what you’re thinking,” Arthur muttered. Freya raised an eyebrow, and a small smile quirked at her lips. 

“Merlin’s not graceful at the best of times,” she said. Arthur set his jaw. 

“I suppose you’d know him better than I would,” he said bitterly. At his statement, Hunith paused, setting a second mug on the counter, and looked at him. Her expression made him falter. Freya poured the pieces of ceramic into a bin and looked up as well, eyebrows raised. 

“Does it really bother you?” 

“What?” 

“You’ve always been interested in magic,” she pointed out. “I remember you and I used to be the last ones waiting after class to speak with Professor Leod. There was a lot you wanted to know from him.” She slipped her hands into her pockets. “And… I saw you at Dartmoor. Twice. You even came on your own the second time. You brought Merlin and asked for their help.” 

“What were you doing at Dartmoor?” Arthur asked, stubbornly ignoring Freya’s question. A shadow flitted across her face. She turned away to rummage through a drawer as Hunith went to set more water to boil. Hunith’s silence made Arthur easily as uncomfortable as Freya’s pointed questions. 

“I was waiting while Iseldir sought passage out of England for me,” she said. “You probably know why.” Freya turned back with a tin of loose-leaf tea. He did. He could put two and two together. She’d always been a quiet, withdrawn type, rarely exchanging more than two or three words with him at a time. Yet she’d known Iseldir very well, and then she’d disappeared. Just like Brigid had disappeared after her run in with Arthur back in London. Just like Mordred had disappeared after Iseldir came to retrieve him. Freya had taken asylum with the Druids. 

“Are you a sorcerer?” He turned on Freya. “Sorceress,” he corrected slowly, at once self-conscious. Freya smiled a little. She leaned against the counter, holding the little tin of tea in her hands. 

“Of sorts.” 

“And he knew.” Arthur said. Freya tilted her head. 

“No. Not at first. Merlin found out on his own. By accident… like you did with him. I didn’t mean to show him. I didn’t mean to show anyone.” 

“But you knew about him too.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed. She put the tin down and tucked her arms across her chest. 

“When I first met Merlin, neither of us knew about the other. I had learned not to trust anyone with my secrets. In the past, people who found out had either tried to kill me, turn me in, or worse use it as leverage or blackmail to make me do what they wanted.” 

Arthur’s heart clenched. She seemed almost resigned to it, even now speaking of it in the past. He bowed his head, fighting down a wave of nausea—as much from the stab of pain in his ribs as his uneasiness. Freya was watching him. She paused for a moment before resuming; “Merlin found me cornered by another student late at night and came to help. He didn’t know anything about me—of my past, my magic. He helped because he saw someone in trouble. That’s who he is. The only reason he told me of his own magic was because he learned later about mine. He was trying to reassure me that he wouldn’t tell anyone.” She turned and passed the tin of tea to Hunith. 

“But you still left,” Arthur said.

“Some of my past caught up with me.” Her expression was heavy. She looked down, quiet for a beat. “Iseldir gave me refuge with the Druids. We were exploring different locations where I could safely go without fear of extradition. My history was complicated. Made things difficult—staying, leaving… even telling Merlin what my next steps were. I don’t know much of what happened in Merlin’s past, but all of us have reasons for keeping our secrets. His may be as dark as mine… or more difficult to explain. I can’t tell you that. I can tell you that Merlin would never betray you.” 

I never thought he would… Arthur dropped his gaze to the floor, still glossy where Hunith had cleaned up the spill. 

“Then why didn’t he tell me?” 

“Arthur.” Hunith put a lid on the teapot and turned to face him, speaking for the first time since Freya asked her question. “You couldn’t possibly understand. No one in England was safer than you when it came to magic. I spent every day of Merlin’s childhood in fear for his life. Every minute I was at work, every minute he was out of my sight, I worried who might be seeing him, what he might do by accident. Magic for him was as natural as breathing. I could hardly leave the house when he was a toddler. So I taught him to hide it—to keep it secret from everyone , not because it was wrong or shameful, but because I wanted him to live. What could we do? What would you have done, growing up with the horror stories.” She shook her head, and he all but held his breath, pinned by the raw look in her eyes. “The man who had promised to marry me disappeared to avoid forcing me to watch him executed. Everyone I knew had a father, an aunt, a friend who had been accused, executed, or simply disappeared. We lived our lives on a knife’s edge, every moment afraid someone might breathe a single word that would disrupt that delicate balance.” She paused as Freya’s hand touched her shoulder in silent support before she reached past her to fetch two more mugs. “Arthur.” Her expression was pained as she looked back at him, quiet and earnest. “I have loved you like a second son. You were and always are welcome in my home. But you can’t blame Merlin for this. You can’t imagine what we went through in those years. I love Merlin for everything he is, but I couldn’t let him share that. I couldn’t bear to see him killed. He had to learn to hide it—for himself, for all of us. Would you have said anything in his place, knowing that your confession would endanger you and everyone you loved?” Arthur’s fingers curled against the counter. He had no words to answer her. 

“Arthur.” He glanced up. Freya was holding out one of the mugs to him. He took the offering slowly, silent, and Hunith reached out to touch his arm. 

“I know you’re hurting. But so is he. You’ve both just lost someone close. Don’t hold this against him.” She squeezed his arm and stepped past him. He stood still with the mug in his hands for a moment as Freya put her tea away. She put the second mug on the counter, and Arthur could hear Hunith’s voice from the next room as she spoke quietly to Merlin. 

“There’s food in the fridge,” she said. “Perhaps you should bring him some. He hasn’t been eating well.” With that comment, she was gone a moment later, leaving Arthur standing in the kitchen, staring down at the steaming mug of tea. 

“It’s okay… doesn’t really hurt anymore.” Merlin closed his eyes as Hunith sat him down on the bed again and checked the scabbing at his temple with a frown. She rubbed his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, Merlin.” He opened his eyes and frowned at her. 

“What for?” 

“I saw how much it meant to you, growing up with Will knowing about your magic… and how you feel about Freya. Perhaps I did wrong, teaching you to keep that part of yourself hidden.” He shook his head. 

“You did what you had to do. It’s not your fault. It’s not Gaius’ either… I shouldn’t have snapped at him.” She rubbed his back as he looked down at his knees. 

“He understands. It’s been difficult for all of us.”  That was hardly an excuse, but he nodded, leaning into the comfort a little with a weary sigh. “Arthur will come around,” she told him. She leaned over and kissed his head. “Lie down. Get some rest. Gaius said you need to heal too.” 

“I’m okay.” She nudged him gently, and he obliged by shuffling onto the bed and lying down for her, too worn to bother protesting. 

“I’ve got to check on your friend. I’ll be back later with something to eat. Promise you’ll have a little?” He nodded, and she stroked his hair back gently before getting up. 

He almost wished she’d stay. It felt like a childish impulse to want her there, brushing his hair back or rubbing his shoulder. He didn’t know what he would’ve done the last two days without her. He’d felt like he was breaking apart into a thousand pieces. As grateful as he was to see Freya alive and well, it had been Hunith, steady and calm, who helped him pull some pieces of himself back together. Hunith had sat with him, he didn’t know how long, after they took Gwaine away, holding him in the agonizing silence left behind.

He heard the footsteps outside the bedroom door and closed his eyes. His palm throbbed—a little twinge-ache feeling that came back now and again, a little fiercer when he curled his fingers into the palm. Those weren’t Freya or his mother’s footsteps. He knew how they sounded by now.  Please walk by. Please just walk by… His shoulders tensed. The footsteps didn’t pass by, of course. 

“Merlin.” Merlin turned and pressed his face against his arm. You would pick now to finally decide to talk. He breathed in slowly and laid still. His eyes felt raw and scratchy, and his chest ached. There was nothing left in him—no tears, no grieving—just hollow exhaustion. He wanted to sit in that space. Alone. Perhaps if he didn’t answer, Arthur would leave. “Sit up. I know you’re awake.” Always has to be on your terms, doesn’t it? Merlin gritted his teeth. He sat up slowly, careful to keep his eyes fixed on his knees, and he scrubbed a hand across his face to brush away the tears.

Something scuffed against the table beside him, and fingers wrapped gently around his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. He made a muffled noise of protest until something warm was pressed into his palm. He lifted his head. “Don’t drop that one. I won’t get you another.” It was the most words he’d spoken to Merlin at once since Freya and Aithusa had rescued them. 

Merlin stared uncomprehendingly at the cream-colored mug in his hand. His eyes slid over to the table where a plate with a sandwich was sitting. “Freya said you’re not eating.” 

“I’m not hungry,” he said flatly. The crease between Arthur’s brows deepened when Merlin strayed a look up at his face. 

“Are you… alright?” he asked slowly. Merlin stared at him. 

“Thought you didn’t care,” he muttered, fixing his eyes down on the mug again. 

“Jesus Christ, Merlin, of course I care.” The hurt in Arthur’s voice was plain enough to give him pause. “Please don’t starve yourself,” Arthur added. Merlin watched the steam curl up from the surface of the tea he was holding. Arthur was trying. Or at least so it seemed. He nodded his head, and there followed a long moment of stillness. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Arthur had his arms wrapped around himself. He looked better than the day before. Freya had put him up in a room down the hall, normally reserved for the many refugees who passed through the Dartmoor community, like Freya herself. The house was equipped with all the basics for living. Hunith was staying there with her, opportunely as she’d put her nursing experience to use, helping to patch up the returning victims of the attack. Hunith and Gaius had been in and out of Arthur’s room. Merlin hadn’t dared to visit.  

“Arthur…” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why did you never tell me?” Arthur asked. Merlin curled his fingers tight around the mug.

“I wanted to, but…” 

“But what?” Arthur’s voice sharpened. 

“You’d have…” 

“Turned you over to the Patroni? Watched you be executed?” Merlin bowed his head over the cup. “Did you think I would do that to you? After I helped Mordred get safely back to the Druids? After I sought out Iseldir’s help and promised to keep the Druid refuge a secret? I protected a boy I’d never met before, a man I’d known for a few months, and a bunch of strangers— people with magic. ” Arthur’s voice rose in emphasis. “Did you really think I would turn a friend over to be…” Merlin looked up. Arthur had leaned back against the wall, curling an arm around his ribs. “To be killed?” he finished in a voice so quiet and breathless it was almost inaudible. Merlin was on his feet in a heartbeat, leaving his mug aside on the table. 

“Arthur—” He reached for Arthur’s shoulder, but Arthur brushed his hand away. 

“ Don’t .” Arthur kept a white-knuckled grip on the chair by the wall. He sank into it then wrapped both arms around himself again. Merlin took a step back. 

“I’ll get some painkillers.”

“No.” Merlin stopped in the doorway, fingers tracing a knot in the wood. Without turning back, he could imagine how Arthur looked, head tipped back against the wall, eyes half closed as he fought for air. He listened as Arthur’s breathing evened out again. “I thought… that you trusted me,” Arthur finished tersely. 

“If you’d known about me, you would’ve been harboring a sorcerer in your home,” he said. “ It’s one thing to protect a Druid at a chance meeting, but that… it would’ve gone against everything your father ever told you. I didn’t want to put you in that position.” 

“My father’s gone, Merlin,” Arthur retorted. “If I’m not mistaken, you were there.” Merlin’s head snapped up and his eyes grew wide. 

“I would never—” 

“Shut up.” Arthur cut him off sharply, though there was no venom in the words. “I didn’t think it was you that killed him,” Arthur added heavily, the edge gone from his tone. Merlin’s shoulders slumped.  

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “It just never seemed like the right time.” The soft shift of fabric indicated Arthur’s movement. He’d sat up, one hand still tucked gingerly over his ribs, but he sat a little steadier than before. The look in his eye was different. Not angry this time but sharp, determined.

“There was no right time,” he said quietly. 

‘The world cannot wait for Arthur to be ready.’ He remembered Kilgharrah’s statement like it was yesterday. He’d been right. Arthur was right. The world hadn’t waited. It had forced his hand. Maybe even Arthur didn’t have time to wait to be ‘ready’. Gwaine certainly hadn’t. He looked miserably down at his hands. 

“I know. It’s my fault,” he said. If he’d taken Kilgharrah’s advice, if he’d had a little more faith in Arthur… things wouldn’t have turned out this way. He sank back onto the bed and leaned forward over his knees. The storming had stopped outside, but he felt like he might crumble to pieces again, as he had when they first arrived. He hadn’t wanted to move, lying in the wet, muddy grass, wondering if perhaps he might just sink into it, deep into the darkness and just stop all of this. He heard Arthur shift across from him. 

“What is?” Merlin shook his head, burying his fingers in his hair. “Merlin. What’s your fault?” Arthur pressed. He swallowed. It was hard to force the words out through his tight throat. 

“Gwaine. If I’d told you sooner… if I’d been faster—”

“Did you kill him?” Arthur interrupted. Merlin’s fingers relaxed and he stirred, lifting his head fractionally. 

“Wh-what?” he choked out. Arthur was looking at him steadily. 

“Did you kill Gwaine?” he repeated. Merlin gaped at him. 

“I… No.” 

“Then it’s not your fault,” Arthur said. “Don’t do that to yourself.” He looked at Arthur in bewilderment for a moment. The silence between them felt heavy. He swallowed hard, trying to ease the lump in his throat. “You’re a lot of things I didn’t think you were,” Arthur said slowly. “But you are not a killer.” Merlin let out a strangled bark of laughter. 

“I am,” he said. Arthur’s eyebrows rose. “I’m responsible for a lot… a lot of things. You don’t… you don’t even know.” His voice was teetering on the edge of hysterical. He leaned forward over his knees again, closing his eyes. 

“So tell me.” The steadiness in Arthur’s voice shocked him. He looked up. Arthur was watching him with an unreadable expression. His blue eyes locked piercingly on Merlin’s. “Not now. Not when you’re…” he gestured with a hand, and Merlin made a weak nose not quite like a laugh. Losing my head? Arthur put a hand on the arm of his chair and got up, painstakingly slowly. “You need to take care of yourself,” he said at last. “I would never be angry enough at you not to want that.” Merlin swallowed hard, unable to answer that, and picked up the mug, cradling it between his palms. “Eat that,” Arthur said. “Take your time. And come talk to me when you’re ready to tell me the whole story.”  

The whole story. Merlin rubbed the pad of his thumb over the ceramic, staring at the little tendrils of steam curling up from inside as Arthur picked his way out of the room with slow steps. He’d never told anyone the whole story. Not Gaius, who hadn’t heard much of what he’d done in London when they were children; not his mother from whom he’d been so long cut off–it wasn’t safe to talk about magic over the phone or internet; not Freya, whom he’d scarcely known long enough to have a chance… He’d used his magic both on and around Arthur—to protect, yes, but sometimes against others to hurt, burn… even kill. No one knew he was the one who’d released Kilgharrah. Those deaths were on his hands too. 

It took him half an hour to pick his way through part of the sandwich. He sat for some time, listening to the sounds out in the living room—Freya’s voice, then Hunith’s as she returned to the house. Balinor had been there yesterday, struggling with his health issues more and more in the past week. He’d seen Iseldir once, but hadn’t seen Mordred since the boy left that first day, shocked and quiet. Merlin hadn’t had the heart to speak to him. The teenager had seen more than his share of suffering in his short years. 

His fingers traced along the edge of the worn book that sat beside him on the bed. He hadn’t found anything in it good for damaged ribs. It wasn’t a healing spell book. He wondered if there were any left. He gathered it up and stepped out into the living room. Arthur was seated on the couch, looking at the screen of the laptop Gaius left him. 

“Emrys.”  Arthur looked up from the screen. Merlin held the book clutched against his chest, his throat still tight. “It’s what the Druids call me,” he said. Arthur’s hands slid down to rest over his knees. The words stuck in Merlin’s throat, and now the silence ached worse than before. But Arthur was offering him an olive branch. He wanted to take it. Merlin traced the edge of the book’s spine again, hesitating, then opened it and stepped closer to place it in Arthur’s hands. Arthur set it on his knees, and his eyes flitted up to Merlin in silent challenge. “This is mine. A lot of my magic is intuitive. I just… do it. I don’t need spells or words. But this is the book Gaius gave me when I first came to London.” 

“Even back then?” Arthur’s tone stung. Merlin swallowed.  

“It wasn’t a choice I made,” he said. “I was born with magic. It was always a part of me. Mum said I moved things around with magic before I could even talk.” He chewed his lip. Arthur’s gaze was moving slowly between him and the book. “There’s a lot in there. I wrote in the margins for most of the spells I used, and… there are notes in the back on the blank pages there—like journal entries. It should explain a lot.” He curled his right hand around his opposite wrist to keep his hands from trembling and stared down at the book on Arthur’s knees. It closed with a soft thump. Arthur was looking up at him.

“I want to hear it from you.” Merlin felt his stomach twist. The deception he’d practiced that led to Aredian’s death in their childhood. The dragon and how he’d freed him to burn homes to the ground. The people he’d used violent magic against… Nimueh, whom he was all but certain he had killed.

“You won’t like it.” 

“You could let me judge that for myself.” Merlin looked up slowly. Arthur’s words were sharp, but the anger in his eyes was gone, replaced by a different expression—more like… hurt. Merlin maintained eye contact, still silent and guilty. 

“It’s… a long story.” A beat of silence. Merlin watched with bated breath, then Arthur inclined his head in a small nod.  

“I’m not allowed to go anywhere. We’ve got time.” Merlin closed his eyes and sank into a chair, letting his mind turn back, seeking for a starting point—in Armagh, at home with his mother… back to a time when he’d known what it meant to have a friendship built entirely on trust and honesty. 

“Will.” Merlin bit his lip again and slowly raised his eyes to meet Arthur’s again. Because that was where it began. He had lost one friend, and that was when Hunith had decided to send him to London, to live with Gaius. One friendship had ended in grief, and another had begun shortly thereafter, one he’d never quite allowed to grow, as perhaps he ought. “My childhood friend. He knew about my magic.” 

Chapter Text

“You don’t ever rest, do you?” Arthur tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and kept his eyes fixed ahead. Dartmoor was not as calm as the last time he’d visited. There were more people outside now, more worried faces, the air held a tension he hadn’t felt before. The Dartmoor refuge, as he understood it, was meant to be a safe and neutral place. It had its own community of long-term residents and many transient persons, on their way to somewhere safer, or stopping over until storms passed in the outside world. But this storm was too big for Iseldir’s safe haven to ignore. Neutrality was fast becoming no longer an option as Cenred and Rodor went head to head over centers of resources and communications. 

“No time for it,” Arthur answered as Iseldir fell in step with him. He turned, searching for the house number belonging to Brigid: the house he’d first encountered when he came searching for Balinor. That day felt like an eternity ago now. 
“It’s further down. You shouldn’t push yourself too much,” the Druid warned gently. Arthur did slow his step, turning his head to watch as a curtain dropped, the eyes peering from behind it vanishing from sight. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen that. Two children playing in the street had stopped their game to watch him go by, and several adults appeared around corners or in windows to peer. It was unsettling. 

“Why are they staring?” he asked. 

“You’re here. You and Emrys,” Iseldir answered. Arthur raised an eyebrow. Emrys. That was the name he’d learned yesterday as Merlin quietly reeled off a story so wild, he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t lived a story parallel: Merlin saving his life when they were children, Mordred and Merlin’s relationship with the Druids, Morgana’s magic that Merlin had known about, Gaius’ guidance as Merlin learned to use his magic, and then… all the events that had taken place in the last couple of months. Merlin had played a very different role than Arthur had imagined, and yet the facts lined up with alarming ease, revealing Merlin’s double life as a sorcerer and some sort of modern Druidic legend. 

“Emrys. You mean Merlin…?” he asked. The name Merlin said the Druids had given him. It kept coming up. “What does that name mean?” 

“It is the name given to the greatest warlock ever to walk the earth.” Arthur stopped in his tracks. 

“Gaius said the same thing,” he said slowly. And if not for that fact, he might have asked Iseldir whether they were truly talking about the same person: Merlin. Merlin, who tripped over his own feet. Merlin who had dropped and broken a mug just the day before. Merlin, his childhood friend and college housemate who sat with him when he was sick, ducked the pillows Arthur threw at him, brought takeout meals on the long days, and listened to his gripes about Morgan and Uther on the difficult days…
“You don’t believe it?” Iseldir asked. How could he…? Merlin was his friend and flatmate who cracked stupid jokes, had that goofy smile and undyingly cheerful spirit and always a sassy remark on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t some historically powerful being…  except… that Arthur could still see him in that hallway, singed from the grenade blast, eyes lit golden as he shielded Arthur, one hand thrown out, projecting a field of pure energy that shimmered around them. Truth be told, Arthur had seen it before—those fleeting moments of clarity and strength that showed as much in Merlin’s set jaw and sharp eyes as in his personality—loyal and steady.

“I don’t really know what to believe anymore,” he said, shaking his head slightly. He was still reeling from the fact that Iseldir, his favorite college professor, was here watching him contend with the strangest, most difficult and painful days of his life to date. It was all beyond confusing, how the people around him had changed and stepped into different roles. “If that’s Merlin, then what about me?” 

“You and Merlin are believed to be the key to the peace we’ve been hoping for. You are a leader: voice among the common people who will help Emrys foster this truce. You cannot do what you were meant to do without one another.”  

“And how do you know I’m…. Emrys’ counterpart?”Arthur challenged, stopping in the street outside Brigid’s home. 

“It was said that Emrys’ counterpart would be born of magic, just as you were,” Iseldir said. Arthur’s throat tightened. 

“You know about that too?” His fingers curled into a fist inside his pocket. His instinct had been right. Iseldir nodded. 

“Your father solicited the help of Nimueh Hierea. She was a very powerful sorceress. The magic used to bring you into this world was unheard of.”
“Then I was a mistake,” Arthur said. 

“You were not a mistake,” Iseldir replied firmly. “Nimueh used forces she did not understand. But you were very much wanted.” He looked towards the porch, following Arthur’s gaze. “Have you made peace with Emrys?” 

“We were never fighting,” Arthur said hollowly. Peace wasn’t the issue. He felt more lost , like a huge part of his life had been an illusion. 

“As you say,” Iseldir turned to go. “ I will come back in an hour. Gaius should be back to discuss reinstating the negotiations by then.” Arthur nodded faintly. 

“I’ll be here,” he said. He wanted news on Gwen, Elyan, Lance, Percival, and many others… but for now, the negotiations were most important. Establishing secure alliances with the Druid representatives would be the best protection for all of them moving forward. 

“Planning to make a habit of this, Pendragon?” Brigid asked as let him inside. 

“Hopefully not,” he said. He owed her a lot by now. He couldn’t have imagined the woman he met as a young teen on an illicit night-time mission to save Merlin would come back into his life in such a significant way. Nor had he expected to see Mordred again. Yet so many of the pieces of his childhood growing up with Merlin were coming full circle to him as an adult. 

“Your friend is through here.” Brigid indicated the first door in the hallway. 

“He’s—” Arthur stopped himself abruptly. Not his friend? Who was Leon if not a friend? Leon had long since stopped being his bodyguard. He had been assigned by Uther after all. He’d stood by Arthur through hellfire and risked his life several times. He nodded. “Of course… Thank you. I appreciate your looking after him. If there’s anything I can do when all this is over, I won’t forget it.” She raised an eyebrow as her young ward appeared in the hallway. 

“We’ll see,” she said mildly. He couldn’t say it surprised him to see the suspicion in her eyes. He wasn’t fully trusted by everyone here. 

“Mordred.” He mustered a small smile for the teenager who had his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched. He’d been far too tangled up in all this already, from Morgana using him to that nightmarish rainstorm where he’d tried to help Arthur. He must have seen Gwaine. He was far too young to have seen all of that. According to Merlin, though, Mordred had seen far worse than that, having lost his entire family to the Purge. “Are you alright?” Arthur ventured. Mordred gave a jerky nod in response. 

“How is Merlin?” he asked.  

“He’s… alright.” The hesitation didn’t seem to escape Mordred, who looked the more dejected. Arthur caught a sharp look from Brigid. He took a breath. “Merlin only caught a few scrapes. He’s up and about. I’m sure you’d be welcome to stop by and see him.” 

“I’m sorry about your friend…” Arthur stopped with his hand on the doorframe. “He must have been close, to have come with you here last time, to help Merlin.” Arthur bit the inside of his cheek, taking a small breath in through his nose. He hadn’t been able to shake the images of Gwaine in the last few days. What must it have been like for the teenager. 

“You did what you could to help. We really appreciate it,” he said. Brigid beckoned to Mordred. 

“He’ll be here to talk after,” she said. He was a touch relieved as she gently ushered Mordred away. Mordred was rattled, justifiably, from what had happened, but Arthur didn’t feel equipped to support the teenager just now. 

He stepped into the first bedroom, knocking gently at the door frame. 

“Hey.” Leon stirred. His head was wrapped up, including one eye covered with gauze. The other eye squinted as Leon turned his head to spot him and a smile tugged at his lips. “Don’t get up.” He extended a hand. Leon shifted himself halfway to sitting anyway. 

“Been flat on my back for the better part of this week,” Leon said, grimacing. Arthur sank into the chair next to the bed with a grunt. His ribs were still killing him, but he’d wanted to see for himself that Leon was alive and well. 

“How’re you feeling?” Arthur settled into the chair by the bed, letting his body relax cautiously. Leon smiled at him and tapped the side of his head.

“Been better,” he said. “And yourself?” 

“Rough couple of months,” Arthur said with a shrug. 

“You can say that again.” Leon tipped his head back. “It’s good to see you, Arthur.” He said. “I heard about Gwaine. I’m so sorry.” Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn’t gotten those images out of his head. He wondered if he’d ever be able to lie down to rest without hearing the raw pain and grief in Merlin’s voice, feel that same desperation in his chest as he pleaded with Gaius to do something. Gwaine had been so vibrant and full of life. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that the body on the ground had really been him, that Gwaine wouldn’t come strolling back into the house at any minute looking for them, with a jibe about how they’d left him behind. 

“Yeah,” was all he managed to say. He inhaled through his nose and opened his eyes. He couldn’t escape the reminders anywhere. It had been several days now. The international channels, online news sites, and broadcasts were lighting up with the reports of Gwaine’s death, and Arthur couldn’t even look at the pictures, obituaries, and stories. 

“Are you alright?” Leon asked. Arthur made a weak noise like a huff of laughter. 

“I’ve been better. Breathing hurts. Everything sorta fell apart. We’re back here now.” He shook his head. “I don’t know.” Leon’s brows drew together. 

“I saw Iseldir again—your professor. The one who helped me after the dragon’s attack.” 

“You would see him here.” Arthur pursed his lips. “Leon, he’s a Druid. This is a community of sorcerers. That’s… where you were brought to recover. Most of them came here to escape after they were suspected of magic.” He looked back at Leon, searching for some sign of shock, but there was little. 

“Iseldir Leod… was he involved in the situation with the dragon’s attack?” Leon asked. Arthur laced his fingers together over one knee, frowning. 

“He was… and another sorcerer who came from here. I asked for their help.” 

“And you’ve known about them all this time?” Leon asked. Arthur nodded slightly, avoiding eye contact with his companion. 

“I came here with the agreement I wouldn’t reveal their location to anyone else, in exchange for their help with the dragon.” 

“That’s how you had their trust in starting the negotiations,” Leon inferred. He was looking at Arthur curiously. Arthur shifted. 

“Yes… more or less,” he said. “I didn’t tell you before I left Oxford. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how you’d react.” 

“Arthur.” A small smile was tugging at Leon’s lips. “They helped you stop the dragon and saved our lives this week. Don’t apologize.” 

“I was supposed to wait for you… to stay safe.” Leon shook his head.

“I’ve hardly done anything to keep you safe in the past months. I was supposed to bring in a full contingent for your security, but you were gone before I ever could. Protecting you…? That’s been well beyond my abilities for some time now. Someone else has been protecting you. And considering magic is tied into your safe escape from these situations, it seems like you’ve been making the right choices.”

“You’re telling me I should trust magic?” Arthur gave him a baffled look. “You were a member of the Patroni. It was your job not to trust magic.” 

“For most of that time, my job was to protect you,” Leon answered. He gave Arthur a lingering look. “What really happened that day in Oxford?” Arthur’s eyes traveled down to the scarring at Leon’s collar and he took a breath. 

“We found the sorcerer who had a bond with the dragon. He stopped it. And… he helped take care of your injuries. He and Iseldir.” 

“So magic has saved my life twice,” Leon concluded. Arthur glanced up towards the window. He could hear the voices of the kids outside, see Hunith crossing the grass heading for the house where Merlin was staying. He bit his lip. 

“I think it’s saved mine more times than that,” he said. 

“You put your trust in these people, and they haven’t proven it unfounded. There have been no further attacks from the dragon,” Leon continued. Arthur nodded haltingly. “There you have it. Times change. People are complicated. You’ve followed your gut, and you haven’t been wrong about them yet,” he pointed out. “I think my job may not be needed anymore.” 

“I’ll still want you around.” Arthur smiled apologetically. Leon chuckled. 

“I’ll be here. But I heard the negotiations were being rescheduled. You’ll have a better escort than me this time, won’t you?” Arthur nodded. 

“Gaius and Iseldir are reestablishing contact with the other Druids. They’re working on secure communications and travel routes.” 

“So you’re reconnecting with General Rodor and Mithian then.” 

“If I can get the all-clear.” He nodded. “We’ve been able to make contact with Mithian. They want to keep the meeting site but wait until they’ve established a safer way to get there and avoid anyone intercepting us en route. I’ll wait here, and when the time comes Iseldir will escort me to the meeting.” 

“You and Merlin,” Leon tacked the statement on as if it were obvious. Arthur went quiet. His fingers fidgeted with the fabric of his borrowed sweatpants. 

“I don’t know about that.” 

“Don’t you?” Leon turned his head. 

“You didn’t hear that part… did you?” Arthur reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. A pause followed. Leon was watching him curiously. “Merlin’s a sorcerer,” he said. His chest ached, and not because of the injuries, but… he hadn’t really realized how heavy that revelation felt until he spoke it aloud to another person. Merlin. His childhood friend, his closest confidante. He’d wanted so badly to tell Gwen, to talk to Gwaine or Lance or any of his other friends—but the thought ground to a sharp halt. Leon was laughing. His eyes shifted to his former bodyguard’s face, and he opened his mouth, his brows knitting in a frown. “Sorry, is that funny? ” 

“No… Arthur.” Leon’s hand turned over and gripped his wrist gently. “It’s not funny. It’s obvious ,” he said. 

“You knew?” Arthur would’ve gotten up if his ribs weren’t throbbing. He set his jaw and took a slow, thin breath. “Does everyone know? Am I the last to find out?” Leon shook his head fractionally. 

“I didn’t know. I guessed. That’s not the point. Arthur .” He squeezed Arthur’s wrist. “Think about it. Merlin’s always been different.” He couldn’t argue with that, but different in this way? Arthur blew out a soft breath. “So you know he has magic now. Does that change anything about who he is?” Leon pressed him. Arthur gritted his teeth.

“How can it not?” he demanded. 

“I don’t think it does.” Leon shook his head. “I worked in Uther’s personal security detail for some time before he assigned me as your bodyguard. I’ve known you since you were twelve years old. People didn’t get close to you, whether you didn’t let them, or they didn’t dare be too close to Uther’s son. You were a lonely kid. Until Merlin.” Arthur pursed his lips. He remembered well enough, but… 

“We weren’t exactly friends at first,” he pointed out dryly. Leon chuckled. 

“Not in name, but he challenged you in ways I don’t think you realized you needed. Before Merlin, you and Morgana were at each other’s throats. You never spoke to Gwen. You didn’t really have a friend group. You had followers. Merlin wasn’t a follower, and he didn’t put up with you or keep quiet when he thought you were wrong. He gave as good as he got when you two butted heads.” Arthur turned his eyes towards the window, quiet. He and Merlin had gotten off to a rocky start, but if he was honest, he’d always respected the sharp-tongued bright-eyed boy who crashed into his life at twelve years old.

“He was a pain in the ass,” he protested. 

“So were you.” 

“Hey!” He turned back to Leon with a protesting frown, but Leon was smiling slightly. 

“Are you going to try and deny it?” he asked. Arthur pulled a face and looked down at his knees. “I’m the one who had to chase you all over the place, and you were constantly trying to give me the slip. You had one hell of an ego and an attitude to boot.” Arthur raised an eyebrow. 

“Thanks…?” He said slowly, making a face. Leon chuckled and patted his arm. 

“You grew up with a lot of privilege, Arthur. Uther kept you fairly isolated and protected, and every opportunity in the country was at your fingertips. You would’ve been hard pressed not to let it go to your head a little. The one thing that didn’t come easy to you was friendships. God knows you could be a chore, but I could see you were lonely, and you had a good heart under all that. I knew it was there. When Merlin showed up, you finally had someone who was honest with you, and he brought that better side out. The two of you acted like you were always at odds, but you two were inseparable within the first year after he came to live with Gaius. I think you found a source of courage from watching Merlin’s unflinching honesty. You started standing up to Uther. You developed your own ideas about your future. When the travel bans kept Merlin from going home to his mother, you made sure he felt welcome and included with you. And when his mum invited you… I couldn't believe the fight you put up to go back to Ireland with Merlin over the summer. It was the first time you really dug your heels in for what you wanted against what Uther had planned for you.” He lifted his shoulders slightly. 

“I needed to get out of the house. Living with him and Morgana was like being on a constant battlefield.” 

“Hunith’s home was good for you,” Leon agreed. “But that’s exactly my point. Merlin, his family — they were good for you. You grew more independent, kinder, more thoughtful through the influence. With Merlin around, you wrestled ideas and problems you brushed aside before. You grew as a person.” Arthur’s lips drew in a thin line. He looked back up at Leon.

“But he was lying to me the whole time,” he pointed out stiffly. 

“Was he?” Leon asked. 

“How was he not?” Arthur demanded. 

“Did you ever ask him if he had magic?” Leon responded. Arthur opened his mouth, but no answer was on the tip of his tongue. Had he? He’d never come out and asked Merlin. Why would he? “Arthur, your safety has been the greater part of my career, and it hasn’t been an easy job. But at nearly every turn, Merlin has been a step ahead of me. He saved your life when you two were teenagers. He was there when you got in a scrap at that bar. He was the first one there when you came down with meningitis. He had your back when everything fell apart this last month.” 

“I know that — ” 

“And the dragon.” Arthur stopped when Leon added those words. The dragon. How could he forget? “You may not be able to answer this question, but I’m absolutely certain that your friend from the Druids didn’t act alone. Which of us was left conscious when that dragon attacked? Do you really think Merlin wasn’t a part of that?” he asked. Arthur closed his mouth and shook his head slightly. Merlin had told him the story yesterday, and the pieces had fallen into place with an ease that shocked him. The way Iseldir had reacted to Merlin, it had been as if he was meeting a revered figure, not another university student; how Gaius had told him about Balinor, his father, only hours before, and how that had made it possible for him to sway the man who was so against helping Arthur. But it was more than that. Merlin’s jumpy anxiety sometimes simply faded away, and he was steady, clear-headed, and confident. The Druids responded to him with a respect Arthur had never understood—a deference even. And a memory that Arthur had never been able to reconcile came to the forefront of his mind: the dragon’s looming figure in Arthur’s swimming vision, and Merlin, standing in front of him with a hand extended, fearless. Leon didn’t know all the facts in that scenario, but he was still right. 

“Merlin stopped the dragon,” he said slowly. It had never been Arthur who made that possible. His plea to Balinor had been useless. And perhaps, Balinor hadn’t even acted alone. It had been Merlin who was responsible for saving them from the dragon. 

“He’s got your back,” Leon said quietly. “So he didn’t tell you he could use magic. He didn’t owe you that truth. No one owes you their trust. No one owes you the details about their life. You have to earn that. And as unfair as it is, you were at a disadvantage, given your family background.” Arthur looked down, shoulders hunched up towards his ears. 

“I thought after all this time, he’d know I wasn’t like my father,” he said. “I’ve tried so damn hard to move past that. I thought… of all people, Merlin would know and see that. I thought at least he would trust me.”

“I doubt he would be as loyal a friend to you if he didn’t,” Leon said. “But he’s spent a lifetime keeping that part of himself hidden. That’s not an easy habit to break. I worked with the Patroni. We were trained to investigate people's connections once they were found guilty of sorcery. Merlin had to know that. He was protecting not only himself but also everyone he loved by keeping it quiet. Think about Hunith. She and Merlin are clearly very close.” 

“She’s here right now,” Arthur confirmed. Leon raised an eyebrow. “Long story,” Arthur said with a shrug. 

“Didn’t imagine that I had it all figured out.” Leon replied. Arthur traced along the threads of the sheet under his hands in silence for a moment.

“Do you think I didn’t deserve trust from him?” he asked. 

“I didn’t say that.”  Leon shifted, and his fingers tapped against the back of Arthur’s hand. “Arthur.” He looked up. “I’m proud to have stayed and protected you as long as I did. I’ve been incredibly proud to see the man you grew to be. I had the pleasure of seeing Gwen and Merlin grow up alongside you as your closest friends, and I saw the way you listened and allowed them to change you for the better. My judgment isn’t perfect, but I’ll dare say I knew you and them very well. There has never been any doubt in my mind that both of them have your best interests at heart. Sorcerer or not, that hasn’t changed about Merlin. His friendship with you is and was as genuine as any I’ve ever seen. The fact that he didn’t tell you… I don’t think it means he didn’t trust you.” And come to that, Arthur didn’t either. So why was he still so stung? He let out a weary sigh. 

“I can’t look at him the same way again,” he said. 

“So don’t. You shouldn’t,” Leon responded. “You can start to see a new side of him. He’s complicated. But he’s still your friend. And I’d guess he’s done a lot more for you than you can even imagine.” Leon looked steadily back at his stubborn frown. “Some things about you really haven’t changed, have they?” he said with a little shake of his head. “It bothers you. I get it. A lot of people have changed their colors on you. I’m sorry for the way Morgana has turned on you above all. But Arthur, for what it’s worth, I don’t think Merlin’s intentions have changed like hers did.” Arthur nodded, closing his eyes as he listened. Leon knew Merlin about as well as anyone close to him. 

“So what should I do?” he asked quietly as he turned his gaze on Leon again. 

“You want my advice?” Leon asked. He nodded. “Then my advice would be this: swallow your pride. Try to understand where he’s coming from. And please… take Merlin with you to the negotiations. I’d trust him with my life any day. I’ve trusted him with yours for a long time.” 

Waiting was torture, but there was nothing else to do. Wait for Gaius to return. Wait for news about Mithian, the coalition, and the Druid representatives. Wait for Cenred, Morgause, Ruadan, and Alvarr to make a move. Wait for any news of Gwen, Elyan, or any of the others. Wait for Arthur to decide what he thought of the story he’d heard the day before. Wait, dragging out his time in the stifling quiet of Dartmoor, wondering if this moment of calm too would be pierced by crisis. 

The waiting wasn’t alone, at least. He hadn’t seen Aithusa since their nightmare just outside Dartmoor, in the thick of a heavy storm. He was a little relieved to see her now as she circled above the rooftops, winding her way down towards them, still comfortably small enough to sit in the yard. 

“You and Aithusa weren’t hurt at all?” Merlin reached up to touch Freya’s hand. She stopped in the grass beside him as Aithusa soared down to land a few feet away. 

“No. Once we located you, we were in and out of the conflict very quickly. Aithusa and I brought you and Arthur here, then we went back for Leon.” 

“She heard me.” He extended a hand, watching as the dragon approached to brush her nose against it. She circled him, brushing up against him and investigating quietly for injury. 

“We both did.” Freya smiled at her. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I really thought I was leaving the country. I didn’t want to tear you away from everyone you knew.” He slipped a hand into hers, leaning against her shoulder. 

“I’m just glad you were here. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” 

“I’m glad I stayed.” Freya brushed her thumb over his knuckles. “I was ready to go when she showed up.” Aithusa had turned away to wander in the grass near them, her head low to the ground and tail swishing inquisitively. 

“It’s nice to know I’m not the only one.” Merlin reached out to slip his hand into hers. It was for the best after all that he wasn’t the only one with the ‘dragon lord’ heritage in England. He closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the soft breeze, the cool, gentle weather that had followed the storms of recent days. He felt exhausted from it all. “Freya, I think… I think I may have killed some of the people… back in that fight.” Her fingers squeezed tight around his hand.

“They had firearms. It was self defense,” she reminded him. He nodded mutely. Freya understood. He knew she did. He hadn’t fully understood her perhaps… as much as he’d thought he did. He closed his eyes and tipped his head against her shoulder. The men he’d attacked… Perhaps he didn’t need to feel such deep regret. They were the reason Gwaine wasn’t here with them. That still sat like a cold rock in his gut. She didn’t try to offer any further reassurance, but rather gently freed her hand and wrapped an arm around him. He let himself lean into the support, listening to the soft sound of Aithusa rustling the grass nearby. For the moment, with Freya’s warm support, he could breathe again. 

A gentle mental nudge from Aithusa preceded Freya’s words.

“We’ve got company.” He opened his eyes wearily. He tried not to groan when he spotted a familiar figure approaching from the house to their left. He groaned. 

“Do I have to…?” Arthur wouldn’t bring the calm, peaceful atmosphere he felt sitting with Freya. 

“It might not be bad,” she squeezed his shoulder. “He listened yesterday, didn’t he?” Merlin heaved a sigh. Arthur had listened to him yesterday. He’d listened as Merlin explained his childhood in Armagh, how he’d been sent to Gaius to learn to control his magic. He’d talked a little about the dragon, about his choice to use his magic to protect Arthur, and much of what happened in their childhood, through their move to Oxford and the events of the last couple of months. It had hardly been the whole story, but he’d tried. 

“He did. He still felt that I’d lied to him,” he said. Freya hummed a soft acknowledgement. 

“He’s stubborn, isn’t he?” That got a little snort of laughter out of Merlin. 

“You don’t know half of it,” he said. Freya leaned over to kiss his cheek. 

“If he continues to be a pain in the arse, you let me know. I’ll tell Aithusa to eat him,” she said. Merlin raised an eyebrow. 

“Aithusa doesn’t eat people.” 

“ He doesn’t know that.” Freya winked, and he laughed as she got up. 

“I’ll let you know,” he said as she headed for the porch, leaving him alone in the grass with the little dragon. He turned his hand over again and reached it out to Aithusa who came closer, her tail swishing low like she might pounce on it.  

Merlin didn’t turn his head when Arthur reached him, waiting as the blond slowly settled himself in the grass nearby. There was a long, pregnant pause between them. Merlin held very still, watching the sunlight reflect in a myriad of colors off Aithusa’s translucent scales. She was regarding Arthur with curiosity, not yet heading for him. 

“Is this another friend of yours?” Arthur asked finally. As he spoke, Aithusa made her decision. Merlin felt a jolt of anxiety as the dragon walked right over to Arthur and stretched out her nose to sniff at his hand, much like a curious cat. To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur extended his hand to meet her halfway. Some of the anxiety knotted up in his stomach relaxed. There had been no barb to Arthur’s question. He took a breath.  

“Yeah. Her name’s Aithusa,” he said. 

“Aithusa. Hello there.” Arthur turned his hand palm-up, and the dragon butted her head against it, encouraging him. His fingers stroked down over her neck and back. “She’s beautiful,” he said. Merlin blinked. He didn’t really know what to say. This had never been in his realm of possibilities. He’d wanted so badly to believe, but he’d never dared to let himself imagine a moment like this. Aithusa stepped onto Arthur’s knee with both front feet, and Merlin all but held his breath when she brushed her nose against Arthur’s ribs. For a split second Arthur looked startled, sucked in a sharp breath, and Merlin felt the anxiety clench in his chest and gut again. Then recognition crossed Arthur’s face, and he seemed to relax. 

“She…” He hesitated. “She has healing magic,” he explained. He remembered how she’d offered some healing to his injured leg. It eased the pain and knitted the body together a little faster, gentler. Arthur was looking down at her as she leaned lightly against him.

“I owe you an apology,” he said. Merlin blinked at him. 

“I—I’m sorry…?” he stammered. 

“I didn’t say you owed an apology, you idiot,” Arthur huffed. The familiar insult made some of the tension and confusion fade from his expression. 

“No. I know. But did you really…? Could you repeat—” 

“Don’t make me say it again.” Arthur rolled his eyes, and despite himself, a small but hopeful smile tugged at Merlin’s lips. Aithusa, her curiosity satisfied, was returning to Merlin’s side.

“No—I wouldn’t dream of it. You hadn’t really started.” Arthur gave him a flat look as the dragon climbed halfway into Merlin’s lap to settle down against him. There was another lingering pause. 

“Iseldir says the negotiations are being rescheduled in two weeks,” he said. “Mithian is already under his protection. The Druids want me there.” Merlin pursed his lips and reached out to touch Aithusa’s tail as it brushed his knee. 

“That’s good,” he said. So Arthur was changing the subject. He sort of expected that. 

“You should be there too,” Arthur said. Oh.
“You don’t have to say that.” 

“I do,” Arthur said. Merlin looked up again slowly. “It was never only me they wanted at that meeting. We both know that.” Arthur’s expression was tight. 

“Right…” They wanted Emrys. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He took a cautious breath, and Aithusa lifted her head to peer up at him as well. 

“I’ve been thinking about what happened in Oxford.” Merlin clenched his jaw. His fingers reached for the ends of his scarf and found them gone again, leaving his fingers to reach down into the grass, restlessly tugging at a blade or two. 

“It was my fault,” he said abruptly. “The fires that started everything. The dragon.”

“What…?” Arthur stared at him. “Back up. What’s your fault…? What does that have to do with—” He shook his head. “I was going to ask about the part before that, when I got sick.” Merlin looked back at him, uneasy. The story of his choice to use magic to save Arthur had led down some dark paths—things he’d done that, as Gaius put it, made him not sleep so well at night.  “You asked me a while ago what I would do if I learned someone had healed me with magic,” Arthur said. Merlin’s fingers stroked down over Airhusa’s back as he avoided eye contact. “The doctor said that my recovery was ‘miraculous’. Was that you too?” 

“I helped,” Merlin said quietly. 

“But you left that out yesterday,” Arthur pointed out. Merlin nodded. He hadn’t wanted to get into this part. 

“Because it was complicated, and I didn’t act alone. Kilgharrah helped me with your illness.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. Aithusa’s presence was a little calming. He would’ve had to tell Arthur sooner or later. But for a tiny, brilliant moment as Arthur offered an apology, he’d thought maybe things could be repaired a little. Surely… this would make things worse. But he had promised the truth. He swallowed. “You’d been cursed. By the same sorceress who attacked us the day Lance and Percival came onto the military base.” 

“Nimueh. The one you killed,” Arthur said. Merlin winced. 

“That one,” he confirmed quietly. “She tried to kill you. I think she must have poisoned your drink, or something like that. I missed what she did to you, but I think it happened at the bar in Oxford. There was nothing Gaius could do, so I went to speak to the dragon.” 

“Kilgharrah,” Arthur repeated. “And you knew where to find him.” Merlin’s fingers tugged at a piece of grass restlessly, avoiding eye contact.

“Like I told you, he used to speak to me in my mind when we lived in London. Some magic users have telepathy, and the dragons can reach them. It’s just… there. I didn’t ever try to do it. So I’d known for years that your father kept him bound in enchanted chains in a holding cell outside the city. I’d never been there, but he’d told me so.” His shoulders were hunched. He took a slow breath through his nose. “He gave me the spell to cure you… in exchange for his freedom.” He looked up. Arthur frowned at him. 

“Why didn’t you free him sooner?” He asked. Merlin laughed weakly. 

“I wasn’t skilled enough. I first learned about him at thirteen. I didn’t really know what I was getting into. So many things happened when I first came to Oxford. Then Mordred showed up, and the dragon tried to use him. He was talking an eight year old boy into becoming an assassin, so he could take out Uther. I stopped trusting him for a long time after that. Mordred was so scared and confused. I couldn’t reconcile with that.” Arthur was watching him keenly. He had listened to the whole story about Mordred in silence the day before. 

“But you freed him later in exchange for his help.” 

“I thought you were going to die if I didn’t. I had expected he’d fly away, somewhere safe. I didn’t know…” Merlin’s throat was tight. He blinked a couple times, though it didn’t really help. “I didn’t know, Arthur… I swear, I didn’t know what he would do. At the time everything… everything was falling apart. Morgana had told me about her connections with Morgause Fox, so I was trying to talk her out of it. Freya was certain she couldn’t stay in the country, and I wanted to help her, and then you… You were dying, and I couldn’t think past the next thing. I did what I thought was right, and it turned out all wrong . Morgana turned her back on us, and Freya was gone, and so many people died—”

“Merlin.” Arthur cut him short. Merlin’s fingers were dug deep in the grass, and he looked up, trying to gulp down a breath. He could feel his heart hammering all too hard in his chest. “You didn’t know all that would happen,” Arthur said. The words seemed to be stuck in Merlin’s throat all of a sudden. He stared back at Arthur in confusion. Arthur seemed to have him pinned in place, watching with a silent, scrutinizing gaze. “This… all this. It’s a lot for me,” he said finally. I know… I know, I’m sorry. He’d never meant for it to come out this way, but if he was honest, he’d never really planned a way for it to come out. “But,” Arthur started again. “I now know a lot of what’s happened… what you’ve been going through all this time, from growing up together to the last two months. You’ve been working in the background. You’ve protected me. You may even have protected my father, and god knows he didn’t deserve that of you.” 

“I… It wasn’t…” Merlin stammered. “It was only because I knew that Morgana would be blamed, and I thought he owed you an explanation. I’m sorry. I tried—”

“Don’t.” Arthur held up a hand, and Merlin closed his mouth again. He let go of the grass and drew his knees up to wrap his arms around them. The silence that followed allowed him to gather himself a little and take a steadying breath. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Arthur said at last. Merlin mustered a weak smile. 

“Isn’t that dangerous for you?” The question earned him an eye roll. 

“I’m serious.” Arthur rested his hands on his knees, looking over at the little dragon leaning up against Merlin’s knees to get attention. He brushed his fingers against the side of her head. “The day I left Dartmoor with Gwaine, I talked to Morgana. I tried to apologize. I told her how much my father had wronged her, and how I had wronged her by allowing it. I told her I wanted to try and make things right. But all of that, I think it came too late for her. Now Gwaine is gone. I don’t know what’s going to happen—to me, or you, or anyone. But I know I don’t want to make the same mistake with you as I did with Morgana.” Merlin frowned, eyes downcast still. 

“I wouldn’t make the choices she made,” he said quietly. Gwaine’s loss still cut too deeply. He wasn’t ready to start talking about it. He could still see the look in Gwaine’s eyes as he expressed awestruck approval of Merlin’s magic—so quick, so willing to accept him for who he was. Then he was gone. Arthur shook his head. 

“But you’d have just as much reason as her to turn your back on me. What Balinor said when I first met him… it’s all true,” he said. Merlin looked up slowly. “I was raised and taught to believe that sorcery was inherently bad—that it had to be eliminated from the country for our own safety.” He took a breath. “It wasn’t until you moved into our neighborhood that I started to see another side of the story. When I met Brigid, and she was hunted down for offering a cure to help you, that felt wrong. When we helped Mordred, I saw the face of one of the people my father would have executed, and I realized you and Morgana would have hidden him from me… That felt wrong too. The two of you, my sister and one of my closest friends, thought I would have sided with my father and let a child be taken into custody for something over which he seemed to have no control. I tried to find a way to make those different perspectives make sense. I tried to justify my father’s actions and beliefs, so I didn’t have to choose between him and Morgana. It got harder when Morgana took the extreme path and started to attend the amnesty demonstrations and openly speak out against my father’s policies. My father pitted himself against her, and there was never any peace in the household, even after we moved out for school. in all that time… the only peace I had was when I was allowed to go to your home.” There was a look in his eyes as Merlin glanced up—guilt. He furrowed his brow. 

“You were always welcome,” he said. Arthur shook his head again. 

“Your mum said the same thing. I don’t understand why she welcomed me when she knew how my father felt about magic and how much of that I inherited.” Merlin shrugged. 

“She likes you,” he said. That was an easy answer. His mother cared a great deal about Arthur, and he was sure she’d seen how stressed Arthur was at home. She’d always extended a welcome to him when Merlin was coming home for a visit. Arthur looked up and away, still seemingly uncomfortable. 

“Your mum’s home and then our flat were the places where I found some peace, away from my father and Morgana,” he admitted.“And even there, I was always trying to run from both of them asking me to choose a side when they would reach out or visit. I kept trying to walk that line between them, but I’m starting to believe there was never a middle path,” he said. “That I should have found the guts to support Morgana and choose what I had felt for a long time was right, over my need to believe there was something redeeming in my father and his choices about magic. I had my doubts, but I kept second guessing.” He paused and looked up at Merlin. “When we met Balinor, it became impossible to ignore. The things he said about men being rounded up, their families hunted down…” he shook his head slightly. “Merlin, you could have had your father growing up. You could have been raised in a safe home where your heritage wasn’t a deadly secret. My father is the reason you didn’t have yours in your life. His policies are why you grew up in fear and why your best friend was killed when you were a child.” 

“Arthur—” he started to interrupt. Arthur cut him short. 

“Merlin, why do you want to blame yourself for all of this so badly?” The question left Merlin speechless. Wasn’t it obvious…? He’d failed to protect Arthur, failed to protect Lance, Gwen, and now Gwaine. He swallowed. 

“The… the dragon. I freed him. He caused this,” he managed. Arthur shook his head. 

“You want to accept the fall for all this, say it’s your fault, but it’s not that simple,” Arthur insisted. “So you set the dragon free.” Merlin nodded mutely. “He shouldn’t have been imprisoned in the first place. What happened with the dragon, all the damage he caused, all the guilt you’ve been carrying—that weight doesn’t belong to you.” Merlin blinked and opened his mouth. 

“But I—”

“It belongs with my father,” Arthur said firmly. “It belongs with the mistakes made by generations before us; the violence that the Pure brought on this country, and the retribution from my father that did as much damage again. My father was the one who incurred the dragon’s anger. He killed countless people and made enemies for himself in the name of this country. And… Kilgharrah—this dragon—he responded in kind. Maybe you miscalculated. Maybe you made mistakes. But you didn’t cause those deaths. Everything else that followed wasn’t under your control. Morgana’s resentment was so much bigger than your part in this. And Freya’s choice to leave had to do with an entire country where she was unsafe. You only did the best you could in a world where everything was stacked against you. And for all that, you’ve shown a lot more patience than I would have in your shoes,” Arthur added. “You had every reason to hate me when we met, and for much of our childhood. I stood for all the wrong things when we met. Looking back, the number of times I said things that must have rattled you, echoed my father’s broken belief system… I can’t imagine how uncomfortable you must have been. It’s taken me this long to even begin to see clearly. But for some reason, you stood by me. And more than that, you protected me. I doubt that I know even half of what you’ve done for me.” 

“It’s not like that—” 

“It is like that.” Arthur gave him a pointed look, and Merlin slowly let his knees slide down as Aithusa shifted closer and rested her head on one of his legs. He put a hand on her side as Arthur resumed. “I can’t pretend that this isn’t going to change things. The last two months have been more than I’ve had time to think through. But I realize now that you’ve been going through a lot that I hardly even paid attention to. You’ve been here, looking out for me, and I’ve been too wrapped up in myself. I’ve been a miserable friend. So… I’m sorry.”  Merlin was quiet, watching Aithusa get up and stretch herself lazily. “And thank you,” Arthur added. “For saving my life.” Merlin blinked at him.  

“An apology and a thank you?” A slow smile crept across his face. The knot of tension in his stomach was uncoiling. He felt like he could breathe again, even as Arthur’s eyes narrowed at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Did you get a concussion in that car wreck too?” Arthur shoved his shoulder with a little eye roll.

“Don’t expect another one,” he huffed. Merlin pulled up a piece of grass to twirl between his fingers. 

“Oh, I’ll treasure that one,” he said, his smile fading slightly. Things were still going to change, but… “I’m sorry too,” he added. “I never wanted to lie to you.” 

“Don’t be.” Arthur shifted, rubbing the back of his own neck. He looked a little restless. “You had every reason to keep that to yourself. I owed it to you to prove it was safe to tell me, and I guess I never really did that. I need some time to adjust. This isn’t your fault.” 

“I should still have told you sooner.” He shook his head slightly. “I trust you. I wanted to tell you. The right moment never presented itself.” He started to roll the blade of grass between his fingers idly. 

“Do you think you ever would have?” Arthur asked. He considered as he let the blade uncurl again, rumpled. 

“I think… I was getting there.” Just past his knees, Aithusa spread her wings and launched herself into the air, leaving the two of them alone in the grass. Arthur looked back at him. 

“Will you come, then?” 

“What?” Merlin frowned. 

“Castlerigg. The negotiations,” he prompted. Merlin drew his knees up again and wrapped his arms around them, hesitating, and Arthur shifted as he watched the dragon circling in the air above their heads. “I’ve been on the wrong side of this nearly my entire life,” he said. “I know I’ve got no right to ask. But if you’re willing… I could use some insight in setting things right. I think your voice in these negotiations is far more important than mine.” Merlin stared at him. He hadn’t set out to be important. 

“Your name is attached to the social media campaigns,” he pointed out. Arthur scoffed softly. 

“That was dumb luck. This movement belongs to you—you and everyone else living here.” 

“I…” Merlin shrugged. “I don’t know how I could help,” he said.  

“Yes you do.” Arthur put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder as he climbed slowly to his feet. “You’re Merlin Emrys,” he offered the hand up to Merlin who hesitated, looking up at him.  

“I don’t know if I believe in that prophecy,” he admitted. 

“You don’t have to,” Arthur said. “The Druids believe in you. Gwaine did too.” Merlin swallowed. 

“You’re the one he cast his lot with publicly.” Arthur huffed quietly. 

“I’m pretty sure that in the balance, you’re the one Gwaine was really betting on.” 

“Could’ve been both of us,” Merlin pointed out. Gwaine had thrown in his lot with the both of them long before he knew Merlin had magic, or seen how Arthur grew as he learned the truth about his own heritage. Arthur lifted his shoulders before extending his hand, prompting Merlin again. 

“Either way, you’ve been a part of this all along. You should be there. If you’re willing to work with the son of Uther Pendragon, perhaps there’s hope for the rest of them to rebuild trust.” Merlin raised an eyebrow, then took the offered hand at last, climbing to his feet. 

“I’m not working with Uther’s son. I’m working with you.” 

“So you’ll help?” Merlin looked up as Aithusa swooped low over their heads. He gripped Arthur’s hand and nodded as a smile broke across his face, bright and earnest. The breath he took in that moment seemed to shed the last vestiges of the cold that had wrapped itself around his chest in his encounter with Morgause.  

 “Always,” he said firmly. For Gwaine. For the rest of the Druids. They would try. “Let’s finish this together.” 

The sun was dipping below the horizon as the two of them turned back towards the house, leaving Aithusa to circle over the rooftops freely. 

“I know you’ve got magic, but that part about you being the most powerful warlock ever to walk the earth…” Arthur put an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, pulling him closer in a playful jostle. “That’s fanciful, right?” 

“About as fanciful as the part where you’re a great leader,” Merlin snarked back, though he was grinning as he tried to squirm free of Arthur’s arm on the way back to the steps of Freya’s home. 

Across the road from them, sitting in the grass beside the tall stones of the dolmen, Mordred was watching the white dragon disappear over the houses, tracing his fingers along the edge of the stone. He closed his eyes, reaching out to project his voice as far as he could, searching for a familiar presence. 

Where are you…? Why won’t you speak to me anymore?  

When he sat beside the dolmen, he could feel the presences, hear the voices of sorcerers in the outer world, beyond Iseldir’s wards and protections. Few of them responded to his nudges. Most sorcerers weren’t sensitive to telepathic connection. The dragons were. Morgana was. But he hadn’t heard her voice in a long time—not since she’d asked him to arrange the meeting with Arthur.  Please… I know you didn’t want this. Please talk to me. 

The silence from the sea of minds left him feeling lost. He had felt her doubt as they spoke. He’d been sure she wanted to talk. Perhaps he’d been wrong. But he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Morgana with her fierce protectiveness and sense of justice had wanted things to end this way. Perhaps he could simply speak to Emrys, tell him his suspicions. 

Mordred closed his eyes and drew in a long, deep breath of the air, fresh and rich from the recent rains. He got to his feet, one hand on the dolmen, and looked up at the white dragon in the distance, but as he turned to go, he stopped, rooted in place by a soft voice. 

Hello, Mordred. 

Chapter Text

“After weeks of uncertainty and delays rumored to be caused by the continued attacks, a new statement from the New Liberals’ Coalition has revealed their resumed efforts to organize negotiations under Mithain Rodor and Arthur Pendragon. This statement has come alongside new information on Arthur Pendragon’s connections with the Druid Community.” 

A panning shot followed Arthur and Mithian up to a podium, followed closely by General Rodor, Merlin, and Gaius. 

“Often seen at Arthur Pendragon’s side in the past, Merlin Astur—a young man from Armagh in Ireland—has taken on a new name and significance. He goes by the title Emrys among the Druids, and is rumored to have unusual magical capabilities. Merlin Astur has been a known associate of Pendragon’s for nearly a decade. It is unknown how long Pendragon was aware of his associations with magic.” 

News clips had been pouring in all morning. Merlin hadn’t had the guts to look at any of the ones from the interview where Arthur had shepherded him out in front of the cameras to talk. He’d felt paralyzed. Opening his mouth in front of the world and saying ‘ I have magic’ was so much more terrifying than admitting it to Arthur. 

Standing in front of four Druid representatives as ‘Emrys’ hadn’t been much less terrifying. For all that he’d seen and done, he still felt a little like a fraud, wondering what his life would be like in the moment if Mordred had never named in Emrys at thirteen 

Merlin put a hand on one of the stones at the edge of the circle, leaning against it a little. He needed some space. In the last week, it felt like he’d had no space to breathe. From the moment Arthur was deemed well enough to return for negotiations, everything had moved at a breakneck speed. Merlin’s name, his ‘identity’ as Emrys, and his role were broken upon the world and to all his friends almost immediately. As much as he understood the importance of his name and identity and the draw it had for the Druids, for the world, for helping the negotiations succeed, he felt sick at the thought of being in the open. It felt like standing naked before a sea of eyes. He didn’t have time to process the reactions from all quarters. The Druids had taken it up eagerly, already somewhat aware of his name and identity, but all the more enthusiastic once it was confirmed. He’d hardly even seen Gwen as he and Arthur were swept through London in company with Iseldir, connected with General Rodor and Mithian, then taken up into Cumbria. Leon knew. Arthur told him so. He hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with the man. He didn’t even know what Leon thought, let alone any others. It was overwhelming. He wanted it all to slow down and at once knew that it couldn’t. Not if this was going to work. All that carried him through, kept him from panicking at the speed of it all was a tantalizing hope; he had been accepted, trusted, believed by Arthur. Maybe… just maybe this would change everything. 

And yet, standing within the neolithic stone circle in broad daylight, where the negotiations of the past had nearly always been held under the moon, Merlin felt like it had all been some surreal dream. How could it not be? Freya, the first sorceress in England bonded with a dragon since the Purge, stood across the clearing in conversation with two Druid representatives. Iseldir, Mordred, Gaius, and many other familiar faces were there in conversation with Uther’s former general, Rodor. And Arthur . He kept his back turned, aware of Arthur approaching him where he stood at the edge of the stone circle. Arthur was here, calm and collected, surrounded by magic users. How could it be that Arthur was less rattled than him in this scenario…? Was this a trick? Where was the moment when all of this fell apart? 

“It’s not going to work.” Merlin tugged at his collar uncomfortably. He didn’t like the stiff collared button down shirt or jacket. He missed the soft scarf around his neck and his own worn t-shirt and jeans. 

“Merlin.” Arthur stopped within arm’s reach to watch him. Merlin’s face was set in a frown as he paced a couple steps and stretched out a hand to touch another of the rocks. His heart was in his throat. He could feel dozens of other magic signatures in the air around him, unfamiliar ones, energetic ones thrumming nearby, leaving him tense, wary. Why was it that even here, surrounded by other magic users he still couldn’t feel safe? 

“Even with an alliance between the Druids and Mithian’s coalition, we still have to handle the terror attacks in Southern England, find Morgause and keep her from attacking us again, and find all her allies.” His fingers were tapping restlessly at the stone as he mentally checked the protections ringing the stone circle. “Even then, the elections could go to another party. People will stand against this. They might not be ready—” 

“ Merlin. ” He stopped and looked up. He could feel the chilly air against the back of his neck, the tension in the air that warned of rain, and the cool of the overcast day. It was beautiful in Cumbria, cool and cloudy, but little rays of sunshine peered through the cloud cover here and there, dancing across the lush green of the sprawling field of grass. Merlin shook his head again, despite Arthur’s insistent prompting. He couldn’t turn around. The presence of other sorcerers’ magic was overwhelming. Arthur shouldered him lightly as he followed Merlin’s gaze out over the grassy field. “Take a breath,” Arthur advised. Merlin blinked and straightened a little, drawing a long breath in. “It might work out,” Arthur suggested after a moment. “Mithian’s coalition has the support of several sizable parties. They’ve got a good structure and a well thought out plan to rebuild. That will inspire confidence in people. There are a lot of reasons for this to go well.” Merlin swallowed. 

“What if it doesn’t?” 

“Then we regroup and decide our next move.” Arthur lifted his shoulders. “They’re talking. We’re all talking now. It’s a move in the right direction. For now, we take it one step at a time.” Merlin swallowed down another breath past the lump in his throat and looked up sidelong at Arthur. Both groups had withdrawn to their own contingent to consult. Things had gone well. Almost too well. It made him worried that something was coming—like this was the calm before a terrible storm. As Merlin turned, Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and steered him about towards the inside of the circle. “Look.” He tilted his head towards the other occupants. 

Merlin watched in mute disbelief. Every moment of it was beyond anything he had imagined when he first set foot in London. Above all, Arthur’s steadiness in the face of it left him floored as he stared out at the gathering, representatives of the two worlds from which he and Arthur were born. He had helped make this possible. Could it be that Kilgharrah had been right all along? Arthur had accepted him, had brought people together, brought the possibility of peace. General Rodor, a former subsidiary of Uther’s, stood unarmed and calm, ready to welcome magic into the country free and legal. His daughter was at his side. Mithian Rodor, quietly grieving the loss of Gwaine like the rest of them, still held herself with the regal grace and self assurance of a woman twice her years. With her were members of the Coalition of five different political parties. 

“I see your girlfriend’s here.” Arthur had a slight smile on his face. The mere fact Arthur was joking about that still floored Merlin. Freya, England’s first Dragonlady, was indeed there, part of the Druids’ contingent in place of Balinor, too ill to travel. She represented the dragons and their bonds with sorcerers. Aithusa stayed close beside her, shy and inquisitive, and beside her as well was Iseldir, accompanied by Mordred Witega, last of his family. He was more subdued than Merlin was accustomed to seeing him, despite the assurance that there were no hard feelings for the mishap with Morgana and Arthur.

“She’s not… exactly my girlfriend,” Merlin answered slowly, distracted. He and Freya had never gotten the chance to talk about what they were, as hard as he’d fallen for her. 

“No… you’re right.” Arthur was smiling, watching her cross the grass with the little dragon beside her. “She might be out of your league.” Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but the retort died on his lips. 

“What are they doing…?” he breathed. The Druid representatives were moving.Mithain and her colleagues of the other parties were, at Iseldir’s direction, stepping into the rectangular sanctum at the center, marked off by another set of stones. 

“You tell me, Emrys.” There was a touch of amusement in Arthur’s voice. Avianna Liu was the first to step between the stones with her, an older woman, her jet black hair streaked with gray, meeting Mithian there and extending a hand. Behind her, willowy red-haired Finna Béacenstán followed. 

“That’s not… my name is still Merlin.” He glanced back at Arthur, brows drawn together. 

“They all call you Emrys here.” 

“Wasn’t my idea,” Merlin argued. The speed with which Arthur was adapting shocked him. It had been Mordred who called him that first, Mordred, last of his family of seers and prophets, then Kilgharrah, then the rest of the Druids. He hadn’t ever thought to hear that name come from Arthur’s mouth. 

“I think they’re ready.” Arthur interrupted his thoughts. He was watching as Iseldir stepped into the sanctum, leading Mordred with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Emrys.” Merlin’s breath caught. As if on cue, the tallest of the Druids—Aglain—a dark-skinned, broad-shouldered warlock nearly half a foot taller than Merlin, had approached them. “We’re ready for you.” Merlin was rooted in place, staring at Aglain. 

“Merlin.” Arthur prompted. His given name caught his attention. He’d been called Emrys more than Merlin today. It made him uncomfortable. He swallowed, frozen. 

“You as well, Pendragon,” Aglain added. General Rodor had stepped into the sanctum. The two factions were standing across from each other, and the body language spoke of ease. Merlin felt like he’d forgotten to breathe, until Arthur’s hand settled on his shoulder. 

“We’re coming,” Arthur said. Merlin managed a weak nod. “Merlin.” Arthur’s voice coaxed him again. He kept the hand at Merlin’s shoulder and propelled them both gently forward when he made no sign of moving. Merlin’s feet obeyed as if of their own accord. 

“Arthur—” He started with a weak voice. 

“No more what ifs.” Arthur squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s go.” Merlin felt weak at the knees as he let Arthur steer him towards the sanctum. Aglain crossed the boundary between two stones first. There were more than a dozen pairs of eyes watching as Merlin hesitated just outside. He felt like he might be sick. What if the answer wasn’t what they’d worked for? What if they had questions about what he’d done—the dragon, defending Uther for a moment’s madness, his many failures…? Would they interrogate him for killing Nimueh? “Merlin.” Arthur was at his shoulder. He looked up, trying to fight down the panicky fluttering of his heart. “Together, right?” Arthur reminded him. His brows were drawn together in a worried frown. Merlin hesitated the barest second, then nodded, and stepped between the boundary stones into the sanctum with Arthur at his side. 

He felt the energy around him instantly, the warm and familiar presence of Iseldir’s magic mingling with the signatures of Finna, Avianna, and Aglain, among others. Just beyond the stones, he could see other familiar faces watching: Freya, sending him an encouraging smile as Aithusa wound around her legs and Gaius, beside her. People who believed in him and trusted him to set things right. Something was prickling under his skin, right under the surface of the powerful magical energy he could feel around him—perhaps his own anxiety, gnawing deep inside his mind. How could he live up to their faith in him? 

“Emrys. It is an honor to have you here with us.” Avianna greeted him with an extended hand that he took, feeling his stomach twist. “We have reached an agreement. We would like to extend our gratitude to you.” She turned to offer her hand to Arthur as well. “And yourself, Arthur Pendragon, for your public statements and your efforts in bringing us together today.” 

“You have paid a heavy price to make this possible,” Aglain added, looking from Merlin to Mithian, who was sober-faced but steady. 

“On behalf of our coalition,” she began, “I would like to welcome the Druids into our government as representatives of their own constituency, in the interest of establishing a new administration that accurately represents the needs of all of this country’s peoples. We have a long road to atoning for the wrongs done, but our first steps will include the offer of amnesty to all magic users, decriminalization of the use of sorcery, and a place in the government as part of the lawmaking process that should represent and protect the interests of everyone.” Behind Merlin, Arthur’s hand had returned to his shoulder. His throat was closing. It felt so tight it hurt. Amnesty… decriminalization… He heard Mithian continue in a haze. His heart was beating a painful rhythm against his breastbone. Somewhere in her words, he was aware of the broad strokes: establishing a new government, drafting and instituting new laws that included magic, that protected users’ liberty while prohibiting license to harm others by means of sorcery… honoring as a human right the rights of sorcerers to implement their abilities freely without inhibiting the freedoms of others. His eyes fixed on Freya past the stones, on Gaius, both of them wearing smiles of warmth and pride. There would be a new election; seats would be kept in the parliament for members of a party representing magic users and their interests… We’re going to be free… Could Arthur have been right—things might turn out? 

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice was close to his ear. He shook his head, unable to force a word out through his throat. Arthur’s fingers dug into his shoulder so hard it almost hurt. He made a faint sound. What had he missed? Everyone had stopped speaking, and there was a confusing tension in the others around him.  

“Mordred.” Iseldir’s voice cut through the silence Merlin hadn’t even realized had fallen. Mordred was no longer standing at Iseldir’s side. He had stepped into the space between them, and something wasn’t right about the way his eyes fixed on Merlin. 

“Emrys.” Merlin blinked and looked back at him, and before he could open his mouth, clear his throat and try to answer the teenager, to ask what he was doing, Mordred extended a hand and grasped his wrist.

Merlin felt the pull at his core, blinked, and the scene around him vanished, pulled into a dizzying swirl of deep black. Mordred’s grip on his wrist was gone all at once. Merlin’s feet were on firm ground again, and he stumbled a step. Behind him, Arthur’s hand caught on his arm, and he steadied himself. He hadn’t known Mordred could teleport. He knew that Iseldir and Morgause could, taxing though it was. Freya could, with Aithusa’s help. Beyond that… Mordred was young to have mastered such a skill. And why would he have taken them away from the negotiations? 

“What the hell…?” Arthur put his thoughts somewhat more concisely, still standing close by Merlin’s shoulder. Wherever they were, it was also close to sunset, and the lighting was dim. Merlin turned his hand over, lighting a mage-light. Arthur’s sharp intake of breath turned his head briefly. Arthur was staring at the blue sphere. “That was you?” 

“Where are we?” Merlin asked, turning his head sharply. He didn’t have time to discuss the blue sphere. He knew Arthur recognized it. He hadn’t exactly laid out all the details of what he’d done for Arthur. 

“Where’s Mordred?” Arthur countered as the mage light pulsed brighter and began to illuminate their surroundings. They were standing in a small clearing, surrounded by trees. Merlin turned warily and lifted his other hand as Mordred stepped out from the shadows close to them.  “Mordred, what is this….?” Arthur demanded. Merlin backed up a step, shielding Arthur with his body as he extended his hand towards Mordred, palm out in silent warning. The teenager blinked back at him, and Merlin felt his stomach drop. The hollow look told him everything he needed to know. The signatures of the many other Druids around him had clouded his judgment. He should have trusted his gut, trusted that there was something wrong. It wasn’t Mordred behind those eyes. His eyes flashed as he used an impulse of magic to drive Mordred back and pin him to the trunk of a tree, winding powerful binding forces around him. “Merlin, what—?” Arthur started forward as Mordred let out a cry and started to squirm against Merlin’s restraints.  Merlin shook his head sharply. 

“Arthur, he’s possessed,” he warned in a low voice. “Stay away from him. He’s dangerous.” Possession. Gaius had said it was forbidden among the Druids. It wasn’t the Druids who had done this. Merlin knew even before he felt the warning shiver of her magic signature.  

“Merlin Emrys.” A voice spoke his name from the shadows of the trees. Merlin turned, keeping himself between Arthur and the newcomer. 

“Morgause, it’s over. The Druids have made their decision,” he said. His eyes darted to the shadows behind her where he could sense Morgana’s presence as well. Arthur’s hand touched his shoulder again.

“Where are the others?” he breathed. Merlin shook his head. 

“You took everything from me.” Morgause’s eyes were cold, fixed on him, and he felt a sickening chill under them.

“Took what? The agreements are being made right now. We’re going to be free.” 

“You think those treaties work? Did you hear nothing of the lies and deceit Uther practiced to draw us out of hiding?” 

“This is different.” 

“How? You think Uther’s pet general won’t turn and stab you on the back?” 

“I wouldn’t let that happen. Arthur wouldn’t.” 

“Won’t you?” She curled her lip. “How well have you been able to protect others thus far?” Merlin’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t… would he even be able to shield Arthur right now? 

“Rodor hasn’t been killing innocents,” Arthur responded for him in a clipped tone. 

“He may bide his time. Uther was a patient man too,” she said. Merlin set his jaw. 

“Uther is gone.” Merlin spoke through gritted teeth. There was no reasoning with her. This had to stop. “Neither Arthur nor General Rodor are the same. You will not be the judge in this. These talks are a movement of the people. It’s not your place to stop them. I haven’t taken anything from you or set out to hurt you. All I’ve done is try to stop you from harming more innocent people.”  

“Arthur Pendragon is no innocent .” She sneered. 

“Neither are you. A person doesn’t have to be perfectly innocent to deserve to live and learn,” Merlin said tersely. “You of all people should know that, Anna Cornwall.” He saw Morgause’s eyes flash as she tensed. 

“That is not my name,” she snarled. 

“Call yourself what you like. Changing your name won’t erase what you did.” He felt the intent shiver through the air before Morgause lashed out with a telekinetic impulse of force. Merlin threw out a hand, and the force of her spell deflected off the rippling energy between them. “Arthur, stand back,” he warned quietly. There were three sorcerers in the clearing and there was little Arthur could do against them. Merlin knew how powerful every one of them was, Mordred untested but strong, Morgana and Morgause both highly capable, one a little more experienced. He didn’t know how he would protect both himself and Arthur against them, but he had to try. Freya… Freya, I need you! She could get them away, if… if he could somehow reach her and help her find them first. But no one responded. Freya, Aithusa, Kilgharrah, Balinor, Iseldir all felt far, far out of reach. Where had Morgause taken them? 

“You can’t protect him here. Not alone.” Morgause’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t do this,” he said quietly. Behind him, the soft roll of thunder punctuated his words. 

“Are you going to stop me, Emrys?” she sneered. 

“I hear it’s my destiny,” he responded dryly.

“Your destiny was to bring peace to us,” Morgause snarled. “And you led us back into the hands of the people who would destroy us.” Around them, the trees of the clearing burst into flame. Merlin stretched out a hand behind him to locate Arthur, close at his shoulder still and try to throw up some protection around him, shielding him from the fire behind them. Elemental magic, then… that he knew very well. He drew himself up, beginning to summon down a strong wind to drive the fire as he wanted, away from Arthur and himself. 

“Morgana.” Merlin threw a look over his shoulder. Arthur had retreated a step. He was looking past Morgause at the figure several steps behind her. 

“Arthur, don’t,” Merlin said. His hand stayed outstretched, energy crackling from his fingers as the clouds gathered overhead. He wasn’t sure any appeal was going to help at the moment.

“What have you done with him?” Morgana’s voice was sharp. She wasn’t looking at Arthur. “Let him go!”

“It wasn’t us.” Arthur took a step away from Mordred, still pinned against a tree, giving Morgana a wide-eyed look of distress. “Morgause used him to bring us here. Morgana, please don’t do this…” Arthur’s words seemed unheeded. Morgana had stepped up a little closer, and her face was impassive. Merlin tensed. “I’ve been trying. I swear. We only want to bring peace—to make things right.” 

“Let him go!” Morgana shouted as she started forward, moving towards Mordred. Merlin moved rapidly as he felt the flash of warning. He blocked her attempts to neutralize his spell trapping Mordred and fumbled to get control of his first spell. He could feel his hold on Mordred slip fleetingly.

“Morgana, I would never hurt him!” Arthur was shouting over the roar of the growing flames. 

“ You would bring us into the open to betray us,” Morgause spat, her eyes flashing as she turned on Arthur. 

“Stay back,” Merlin warned, his voice low. The clouds were gathering gray and heavy above his head, and a soft rumble of thunder rolled again in the distance. He could feel them drawing down, bringing the storm he wanted, but he didn’t know how long he could maintain his attention on all three fronts. Mordred was fighting him from nearby, wrapped in protection from the fire but held in place, Arthur was shielded, and he could feel Morgana and Morgause both ready to lunge forward. 

“Or what?” Morgause laughed.  

“You want to find out?” he asked. His fingers curled, and the blue mage light in his hand vanished. Instead, above them, the clouds swirled ominously, gorged with heavy rain, and lit up with flickering blue lightning. 

“Morgana.” Morgause’s voice drew Morgana’s attention. She stepped closer to her sister, but there was a tension in her form, and she was distracted, her eyes fixed on a point beyond Merlin. Mordred, thrashing, crying out. She was distracted. Merlin didn’t wait. 

“Arthur, get back,” he snapped. Arthur took a step away from him, just in time as he pulled the winds down to whip around him in a cyclone. The roar of the fire in the trees rose higher into the sky. Morgause laughed. 

“Yes, let’s see what you can do, Emrys, ” she sneered. A whiplash of the flames from around them curled around Merlin, and he closed his eyes for a heartbeat, drawing it away from his body and into the whipping winds about him.

“Merlin!” Arthur was shouting behind him. He threw up a shimmering shield behind him to wall Arthur off, and his eyes opened as he sent the fire licking back towards Morgause. She warded it off just as easily, but the distraction was enough. He felt his spell wrapped around Mordred break between Mordred’s struggles and Morgana’s help. Merlin turned his head just briefly, long enough to see the boy drop to the ground and stumble. 

“Mordred!” Morgana was running towards him. The lapse in his attention was too long. He didn’t turn in time as Morgause barked out another spell. He was flung off his feet and collided hard with the ground close to the trees. 

The air was driven from his lungs. For a moment, spots danced in front of his vision. When he tried gulp air back into them, his mouth and nose were filled with smoke. A blazing branch dropped from above onto him. He coughed, rolling to all fours and away from it as his lungs spasmed, desperate for air, and the heat around him was unbearable, searing at his skin. He didn’t even have enough breath to utter a curse, finding the fire licking around his sleeve. He staggered to his feet, scrambling to tear his jacket off a second later and leave it burning on the ground behind him. He was hardly on his feet in time to throw out a hand and block another barrage of flames from Morgause, pursuing him across the clearing. 

“No!” He could hear Morgana’s shriek across the clearing. He didn’t have time to check on what she was looking at. He set his jaw and turned on Morgause, meeting her blazing golden eyes. The fire, wind, and the beginnings of stinging sharp rains were whipping around him. He caught her licking tongues of fire and twisted them into a sharp spiral as he had with Nimueh. 

“Back down,” he snarled, holding them before him in an ominous, cracking cyclone. The only response he got from Morgause was a laugh. Behind him, he heard a tree groaning, and stepped sideways, using a little burst of energy to push it far enough the flaming branches didn’t catch him as Morgause brought it crashing down beside him. 

Merlin squinted against the shreds of burning debris that lit on his clothes and hair. The fire and wind around him stretched to whip around him and Morgause in a tight circle, walling them off from the others. He couldn’t harness Morgana and Mordred at the same time. He could only trust and hope Gwaine had been right, that Morgana would hear Arthur.  She won’t hurt Arthur. She doesn’t want to hurt Arthur. Was it a mistake to rely on that? He took a step closer to Morgause, curling one hand into a fist. 

“Enough,” he said. Arthur was shouting beyond him, his voice indecipherable over the roar of wind and fire. Still alive, then. He could hear Arthur and Morgana’s voices. He looked only briefly enough to see Morgana crouched beside Mordred on the ground. Arthur stood a few feet off. 

He caught Morgause’s next whipping lash of fire drawn from the wall about them and flicked it back at her as the thunder clapped overhead, reverberating deep in his chest. The next flashes of lightning flashed down from the clouds, and Morgause crumpled before him as he dropped the wall of flames whipping about them. 

She was only temporarily shocked. Merlin stretched out a hand as he crossed the grass to stand above Morgause, pinning her with the same silent binding he’d used for Mordred. Morgause’s eyes opened, still burning golden, ineffectual as it was. He kept the fire she was trying to summon harnessed at the edges of the clearing. 

“Do it,” she snarled. Her words were sharp. He froze, keeping Morgause pinned. Was she that resigned, so quickly? Was she asking him to kill her? He was sickeningly certain he had killed before, both Nimueh and likely the people who came after him and Arthur and Gwaine on the last failed trip to meet for negotiations. But it was never something he wanted, Both occasions had been in the heat of a fight, in fear and self defense or protection of another. He’d never taken a life like this, looking into the eyes of the other person. He took a breath, trying to steel himself. She had earned this, hadn’t she? He remembered the invisible wires wrapped around his chest as he tried to rescue Lance, as he realized the empty look behind Lance’s eyes and what she’d done to him. He reminded himself of Morgana, bright eyed and eager, passionate, whose energy and fierce sense of justice had been twisted in Morgause’s hands. Morgause had done so much harm. If he could end her life, perhaps it would free Lance from his possession, free Mordred, protect Morgana, save Arthur, guard the negotiations against further interference… Could it be that this was justifiable? His fingers trembled as he held them over her chest. “Mordred, do it!” Morgause’s voice rose. What ? He couldn’t feel any warning from Mordred’s magic signature, nor Morgana’s. 

“Mordred, no!” Morgana was shouting. Merlin’s eyes snapped up to fix on Morgana’s horrified expression. “Merlin, behind you!” She was staggering up off the ground, trying to move towards him. Then the air was punched from Merlin’s lungs. He dropped to his knees, catching himself on one hand, and his other arm wrapped around his midriff. His spell holding Morgause fell away like loose ropes. Why couldn’t he breathe ? He tried to raise his head and came face to face with Mordred. The boy was frozen in place, staring at him–unnaturally still, as if he were being held by magic again. Merlin’s ears started to roar with a sound like rushing water. 

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice came to him as though he were submerged. Merlin blinked. Everything seemed to be moving slower around him. He felt the jolt of shock through his body, trying to keep himself upright with his hands in the grass. 

“What did you do? What did you do to him?” Morgana was screaming. “Mordred… Mordred stop! No!” Morgause extended a hand, her eyes lighting golden, but this time, Morgana stepped between them, her hand thrown out so a shield rippled to life, blocking both Morgause and Mordred from them. Merlin crouched breathless in the grass. His side felt like it was burning white-hot. He closed his eyes.  

“Morgana!” Morgause screamed her name. 

“Let him go!” Morgana’s voice was strong. She was closer now. He slowly opened his eyes. 

“Morgana, think about what you’re doing.” Morgause was glaring at Morgana through the translucent shield. Merlin dug at the grass with his fingers, gritted his teeth as he pulled his knees up under him, then got one foot on the ground. The pain and heat had eased. He had to get up again, to end this. “Mordred is our ally,” Morgause insisted. “We needed his help.”

“He’s a child!” Morgana’s voice broke. “Look what you’ve done to him!” Merlin’s free hand shifted to his side. Something warm and wet was soaking his shirt there. “Merlin, stay still,” Morgana said. There was a tremor in her voice. Why was she talking to him…? Was she on their side now? Could he trust her? Morgana darted a look at him, and her eyes were wide and frightened. He gathered himself, and straightened up on one knee, and fingers pressed to the grass, steadying himself as the ground seemed to sway under him. 

“I did what was necessary.” Morgause’s voice was nearly lost in the deafening clap of thunder. Beneath Merlin’s fingers, the ground began to shake, and lighting flashed down from the sky. 

“You used him!” Morgana’s words were scarcely past her lips when she dropped her shield. She lashed out with a plume of fire in the same moment that Merlin gathered himself. Morgause raised a hand to defend herself. It did little. The ground trembled under Merlin’s fingers as his eyes lit. Morgana’s fire met with a maelstrom of forking lighting that flashed down from the sky. For a heartbeat, the spot where Morgause stood was a blaze of blinding light. Thunder shattered the sky above them again, earsplitting, making the whole clearing shake. Then the flames cleared, and where Morgause had stood, the grass was burned and blackened. 

Morgana dropped to her knees with a sob. Merlin couldn’t see Morgause. Perhaps she’d left… or was she lying in the grass…? Had he killed her? He hadn’t noticed Arthur crossing the clearing, but suddenly Arthur was there, right next to him. He was gripping Mordred by the shoulders. 

“Modred… Mordred, look at me.” Mordred was standing stock still beside Merlin. Arthur’s fingers encircled his wrist, and something tumbled from his nerveless fingers into the grass. Merlin blinked down at the knife stained with blood. Morgana was folded double in the grass, clinging to it with both hands. 

“Mordred…?” Merlin looked up at him and found a pair of wide, shocked eyes staring back at him. There was blood. A lot of blood. On Mordred’s hand, on the knife, in the grass beside him. “Is someone hurt…?” he asked. “Are you alright?” Neither Mordred nor Arthur answered. The world spun about Merlin. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was staring up at the sky. Drops of rain started to spatter his face. 

“Merlin…?” Someone was beside him—Arthur, gripping his arm. “Merlin. You’re hurt, you idiot. Oh my god… Mordred, I need… give me something. We have to stop the bleeding. Stay with me. Merlin, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. It’s over. She’s gone.” Arthur was pressing something to his side. He let out a strangled cry. 

“Emrys. I didn’t want to do it. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry!” Mordred’s voice was frantic. Merlin fumbled for the hands at his side, too weak to stop the painful pressure there. 

“Merlin… Jesus. It’s alright.” Arthur pushed his hands away. “Just hang on. I have to put pressure on it. I’m so sorry.” Merlin’s vision swam out of focus for a moment.

“Is he going to die?” Mordred’s voice.  

“He’s not going to die. Morgana!” He heard the call as though the voice came to him through ears that were filled with water. “Morgana, please , I need your help.” He closed his eyes against the rippling black at the edges of his vision. 

When he opened them again, the thunder had stopped, and all that was left was the light downpour, bringing with it a fresh, clean smell as it doused the remaining flames: a soft, sweet drizzle, cool and gentle. Merlin’s side had stopped hurting, and all he felt were the misty drops on his face. 

“I think… I think I’ve got someone,” Morgana’s voice was saying. “Hang on. Just… just hang on.” 

“Merlin, come on.” A hand was touching his cheek, turning his head. He blinked and squinted up at the face hovering over him.“Don’t do that. Stay with us.” 

“Arthur,” he managed the word forced through his chest which seemed unable to move except in tiny, fluttering breaths. Arthur’s face swam into view above him. The pain twinged back through his rib. He felt like he was free-falling, floating, unanchored. His fingers scrabbled for Arthur’s arm. “Just…” he forced the words out. “Just… Just hold me. Please.” 

“Merlin. Easy… I’ve got you. Lie still. We need to get you help. It’ll be alright. Morgana is helping. Mordred’s back. You’ll be alright. You just have to hang on.” Arthur’s voice was shaking. 

“It’s okay.” He let his eyes drift shut. Arthur’s hand was on his chest. He covered it with one of his own. “S’okay…. It’s over.” 

“No. No, no. It’s not over. We’re not done. Merlin, stay with me. Don’t give up. Merlin!” 

“Help is coming. Keep the pressure on.” Mordred’s voice, shaking. Merlin managed a small breath, inhaling the rich, earthy smell of the summer rain, and the voices were fading out into a soft ringing, accompanied by the patter of the raindrops. 

“Arthur…” the name was slurred. It’s okay… His next words didn’t make it past his lips. His eyes slipped shut. He was too tired. It was okay to close them. It was okay. They had won. Morgana had broken free. Mordred was back. Arthur was safe. 

It was over. 

Chapter Text

He cut a sorry figure, crouching in the slushy street and scrambling to pick up all his papers. Gwen waited for a second until Arthur and his two goons were a safe distance away, then jogged over and picked up one of the boy’s books, brushing the dirty snow off it. 

“Are you alright…?” A pair of slate-blue eyes turned up at her under a fringe of messy black hair. 

“Yeah. Er… thanks.” He accepted the book from her and tucked it into his backpack. 

“You’re Merlin, aren’t you? Gauis’ nephew.” She hastily gathered a few more papers as the boy retrieved some by his feet, trying to shake the wet slush from them. 

“That’s me.” He smiled a little and got to his feet, accepting her handful of damp papers. “But most people just call me ‘idiot’.” She laughed and shook her head.
“Don’t listen to Arthur and his posse.” She extended a hand. “I’m Guinevere, but everyone calls me Gwen.” She hesitated as he took her hand. “I saw what you did yesterday. I thought it was really brave.” 

“It was stupid,” Merlin said with a shrug. 

“Not stupid.” She disagreed instantly. “Arthur’s a bully. Everyone thought you were brave, standing up to him.” Merlin smiled a little. 

“Didn’t amount to much, but thanks.” 

“Well, I’m glad it didn’t really come to blows,” Gwen said. “You weren’t going to beat him.” The boy looked a little affronted, and his expression almost made her laugh. 

“Oh, I could beat him,” he said. Gwen raised an eyebrow.

“You could?” She tilted her head slightly. What was it with boys and needing to ‘win’ fights? “Because you don’t look like one of those big muscly fellows.”

“Er... thanks?” Merlin frowned.

“No, no, I mean... I’m sure you’re stronger than you look.” Gwen backtracked quickly. “It’s just... Arthur’s one of those rough, tough save-the-world kind of guys. And you...” Gwen’s face flushed at Merlin’s quizzical expression. “Well... you don’t look like that,” she finished, lifting her shoulders. Arthur was a different build. The athlete type; the jock. Merlin… he didn’t look weak, but… to her surprise, Merlin broke into a smile. He leaned forward, the smile still bright in his eyes though he assumed a supremely solemn lock.  

“I’m in disguise.” 

She’d been as blind as Arthur. In nearly a decade of friendship, it had never occurred to Gwen that those words were anything more than a joke. Merlin had left for the negotiations as her childhood friend, classmate, and confidante. He had returned with Arthur, both of them a little battered but intact, and suddenly Merlin returned with a new name and title; Emrys, powerful sorcerer and warlock. Merlin’s name and identity along with Arthur’s new alliance broke on the news like a dam. 

Arthur Pendragon Allies with a Sorcerer 

Uther’s Legacy Lost: Arthur Pendragon Calls for Amnesty

Who is Merlin Emrys? The Druidic Legend

The headlines turned out not to be the biggest shock that rocked her world that week. The mystique, the excitement, the hopes, and Merlin’s legendary name had melted away when the negotiations ended in uproar. She doubted if she’d ever be able to shake from her mind the image of Arthur, coming back in a bloodstained shirt with a haunted look in his eyes. He’d hardly spoken, and neither of them had slept that night. 

Gwen stirred awake, catching herself with a hand on Arthur’s knee as her head lolled forward off his shoulder. The room around her was quiet. The TV screen, still flickering in a corner, had been muted, and only two of the other occupants who had been sitting with them remained. Arthur was snoring softly, slid down in the chair with his lips parted and legs stretched out before him, dead to the world. He’d been so quiet since returned. The lost look he bore since the negotiations hadn’t changed for over a day.

She gently adjusted Arthur’s hoodie behind his head like a pillow and brushed his hair back, listening to the peace in the room for a moment.  It was good to see him rest, even if out of exhaustion rather than choice. In the wake of the disaster that followed the negotiations, they had both felt as if the world should’ve stopped turning. Nothing could possibly feel okay after that. Yet the rest of the world had moved on, subdued and shocked but determined. Even as Rodor moved against the attacks across England from Cenred, Mithian and her Coalition got the wheels turning in government. Election plans were underway, but had called a special Joint session to act on their decisions. Both the New Liberals and General Rodor moved with their new Druid contingents in lock-step, helping to neutralize the attacks as well as working rapidly to build legislation for their plans. Rumor was that Morgause’s alliance was falling apart, and the Druid contingents who had supported Cenred along with her had fled. 

Her shoulders and neck felt tense from sleeping in a strange position. She rubbed her eyes, taking a deep breath that made her ribs ache and leaned her head against the side of Arthur’s again, closing her eyes as she listened to the murmur of voices at reception and down the hall, the footsteps nearby, the soft whoosh of doors opening and closing. 

Something tickled her nose. She huffed faintly and opened her eyes. One of the frayed ends of the strings on Arthur’s hoodie was brushing her face. She pushed it away and blinked as it shimmied its way back up and tickled her nose again. 

“Mmmmph…” She put a hand on Arthur’s chest and sat up halfway, rubbing her nose with one hand. The string arched up like a snake rearing its head, and she stared. She’d been missing too much sleep, clearly. “Arthur,” she said over a yawn, tapping his chest. The string dropped, then Arthur’s hood tugged itself down over his face, and Arthur startled awake with a grunt, tugging at the fabric to free himself. She looked up abruptly and nearly toppled out of her chair in her rush to get to her feet.

Behind her, Arthur was blinking owlishly in the light of the waiting room as he pulled the hood down off his tousled blond hair. 

“Wha–?” he blinked and pulled his head back as one of the strings flicked itself across his face and started batting at it with a baffled look as if it were a fly. Gwen stared at him for the barest second before turning her head as a half-hysterical laugh burst out of her.   

“You’re up!” The smile she got in return was enough to make the aches worth it. Visitors had been very limited post operation, and he’d been laid out in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask. It was a welcome change, seeing Merlin awake, alert, and out of a hospital bed at last. He was still dressed in a loose shirt covering the bandages around his torso. 

“As up as I’m allowed to be. I can walk,” Merlin complained, tipping his head to look up at Hunith who had stopped the wheelchair just inside the waiting room. 

“You can and you won’t,” Hunith said, brushing his hair back off his forehead. 

“Can I…?” Gwen stopped beside the chair, biting her lip. He reached up for her and she gave him a ginger hug as he put an arm around her. 

“How are you feeling?” Gwen asked. 

“Like I got stabbed in the back.” Merlin grinned up at her as Arthur reached them, rolling his eyes. 

“Apparently your terrible sense of humor is intact,” he said. Hunith’s expression suggested she didn’t find the comment any funnier than Arthur or Gwen. 

“He’s all intact.” Another figure stepped through the doors behind Hunith. Gwen reluctantly let go of Merlin to step past the chair. 

“Should you be back at work?” She leaned over to give Lance the squeeze hug she couldn’t give Merlin yet. 

“Nowhere I’d rather be. I’m here by request,” he answered, putting an arm around her shoulders to give her a squeeze in return. “Had to look after this one,” he added with a nod at Merlin. “You’ll need a couple follow ups, and you should take the painkillers. Don’t try to be a hero. But some antibiotics and down time should set things right.” 

“Good to see you again, Lance.” Arthur reached over Merlin’s head to take his hand. 

“Good to be back in my own head.” Lance patted Merlin’s shoulder once he let go. “Just do me a favor and make sure he takes it easy. I don’t want to see him back here needing new stitches.” 

“He’s given us all enough ulcers for a lifetime,” Arthur agreed, putting a hand on the arm of the wheelchair with a frown. Merlin tipped his head back to look up at Arthur with a bright grin. 

“Were you worried about me?” he asked. Gwen raised an eyebrow. 

“How much did you give him?” she asked, earning a laugh from Lance. Arthur pulled a face.

“No. I’m very comfortable with my friends bleeding out in my arms,” he said dryly. 

“Arthur.” Gwen gave him a reproachful look as the smile faded from Merlin’s face. 

“Too soon for jokes?” Merlin raised an eyebrow. 

“Too soon,” Arthur agreed without an ounce of real annoyance, rolling his eyes as he stepped back to retrieve something he’d left on the chair where he’d been asleep just minutes before. There was the hint of a smile behind the expression nonetheless.

“Ready to go?” she asked Merlin. 

“Ready to get out of here. No offense.” Merlin looked back at Lance who shrugged. 

“The goal was to get you out of here,” he said. Arthur had stepped past Gwen, though, dropping something into Merlin’s lap. 

“Thought you might be missing this.” There was a pause, then Merlin took the soft blue fabric from him, looking a little shocked as he unrolled the scarf. “You always had your fingers tangled in that damn thing whenever anyone talked about magic. Since you lost yours, figured I’d get you another.” Arthur tucked one hand into his pocket and shrugged. Merlin was stretching the blue scarf between his hands in quiet bewilderment. He glanced up at Arthur, and there was a moment of silence before he laughed weakly. 

“I might not need it anymore,” he said. The smile that tugged at Arthur’s lips was more noticeable this time as Merlin looped the scarf loosely around his neck. “Thanks.” 

“Let’s get you home.” Arthur stepped out of the way so Hunith could steer the chair towards the elevator. 

“How is it down there?” Hunith asked, watching Gwen hit the ground floor button. 

“Percival said it hasn’t changed much. He’s waiting to escort us to the van,” she reported.  

“What’s… down there?” Merlin gave her an apprehensive frown. Arthur’s eyes lit up with amusement. 

“Your fan club.” 

“My what ?” Merlin tried to twist around and look at him and immediately leaned back with a hiss. 

“Easy. Sit back.” Hunith patted his shoulder as he closed his eyes for a moment. Gwen shifted a step forward. She didn’t have much hope of shielding Merlin from view nonetheless. The press cluster was visible the moment the elevator doors opened, through the automatic doors to the lobby. 

“Welcome back, Merlin.” Percival was waiting with a smile as Hunith wheeled him out. “You alright?” 

“Think so…?” Merlin had his fingers buried in the soft blue scarf already. He was watching the many camera-persons outside the door with wide eyes. “What are they doing here?” he asked in a hushed tone. 

“Looking for you,” Arthur answered, putting a hand on the back of the chair. Merlin turned a baffled look on Percival.  

“They’re celebrating,” Percival said. “We all are. It didn’t feel like a complete victory until now.” 

“Come on. We’ve done this before.” Arthur tapped the arm of the chair, catching Merlin’s attention and tearing his eyes from the people outside. “You know how to deal with the press.” 

“Yeah, when they were there for you, ” Merlin retorted. Arthur grinned and fell in next to Percival, reaching for Gwen’s hand as Hunith steered Merlin towards the doors. 

“Welcome to the club, Merlin.” 

Home had stopped being a place for them a while ago. In the last months they’d left their Oxford flat behind with most of their belongings. For Merlin—even for Arthur by now—home was where their people had gathered. And somehow, against all odds, that had become the Druid refuge. 

The Dartmoor neighborhood had come alive. No longer were the faces peering at him from behind curtains or hedges, watching warily half out of sigh. People came out of their houses into the open to watch as they arrived. Arthur felt the open stares, the wide eyed curiosity, but perhaps more than anything else, the familiarity at this point—faces and voices he knew as he stepped out of the van. One absence, however, was keenly felt. He’d never arrived at Dartmoor without a head of curly black hair and lively blue eyes greeting him, usually at the car as he pulled up. He was scanning the faces as he got out, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. 

“Merlin!” Freya was the first to reach them, breathless and bright-eyed. She reached for Merlin’s arm as Hunith and Arthur helped him out. “They’re voting. Right now, they’re streaming it inside!” Arthur stepped aside to let her take Merlin’s arm as Gwen climbed out of the van behind him. Gwen caught at his elbow with a sharp intake of breath. Aithusa had landed light-footed on top of the van and was peering down at them. Arthur stretched out a hand to her, and she pushed her head into it contentedly. 

“Is that…?” Gwen trailed off, staring up at her. 

“Aithusa,” Arthur confirmed. “This is Gwen.” The dragon leaned down to greet her, brushing her nose against Gwen’s hand. “Thank you for saving him,” he added quietly. He remembered the warmth of Aithusa’s healing magic for his ribs before the Negotiations. Merlin hadn’t been quite out of the woods, but she’d arrived with Freya, in time to stop the worst from happening. Aithusa blinked at him before stretching her wings and launching herself off the van again into the air, following Merlin, Hunith, and Freya towards the house.

“Arthur Pendragon.” Arthur felt Gwen’s hand slip into his and squeeze as another familiar face approached. He squeezed Gwen’s hand back

“Brigid, this is my girlfriend, Gwen.” Brigid extended a hand which Gwen took. She was darting a look between the newcomer and Aithusa who was landing on the sidewalk to follow Merlin and Freya on foot. 

“A pleasure to meet you Gwen.” She was smiling. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Brigid smile before. He was accustomed to the guarded suspicion often in her eyes when she looked at him. “You’ve more than paid your debt, Arthur. Thank you.” 

“I didn’t do much,” Arthur answered. It was clearer every minute as he’d seen Merlin interact with the Druids, with the dragons, with Rodor and Mithian, this had never been about him or what he could do to help. He’d merely been along for the ride. “You should thank Merlin.” She shook her head slightly.  

“He wouldn’t have made it without you.” Arthur glanced after Merlin, making his way up to the house between Freya and Hunith. 

“Maybe…” He turned back to Brigid. “How is Mordred? We’d like to see him.” She hesitated, brows drawn down. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Her gaze strayed after Merlin who was leaning on Freya for support as he walked up the steps. Arthur nodded. 

“I’m sure.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Gwen watched, still looking a little overwhelmed as Brigid vanished behind the hedge of a neighboring house. 

“How many of them do you know?” Gwen asked. Arthur shook his head. 

“More than I thought.” It was perhaps just as much a shock to him as to Gwen, realizing how many friends he had among the Druids—that even as he followed Freya to her door, he knew the steps, knew the crack in her sidewalk bursting with grass and small white flowers, and the ivy growing along the side wall, all the familiar sights he’d seen as he finally recognized Merlin, the Druids, and magic for what they truly were, understood his own feelings about it. He didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. Aithusa swooping over his head to land on the steps in front of him hardly made him bat an eye. He couldn’t have pinpointed when it happened—when this place and these people had started feeling familiar… even safe. 

The house was already full of energy when Arthur and Gwen made it inside. Merlin was settled on the couch with a blanket and water bottle, and Aithusa had her head on his knee. But it was Leon who caught his eye, back on his feet and sporting a cut above his eye, extending a hand to Balinor. 

“That was you ?” Leon, formerly tasked with finding and arresting sorcerers, wore an enthusiastic smile as he clasped the dragonlord’s hand in a firm handshake 

“Myself and Doctor Leod.” Balinor tilted his head towards Iseldir nearby. 

“I’ve wanted to thank you all this time. I thought for sure I was a dead man.” 

“We’re glad to have helped.” Balinor released his hand, and Leon turned towards them. 

“Gwen, this is Merlin’s father, Balinor.” Leon waved her over as she took her shoes off by the door. 

“Lovely to meet you.” Gwen reached out a hand to greet Balinor with Hunith at his side.

“Likewise. Good to see you again as well, Arthur.” 

“Good to see you too.” Arthur smiled as he stepped past Leon to check on the man of the hour. Merlin had his eyes half closed as he leaned back on the couch. 

“Alright?” Arthur put a hand on the arm of the couch and peered down at him. Merlin opened one eye. 

“Hmm…. Yeah. Not used to my worlds colliding like this.” Arthur looked up as Percival, just in the door, was greeting Iseldir and Gaius. 

“Me neither,” he agreed. It was strange to think that Merlin’s second world had overlapped so often with his own—Iseldir, Brigid, Mordred, Gaius, and more. He’d been so blind. What Merlin kept hidden had always crept into Arthur’s life more than he realized. Now, seeing those worlds interact, there was something liberating about how free and open everyone was. Secrets were out. Everyone was relaxed. Gwaine would have loved it. He remembered Gwaine advocating for this peace and amnesty in the bar in Oxford when they first crossed paths. It was what he’d wanted—for the States and for England. The thought left him quiet, listening to the reporter on the live stream, speaking over a running tally of the votes being cast in the House of Commons. 

“Merlin… you can make little light figures?” Gwen broke the moment, turning from her conversation with Hunith towards Merlin. 

“I used to. At home with mum.” He looked shy. Hunith was smiling at him.

“He made little dragons fly about the room. It’s amazing,” she said. A little color was rising to Merlin’s cheeks. 

“You could show her,” Arthur ventured, raising an eyebrow. Merlin’s eyes widened instantly. 

“You don’t have to do anything.” Gwen was quick to interject, and Arthur felt a twinge of guilt. How long had Merlin been afraid of this part of himself, even among friends? 

“No, it’s okay.” Merlin glanced up at Gwen before his eyes flitted to the left where Arthur stood beside the couch. Despite himself, Arthur was leaning forward a little with his hand on the couch back now. 

“Come on, Merlin. It’s about to be legal, isn’t it?” Merlin huffed at him, but he turned his hand over, just above his knees, and Gwen took a little breath when his eyes flickered. 

Arthur had seen magic practiced up close a few times now—Iseldir and Aithusa’s healing, Merlin’s shields, Morgause’s flashing curses—but this was something else. It was delicate, unique, and somehow still it spoke of the power deep within its caster. A flicker of fire lit in Merlin’s palm, dancing like a natural flame on a candle and casting a warm light over his skin. Merlin took a breath, then exhaled softly over his palm and the candle-like flame stretched into a rippling sheet of light that twisted and morphed into the shape of a tiny dragon, wings spread, crouching over Merlin’s palm. It turned its head to regard them each curiously before beating its wings and taking off to soar over the heads of the room’s occupants. Gwen watched in awe, and the conversations around her stopped for a moment as Leon, Percival, Iseldir, Gaius, and Balinor all looked up at it. Freya took a careful seat beside Aithusa who was watching the flame dragon with a curious eye, head tilted.

“He showed me a dozen dancing flames on the night he learned about my magic,” she said. “I didn’t know before I met him that magic could look like that.” Gwen nodded faintly. Arthur hardly noticed. The dragon had circled around, and on impulse, he stretched out a hand, palm-up. Merlin turned it towards Arthur’s palm, and it landed there light as a feather. Arthur felt a gentle warmth, as if there really were four tiny feet treading across his hand. 

“Merlin, it’s beautiful,” Gwen breathed, reaching out to touch Arthur’s hand where the figure stood. The bright smile she got in return was like nothing Arthur had ever seen on Merlin’s face. 

“It’s… it’s pretty small. I can do a lot more,” Merlin said, but despite the slightly shy response, he looked pleased. His eyes faded back to blue, and the dragon in Arthur’s palm vanished without a trace. 

“Thank you for showing me,” Gwen said quietly. He nodded hesitantly, and Freya reached over to grip his wrist. 

“Merlin, they’re finishing.” Behind them, Arthur heard the door open. Every conversation in the room had stopped, and attention had turned to the screen again. He took a breath and retreated from the couch. He knew without looking who was waiting by the door. 

“Mordred,” he greeted the newcomer. Brigid stood in the hallway, one hand placed firmly and protectively on her ward’s shoulder. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I thought I wouldn’t be welcome with you anymore.” Mordred’s eyes were fixed on the floor. 

“Of course you are. You always made me welcome.” Arthur reached out a hand, wary as he saw the tension in the teenager’s shoulders. He glanced up, and Brigid let go of Mordred with the smallest nod. He put a hand on Mordred’s arm, squeezing gently in reassurance. “You were my first encounter with magic. You advocated for me when I arrived here looking for help. I couldn’t have made the connections I did without you. You’re always welcome.” 

“You saw what I did.” Mordred shook his head. 

“ That wasn’t your fault. None of us blame you. Certainly not Merlin.” His voice was firm. The look in Morgana’s eyes had been enough to confirm that. He felt the same twist in his gut thinking about it. Morgana had fought Mordred, struggling to keep him away from the fight between Morgause and Merlin. There had been little enough he could do. He took a breath. “You were used. Morgause did the same to my friend Lance. She possessed him and sent him to trap myself and Merlin. I would never blame him, nor you for what was done under her control.” Morgause must have known that Merlin wouldn’t respond as instinctively to a knife attack the way he did to magic. He couldn’t imagine Mordred taking a knife to anyone, really, nor using magic to fling him and Morgana aside as he had. Mordred wasn’t answering. He frowned. “Mordred,” he began, but Mordred had turned abruptly as a shout went up in the room beyond them. Arthur turned, letting his hand drop, and Mordred stepped past him to the end of the hallway. 

“It passed! Arthur, the act passed!” Gwen reached for him when he followed them into the living room. Freya had Merlin’s hand in hers. Gaius was squeezing Merlin’s shoulder as the reporter on the screen spoke over footage of the House members surging out of their seats. Applause was breaking across the room on screen. Aglain and Finna, in attendance in the House, were sharing a hug. Mithian stood between two colleagues, hand-in-hand with them, tears in her eyes. The camera shot changed to one of the cheering crowd outside the house. 

“With 437 Ayes and 213 Noes, the House of Commons has delivered an overwhelming vote in favor of the Amnesty Act, pardoning all those in England sentenced for sorcery and decriminalizing its use across the country.” 

Arthur held his breath as he heard the shouts from outside the house. All around him, people were turning to one another. Brigid had met Iseldir halfway into the room, where he wrapped an arm around her. Beside them, Hunith’s eyes were fixed on the screen as she held tight to Balinor, whose face was hidden against her shoulder. Freya had leaned across Aithusa and her head was leaning against Merlin’s, both choked up. Arthur looked up and away when he caught her eye briefly. It felt like an intimate moment—one not meant for him. He looped his arm through Gwen’s, standing quiet in the flood of emotions from those around them.

“Mordred.” Merlin was the first to speak aloud, looking up from the couch. The boy stood in the middle of the room, frozen and staring in disbelief at the screen. His head turned, and he blinked, his throat working. Merlin was smiling at him. “We’re free,” he said.   

“ This decision comes only hours after Merlin Astur, called Emrys by the magical community, was released from the hospital. Merlin Emrys and Arthur Pendragon are credited with facilitating peaceful connections which allowed peace negotiations to move forward.” 

Percival, on-screen, was helping Merlin out of his wheelchair, flanked by Arthur, Hunith, and Gwen. Mordred was shaking his head.  

“ You freed us.” 

At Arthur’s side, Gwen was squeezing his arm, her head leaning against his shoulder. 

“Not alone,” Merlin said over a shaky laugh. But then, Arthur thought, which of them would have gotten through any of this alone? 

“This is the first in a series of steps to welcome magic back to England, a movement many have claimed is long overdue. England is the third country to grant full amnesty for sorcery, following bills passed in the United States of America and Sweden. Many in England are hopeful that this act, passed after decades of intermittent civil war, will bring much needed peace and stability to their country.”  

It was a start: a battle won and still a war to fight going forward. Still, the tides were turning. Arthur reached over the back of the couch to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder. 

“No funny feelings?” he asked. Merlin glanced up at him. 

“No.” Merlin’s smile in return was unreserved as he answered. “This feels right.” 

There were laws to craft, miles of red tape to untangle, and discrimination to battle. They were all battered and weary from the last round of fighting, and aching from the losses. But despite all that, Arthur felt as though a weight had been lifted from his chest. Gwaine’s sacrifice hadn’t been in vain, and all the wounds and weariness were leading to a better future. 

Maybe neither of them had believed the prophecies. Maybe he and Merlin weren’t living legends, carrying out some centuries old destiny. Maybe this would have happened without them. It didn’t matter. They had played a role, however big or small, in something worthwhile. He didn’t need any prophecies or legends to know with a deep and grounding certainty: this was right. 

Chapter Text

“Look sharp, Mordred.” The camera panned from the crowd of people moving away from the dinner tables to Leon, smiling as he passed by the cameraman. “We’re turning off the lights shortly.” 

“I’m ready.” Mordred’s voice responded from behind the camera. 

“What does he mean?” a woman’s voice asked. 

“You’ll see.” The camera turned back towards the table. People were milling around as food was cleared away and chairs were moved, making room in the center of the space for dancing. 

“Isn’t she Emrys’ mother?” Hunith was greeting Arthur as he got up. He put an arm around her, and she gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning to give Gwen a hug. 

“She’s really close with Arthur. Has been since he was young.” Mordred turned the camera slightly as chairs were moved to leave extra space in the center underneath the lights. “There’s Iseldir. You’ve met him.” 

“Only once,” she said. 

“And that’s Mithian Rodor.” He turned towards the young woman beside Iseldir, laughing at something Percival on her other side was saying. 

“You know all of them well…?” A pause followed the woman’s question. 

“Fairly well. I don’t usually see them all together like this. Not in a long time.”  

“Is that the dragon lord?” his companion suddenly brightened. 

“Balinor,” Mordred confirmed as Hunith stopped by his chair with a hand on his shoulder while Arthur and Gwen left the table. “He lived on the outskirts of our neighborhood. I used to bring him groceries. We see him a lot more since he met Merlin.” 

“Are we allowed to call Emrys that?” The woman’s voice was soft. 

“Oh, he prefers it.” The camera turned abruptly around towards the voice. “Kara, you can come meet them, you know. They don’t bite.” The young woman ducked her head and tucked a loose light-brown curl back behind her ear.

“I don’t know. They’re…” 

“Important?” Mordred shifted, and the camera angle wobbled as he reached out for her arm. “Come on. They’re all very down to earth. They’ll like you! Who wouldn’t?” 

“Mordred.” She was blushing, but laughing as she gently batted the camera away with her hand. “Maybe not now. They’re about to dance… look!” Mordred turned around. Hunith was stepping around the table to join Merlin. Just beyond him, Freya, dressed in a deep green dress, was helping Gwen to bustle her train as Lance took her drink. Gwen was laughing at Merlin beside her, who had a lively grin on his face. The camera turned back to Kara who waved him away. 

“Go!” she urged. The view wobbled a little as Mordred stepped out into the open space between tables. Freya had retreated back to Merlin’s side. 

Arthur met Gwen, taking her hands in the middle of the open space, and the lights suspended above the floor flickered out. A few hushed voices murmured. Then high above the dance floor, a myriad of tiny lights flickered to life—small flames, as if they were dancing atop a sea of candles. Beside the camera, Kara drew in a soft breath of awe. The little flames began to dance, swirling into a spiral that rotated above the floor, then they melded into one long stream of flickering flame and curled up into the sky, taking the shapes of the couple, holding one another close as they turned together in a dance. The bright outlines of the couple shimmered away into lines that formed three small dragons which circled over the dance floor then swooped down, dancing just out of reach of guests who stretched out their hands. A ripple of soft noises responded to the display, then the three dragons soared up into the air and burst in lively, colorful blooms of fireworks. 

Amid the guests, a dozen different little mage lights shimmered to life, soft yellow orbs that glowed bright until the dance floor was lit. The camera turned as the space grew bright again, and a scattering of cheers and claps responded to the display as Mordred’s camera found Merlin across the space. He was grinning a little shyly. His eyes shifted back to their usual blue, and he held his hands up, cupped underneath his mouth. He turned, opening them, and beside him Freya laughed as she accepted a deep red rose from his palms. Someone whistled playfully behind him, and Merlin’s cheeks turned red as Arthur laughed nearby. 

“Number thirty-eight.” Arthur looked up from the video on his phone screen.
“That’s me.” He grabbed the clear bag sitting beside his chair and headed for a locker to stash his phone. 

“Arthur.” The security guard gave him a smile as he passed his bag up for inspection. “How’s the wife?” 

“Busy.” He extended his arms to allow the usual checks. “She’s got a flight to Australia in two weeks.”

“More legislation?” the guard asked, peering through the bag before handing it back on the other side of the screening. 

“Always. They’re building a new set of sorcery laws. Gwen’s there to show them how it’s done.”

“Without you?” 

“This time.” He shrugged as his bag passed through the scanner. “She doesn’t need me along. She does the real work. I just write about it.” 

“I’ll look forward to your article.” The guard passed Arthur his bag. “Wish her safe travels for me.” 

“Will do. Good to see you, George.” Arthur gathered his bag and headed for the door past security. 

The visiting room was noisy some days. Today it was relatively empty, only a handful of tables already occupied by inmates and their visitors. 

“They had your favorite this time,” he said as he reached his table, passing a bottle of Fanta across it. 

“Thank god. I can’t believe they were out of that the last two times.” Morgana snagged it right away, and her eyes lit up as he spread the other snacks he’d procured out on the table. “You’re the best.” 

“I try.” He set his bag down as she enjoyed the first sip of her drink. 

“You haven’t mailed me your article on Japan yet,” Morgana pointed out, leaning back. 

“First elected sorcerer?” Arthur took the seat across from her, resting his arms on the table. “Sorry. It only got published last week. I’ll get you a copy with my next letter. Been working on the Australia updates since then,” he said. “And they’re trying to get me working on some domestic articles about local discrimination.” 

“Aren’t there other writers for that?” Morgana glanced up. Arthur shrugged. 

“Sure. But it might be a welcome change. I’ve been writing mostly on international sorcery news for a while. Might be nice to pivot. There are a lot of issues we need to iron out here at home too.” She nodded. 

“Merlin’s still helping you with those?” 

“Freya more so lately. Merlin’s been busy the last couple months working on exams and the medical licensure. He’s had a moment to breathe now he’s passed those.” He paused. “He couldn’t make it out to visit this month. Said to send his apologies.” Morgana pursed her lips. 

“Freya?” she asked as she rested her arms on the table. 

“Well…” he hesitated.

“It’s alright. I know she doesn’t like him visiting. She’s got every reason not to like me.” 

“She didn’t like me either at first,” Arthur pointed out. “She’s very protective of Merlin.”

“Someone has to be. He doesn’t protect himself enough,” Morgana commented wryly. Arthur huffed. 

“Freya’s more than up to the task. She’s formidable enough on her own, even without her horse sized dragon.” 

“She’s that big now?” 

“I’d bring you a picture, but Freya wouldn’t allow it,” he said. Social media for Aithusa was tightly controlled. “But that’s not why. It’s…” Arthur paused. “Merlin’s preparing something for her.” A little smile tugged at Morgana’s lips. 

“Is he finally going to ask?” she prompted. Arthur lifted his shoulders and made a gesture as if ‘zipping’ his lips. She snickered. “I’ll believe it when I see a ring.” 

“It’s possible he’s already got one.” Arthur grinned and she shook her head. 

“What changed?” 

“Merlin finally got a job locked down further north, where the dragons will be more comfortable. They’ll be moving in two months.” 

“That soon?” She raised an eyebrow. 

“Things just fell into place,” Arthur said. “Everyone’s moving on. Mordred got approved to start on his postgraduate training.” 

“On top of his caseload?” 

“Kid’s dedicated.” Arthur grinned. Mordred was hardly a ‘kid’ anymore, at twenty-four. He had the same demeanor he’d always had, from the day Arthur met him as a solemn eight year old, but over the years, some of the seriousness gave way a little more to that youthful excitement Arthur had seen from time to time at Dartmoor. “There aren’t a lot of Social Workers equipped to handle children with magic,” he added. “Mordred’s always busy with those cases. But he likes the work.” She smiled, leaning back again. 

“Tell them both congratulations for me.” 

“You’ll get a chance. You and Mordred still talk, right?” A brief smile crossed Morgana’s face.

“Now and then… he’s more careful these days,” she said. Poor Mordred hadn’t had the easiest start. Arthur nodded. 

“Well, Merlin said he’d call if he can’t visit before he moves.” She pursed her lips. Arthur knew the visits from Merlin were few and far between. Morgana was right. Freya still held some suspicion towards her. She’d been quick to argue against Morgana as it came to light that Arthur’s sister had helped Morgause try to remove Merlin’s magic. That history would take time and patience to overcome. 

“And yourself…?” Morgana changed the subject. “You said you had news.” Arthur grinned.

“You want to guess?” 

“You’ve developed a third brain cell?” Morgana raised an eyebrow. 

“Hilarious.” Arthur shook his head as he reached under the table for the clear bag he’d brought along. “Here. I brought something for you.” He put a leather-bound book down in front of her. Morgana raised an eyebrow. 

“Am I allowed to have that?” 

“Got it approved before I came in,” Arthur said, pushing it gently towards her. “We had a bunch of photos printed for our third anniversary. Gwen helped me put it together for you.” She reached for it, tracing her fingers along the edges. “Open it. There’s a surprise at the end,” he prompted. She looked up at him, eyebrows raised, but turned to the last page as directed. 

“You found out?” she asked as a smile spread across her face. 

“A girl.” He leaned back in his chair as Morgana looked at the sonogram image. 

“It’s starting to feel real, hm?” He tucked his arms across his chest, and she looked back up at him. “Are you ready?” 

“Ha.” He laughed weakly. “Not sure I’ll ever be. Gwen’s… she’s amazing. Even with all the planning for her Australia trip, she’s been reading baby books and making lists. I’m… mostly just trying not to panic.” The corners of Morgana’s eyes creased in amusement. 

“Arthur, you’ll be fine,” she said. He lifted his shoulders. 

“We didn’t exactly have a great role model for parenting.” 

“Lots of people don’t.” She tapped the page in front of her gently. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be a great dad. You’ve got a good example of what not to do for starters.” A smile tugged fleetingly at his lips. 

“That’s a bit of a low bar,” he said. 

“You’ll do a great job,” she insisted firmly. 

“How can you be so sure?” He pulled a face. Morgana leaned on the table, looking steadily back at him. 

“Because you care, and she’ll know it. Arthur, you’re going to make mistakes. Lots of them. But you’ll apologize and grow from them, just as you always have.” He turned his gaze on the table again and took a breath. 

“I’ll try.” 

“Of course you will.” She reached across the table to squeeze his wrist. “And if you’re in doubt, you can seek out help. It might bring up some stuff for you. Freya probably knows a few counselors taking patients. Couldn’t hurt for either of us.” 

“You think so?” He chuckled. “We’re that messed up?” 

“Without a doubt.” She grinned, and he shook his head at her. “We’ve got baggage, but I don’t mean it that way. I know what it takes to heal from the grievances we inherited. I know you’ve been working on that these past years. It might be something you come back for… a sort of checkup every now and then. Maybe it’s less about finding a cure and more an ongoing process. You keep learning the areas where you need help and acknowledging it. Going back for more counseling isn’t admitting you failed. It’s just admitting that your own need for support, and that you need to keep working on yourself.” He was quiet for a moment as she turned her gaze on the photo again. 

“There you go.” He smiled again. “You always were the smarter one of us.” Morgana shook her head. 

“For all the good that did me,” she mused. Arthur reached over to turn the pages back to the beginning. 

“Did me a lot of good,” he offered. She carried the guilt heavily, and nothing more heavily than what had happened to Mordred. He was the reason she’d turned herself in quietly after the results of the first new election. “You and Merlin keep me humble.” He touched the book lightly. “The guards said you can keep this, and I’ll bring you more pictures of the little one soon.” Her brows drew down, and she looked for a long moment at it. 

“I’ll still be here when she’s born.” 

“True… but you’ve only got fifteen months left. You’ll be out before she’s talking, ready to take her to the park and buy her ice creams.” She ran her fingers along the edge of the plastic-bound pages, quiet for a moment. 

“I’m not sure I’ll fit in with everyone anymore.” 

“It’ll be different,” Arthur agreed. “But Merlin and Gwen will welcome you, and so will I. We’ll figure it out together.” She was still looking down. He smiled a bit. “I can’t promise that Freya won’t try to have her dragon eat you, though.”  Morgana looked up with a laugh. 

“Aithusa might actually be big enough to eat me by then.” 

“Wouldn’t be surprised.” She gently turned back to the first page of the book, smiling as she looked down at the first photo of Hunith helping Arthur with his suit before the ceremony. “I’m glad you have her. She called last week.” The look in her eyes was one Arthur understood well as she turned to the next page, quiet for a moment. They both felt the subtle ache of missed opportunities looking at those memories.  

“She’s fantastic. She’s planning to come out when the baby is born.” Arthur reached out to turn the page. “I’ll show you the videos some day. There’s one of Mordred dancing with his girl.” 

“They’re still together?” She smiled. 

“Last I checked,” he said as she smoothed down a page. “Gwen had that one framed,” he commented. Arthur and Gwen were at the center of the shot. Thomas Smith and Elyan were at Gwen’s side. On the other stood Hunith, Gaius, and Merlin, Arthur’s chosen family. Merlin was grinning, pulled into the shot by Arthur who had an arm around his shoulders. As much as Arthur liked the photo, it stood as a reminder of one notable absence. 

“Did he try to duck out?” Morgana asked. 

“Of course he did.” Arthur shook his head. “Always skirting the cameras.” Mordred’s video of Merlin performing magic at his wedding was something of a rare gem. It was hard to catch Merlin unawares like that. Morgana shook her head. 

“Well, someone had to balance out your ego,” she teased. Arthur raised an eyebrow and balled up a wrapper from Morgana’s snacks to flick at her across the table. She batted it away with a smile. “Tell him good luck for me. And give Gwen a hug.” 

“Will do.” 

The ache he felt as he gave Morgana a last hug and watched her escorted back inside by the guards never seemed to get any easier. There were so many bits of news he could think of every time he visited—things she’d missed, people who had changed, grown, gotten new partners, new jobs, new hobbies and opportunities. The ripple effects of the war and rifts were still very much present, in the world around him and in his personal relationships. Even in an album like the one he’d passed to Morgana, the absences were reminders; his father, who had changed forever in his mind for what he’d learned; Gwaine, who would have enjoyed it twice as much as anyone else, without a doubt; and Morgana… He would never have a photo of his sister helping Gwen get ready, joining Merlin on the dance floor, or delivering a speech at the reception. 

But as he turned to make his way out, retrieving his belongings and stepping out into the open air, he put those thoughts aside, turning to the dinner he had planned for that evening. It was their present, and one they’d all had to work hard to build. Morgana had accepted the consequences for her mistakes, just as  he himself had spent the last many years trying to make amends in his own relationships and in the country as it grew beyond its backwards beliefs. Growing came with pains. Morgana, unlike the others, was still here, rebuilding the bridges with him, and in fifteen months she’d get her second chance. 

“He was at peace,” Hunith said. Merlin crouched in the grass, smoothing a patch before he laid a cluster of red and orange dahlias down. His fingers brushed the words gently clean before he stood again, reaching for his mother’s arm. Beloved husband and father.  “He got five more years with you. Nothing could have made him happier.” 

“And you,” Merlin added, covering her hand with his own. The graveyard was quiet. It was a peaceful place. He still struggled sometimes with the losses that this place represented; the marble wall a ways away, where Gwaine’s engraved name represented the bright and warm man who had been a friend to him and Arthur in the greatest crisis of their lives; and the tombstone before him, marking a man who had stolen a few extra years, then been taken from them after all. Remission had been beyond his expectations. They had greeted it as a gift, and they’d had nearly five years cancer free—so much longer than the six months Balinor had first said they had, but it never quite felt enough. He had still felt cheated when the cancer came back a few months after Arthur and Gwen’s wedding. Still, Hunith had reminded him the day they laid his father to rest, being buried here with a public gravestone would have been impossible for Balinor not so long ago. 

“He’d be happy for you,” Hunith said, smiling up at him as they turned to go. They both would have been, Merlin reflected. Gwaine would have had a joke and a hug for him today. He’d been the first to tease Merlin about Freya nearly nine years ago. He nodded. 

“I know. I’m glad he got to meet her.” He paused as they reached the gate leading out to the street and glanced at her. “You’re sure you want me to have the ring?” 

“Absolutely. He would have wanted you to give it to her.” Hunith put a hand on his back and gently steered him out. “Come on. We don’t want to be late.” 

“Come in!” Arthur’s shout was the only answer they got to Hunith’s knock at the door. Merlin nudged the door open as Gaius reached it, removing Merlin’s coat and scarf to hang up. 

“How was the visit?” 

“Peaceful. Thank you.” Hunith passed him her coat as well. "Are Gwen and Freya here yet?" 

“They're on on their way.” Gaius ushered them in and shut the door against the cool air. 

“Is Arthur cooking?” Merlin arched an eyebrow. 

“He’s gotten better.” Gaius chuckled. 

“Shall I make sure he doesn’t burn anything?” Merlin slipped his shoes off. 

“ Merlin .” Hunith shook her head at him, but he grinned as he headed down the hall towards the kitchen. 

“Is it pancakes for dinner again?” he asked brightly. 

“Pancakes are a perfectly good dinner,” Arthur responded, looking up from his pan as Merlin approached the stove. “I made what you requested,” he said.

“The chicken piccata?” Merlin’s tone was edged with mild disbelief. 

“The same.” Arthur turned to look at him, folding his arms. “And I heard that comment about burning things.” 

“I'll take it back.” Merlin held up his hands in mock innocence. “You really are expanding your repertoire.” 

“I need to. Have to keep things going smoothly so Gwen can continue her work. I’m the one who can work from home,” Arthur said. He turned back to cover the pan. He looked serious. A little smile tugged at Merlin’s lips. 

“You’ll be alright. We can come by and help.” 

“Not as much anymore,” Arthur commented with a slight frown. 

“Aw. Are you going to miss us?” Arthur scoffed, and he lifted his shoulders. “We’ll make it work,” he said. “It’s only a couple hours’ drive north. It’ll be fine.” 

“How’s the new place? Aithusa likes it?” 

“She loves it. Freya’s really happy. It’s beautiful. There’s lots of room for the dragons, especially now Kilgharrah isn’t flying much anymore.” 

“Probably best keep him in the north anyways. People haven’t forgotten about him,” Arthur pointed out wryly. Merlin huffed. 

“Reasonably so. But that will never happen again,” he said. Arthur leaned against the counter. 

“We’ll miss you living nearby,” he admitted. 

“We’ll still pop in from time to time,” Merlin said. The comment got an immediate response from Arthur. 

“Pop in? No. Absolutely not. I remember the last time you popped in.” Arthur pointed a wooden cooking spoon at Merlin, retrieved from the counter. Merlin gave the spoon an unimpressed look. “Do not teleport into my living room again,” Arthur warned. “Damn near gave me a heart attack.” 

“Ohh. A spoon. Very threatening. I’d better not.” A grin was spreading across Merlin’s face at his indignation, and Arthur’s eyes narrowed. 

“No. No. Don’t give me that look. Merlin, I swear to god, if you teleport into my bedroom next time—”  

“I won’t!” Merlin laughed. “I swear. It was a misjudgment. Freya’s really good at the teleporting thing. I’m not.” Arthur snorted and lowered the ‘threatening’ spoon. 

“Trust you to be the most powerful warlock in the world and somehow still bad at magic.”  

“I’m not bad at magic. I just specialize in intuitive elemental spells.” Merlin rolled his eyes. 

“All I’m hearing is a lot of excuses.” Arthur smirked at him and earned himself a telekinetic shove. Arthur raised an eyebrow, and Merlin tried to duck just a second too late. Arthur collared him with an arm and hauled him in. 

“Alright, alright!” Merlin yelped. “Arthur, you know we don’t teleport all the time. It’s difficult to do— ” 

“Without a dragon. Yeah, yeah, And Kilgharrah’s an old bloke who doesn’t want to. Poor Merlin’s got to do it alone and terrorize his unsuspecting friend trying to have his evening tea in peace.” Arthur reached down to ruffle his hair, and he squirmed, trying to duck free. 

“It’s true. Takes a lot of… energy.” He batted at Arthur’s hand. “Come on. I got my hair combed down nicely for tonight!” Arthur snorted but released him without tousling it further.  

“Freya’s not going to say no because your hair is messy. She picked the wrong man if she doesn’t like that.” He snickered. Merlin flattened down his hair in the front, making a face, and Arthur bumped a shoulder against Merlin’s. 

“Nervous?” he asked. Merlin shrugged. 

“A little.” 

“It’ll be fine. You two have put in a lot of work together.” Arthur patted him on the shoulder before pushing off the counter to get some drinks from the fridge. “Here.” He passed a bottle of cold bubbly water to Merlin, then turned to put his chicken into a nice dish. “Just relax. I’ve got everything just like you wanted. It’ll be great.” He nudged Merlin towards the hall as the door opened again. “I’ll put the food out. You go meet your lady.” 

“Thanks.” Merlin responded with a slightly strained smile as Arthur shepherded him back into the hall.  

Merlin disappeared around the corner, and Arthur waited a moment after he left, then opened the fridge to check on the delicate strawberry torte he’d tucked into a back corner to avoid being noticed until its moment. He took a moment to set the rest of the food on the counter buffet style with the plates before following Merlin down the hall.

“Hunith. Good to have you in town again.” He greeted her with a hug. 

“It’s good to be here.” She was smiling. Hunith knew what tonight was about. He didn’t doubt that for a moment. Arthur reached for Gwen’s hand, drawing her close for a kiss now Merlin had turned to meet Freya.  

“Everything is ready,” he murmured in her ear as he pulled her close. She gave him a second kiss on the cheek. 

“You’re amazing,” she said, leaning against him. 

“Hang on!” Merlin’s warning came a second too late as Gaius knocked the bottle from the entry table in the process of hanging Freya’s coat above it. The water froze inches from the floor, and Freya turned her wrist, lifting the water up in a flicker of movement and sending it right back into the bottle. 

“My fault.” Merlin collected it. “Shouldn’t have left it open.” Arthur was watching quietly as Merlin capped it again, a small smile on his face. It had taken Merlin and Freya some time to find their feet as the country battled through legislation, conflict, and confusion. There had been many more steps in making sorcery a part of everyday life, and Arthur had come to realize that alongside those steps came challenges for Freya and Merlin that he couldn’t imagine—the challenges of learning to feel safe again. Merlin no longer threw those questioning looks at Arthur when he used magic, as if checking it was alright. Freya had taken far longer to use it freely in company. Seeing her use it so casually, or Merlin with his little telekinetic nudge in the kitchen—those were reminders of how far they’d come. 

“Do you think she knows?” Arthur asked softly, close to his wife’s ear as he put an arm around her waist. Freya’s fingers had tangled with Merlin’s, and their two hands were swinging gently between them. Gwen laughed. 

“She knows,” she said in the same quiet tone.

“Ready to eat?” Arthur asked, turning Gwen gently around to steer her towards the kitchen.

“Starving.” Freya turned to follow them, beaming. 

“I’ll be right there.” Merlin let her hand go and gave her a kiss on the cheek, turning back. Arthur watched in amusement as a little felt box levitated itself out of the pocket of Merlin’s jacket, hung by the door. 

“Freya, why don’t you get us started?” he asked, stepping in to usher her into the kitchen to make sure she wouldn’t look back. 

He wouldn’t have called things perfect, but things were good. Perfect, at any rate, was an illusion. There were always more bumps in the road as the country changed. There were challenges, worries for the baby, Morgana’s remaining sentence, and the struggles Merlin and Freya still faced in a country with many pockets of resistance against magic. Still, they had made something good from the pieces—people who were working through their losses and pains, a country pulling itself together, rising from the ashes of three wars. 

Tonight, he was in good, comfortable company. Tonight, Merlin would ask Freya what he’d been waiting eight years to ask. Tomorrow, they would start the next chapter of their lives as all of them went to work again, each doing their part on the long road to healing themselves and their country.