Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arthur lies there, staring up at the canopy blindly, unable to sleep, fragments of the argument he heard yesterday swirling through his mind.

"He treats you like a slave."

"He cast you aside without a moment's thought."

"Together we can rule over this land. Arthur will tremble at your voice, he will kneel at your feet."

"Better to serve a good man than to rule with an evil one."

Merlin. Magic. Magic. Merlin. He can't fit the two together in his mind. Because if Merlin has magic then that means he's evil. But Merlin's not evil. So then he can't have magic. But he does have magic, he saw it with his own eyes, he can't pretend it didn't happen. So is he evil then? But he's Merlin, he's not evil, he cries at unicorns and wouldn't even kill the ant in his room last week. And of course he saved the city, can't forget that.

Actually that's the easiest part to believe, because Merlin's always done that, hasn't he? He's always saved people, hell the only reason he's Arthur's servant is because he saved his life.

But Merlin and magic. They don't fit. He can see all the jigsaw pieces, everything that's happened over the past year that he's dismissed as odd, or strange, but he's not sure how they all fit together.

He's so consumed by this puzzle that he barely hears the knock at the door.

"Enter."

Merlin enters, carrying a tray and setting it down on the table. He raises an eyebrow at Arthur being dressed and lying on top of his covers but doesn't say anything. There's no cheerful "rise and shine", no "I didn't know you could dress yourself", just a clattering of Merlin setting up the plates, drawing the curtains…

"Breakfast, sire." Merlin sounds odd, like he's biting something back, and he's barely looking at Arthur, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, like– like a servant.

Now that makes Arthur sit up. He might not know his manservant as well as he thought, but he at least hopes he knows him enough to tell when something's wrong. Carefully avoiding Merlin's gaze, teachings about not looking sorcerers in the eye in case they ensnare you coming to mind, he says, sharper than normal, "what's wrong with you this morning? You're acting weird."

"Sire?"

And Arthur bites his tongue. He desperately wants to confront Merlin more, but for all he knows, this Merlin is the real one, and his Merlin is just a facade. That hurts to think, but Merlin has been lying to him for the gods know how long, he could be lying about this too.

"Never mind. Just serve me my breakfast."

"Yes, sire."

--------

Arthur watches Merlin closely all day, but doesn't see any obvious sign of him doing magic. He polishes his armour by hand, mends his clothes by hand, and even fetches his bathwater by hand (and even Arthur has to admit that if he had magic, he wouldn't do that task by hand). He could almost believe he didn't have magic if it hadn't been for the battle with Sigan. But Merlin still isn't acting like Merlin, with all the 'sire's and 'my lord's and acting like a servant, and how can he make sense of Merlin if he won't even act normal? He likes to think he still knows Merlin at least a bit, but this version of Merlin is completely unfathomable.

--------

By the end of that afternoon's training session, he's completely fed up. There's a maelstrom of emotion, hurt and anger and guilt and betrayal all swirling within him, and he doesn't miss the concerned looks as he goes at training with more ferocity than normal, although no-one says anything, not even Merlin.

When they make it back to Arthur's chambers Merlin trips and spills half his armour on the floor. And that's the last straw.

"What the hell is wrong with you today, Merlin?" he grits out.

Merlin straightens and looks directly at him, back taut, body language prepared for a fight. "What's wrong with you, Arthur? You haven't so much as looked me in the eye all day! I know I'm not as good at this as Cedric, but at least I'm not a thief possessed by one of the most evil sorcerers in the history of Camelot! I thought that might tip the balance in my favour, but no. I thought we were friends, Arthur, even if you won't admit it. What the hell did I do to make it so you won't even look me in the eye?"

And finally, finally it seems to be time for that confrontation. "An evil sorcerer? Aren't all sorcerers evil?" His voice is icy now, and Merlin hesitates. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, unsure.

"Yes. Of course."

"So. Are you evil then?"

His face turns grey. "I– what?"

"Merlin, even you aren't enough of an idiot not to realise you have magic. Don't lie to me anymore."

Merlin staggers, slumping into Arthur's desk chair. "How did you– how did you find out?"

"Because you're not exactly subtle, and yelling at a sorcerer in the middle of the courtyard before performing a massive spell makes it kind of obvious."

"Oh," Merlin breathes. He pauses. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I don't know."

"I'd prefer a beheading to being burned at the stake, if it's all the same to you."

Arthur physically recoils at those words. Yes, he's angry, and hurt, but how could Merlin think–

"Gods, Merlin! I'm not going to have you killed! How could you think that?"

"How could I not? You've never exactly given the impression that your opinions of magic are any different from Uther's! You had Gwen's father arrested even though I'd bet anything he didn't know Tauren was going to use sorcery! At my best friend's, my only childhood friend's funeral, you told me magic was evil, that he was evil! You couldn't even let it go long enough for me to give my friend a decent send-off! How was I supposed to know you wouldn't kill me? You think people with magic are monsters, with no humanity, and I know what happens to monsters."

"Don't put words in my mouth, Merlin."

There's a warning tone to his voice now that Merlin completely ignores, slamming the gauntlet he'd picked up earlier down on the table. "Then what the hell did you mean with Tauren when you said 'not a man. A sorcerer'? What. Exactly. Was I meant to take that statement as, if not that?" Arthur can't answer that, something horribly like guilt churning in his stomach. "Exactly. That's why I thought you'd kill me. It seems to me like it was a fairly reasonable assumption to make. If your views are different, you didn't exactly make them known." Arthur glares at him. "So what are you going to do with me?"

"Well I can't see you dead." He swallows. He has to do this, for Merlin's sake if nothing else. "Merlin. I hereby banish you from Camelot, on pain of death."

There's silence. Then Merlin says, quietly and seemingly on the verge of tears, "you're banishing me?"

Arthur turns around. There's no way he'll finish this if he has to look at Merlin, slumped, upset, all the fight drained out of him. "Yes. Go home, Merlin. Get out of here. If you return, you'll pay with your life."

There's a quiet sniffle and a long, shaky intake of breath.

"Yes, Arthur."

"Sire."

"Yes, sire."

He hears Merlin's footsteps heading towards the door, then they pause. There's a very quiet, wobbly, "goodbye, sire."

The door shuts behind him. Arthur lies down on the bed, blinking rapidly. He won't let the tears fall. He's done the right thing, the only thing, to keep Merlin safe. He knows he has.

So why does it feel like his heart's been cleaved in two?

--------

The next morning, Arthur awakes, eyes sticky, sun shining directly in his eyes. He squints, listening, wondering where Merlin is, because he's usually here by now, he's very late.

And then he remembers. Merlin isn't here anymore. He won't be here. He's not going to see him again.

He wants to roll over and go back to sleep – hopefully this is just a bad dream, and he'll wake up and everything will be back to normal and he won't have banished his only friend to keep him safe – but there's a knock at the door.

"Sire? You're late for the council meeting."

He curses under his breath. "I'll be down shortly." He throws on the first set of clothes he can find, missing Merlin's careful, warm touches, his playful jabs about not being able to dress himself, and strides out the door.

--------

"Apologies for the lateness, my lords."

He sits down at his place near the head of the table, ignoring the look his father's giving him. He knows he'll get reamed out later, but he can't bring himself to care overly much.

Arthur drifts in and out, missing most of the meeting. All he can think about is when Merlin burst into the council chamber claiming to be a sorcerer. He'd assumed it was just to save Guinevere's life at the time, but apparently he was telling the truth.

There's the scraping of chairs and he realises the meeting's ended. Leon gives him a knowing look as he leaves the room quickly to avoid his father, and he can't help wondering how much he's guessed.

--------

Arthur's room's too empty and too quiet without Merlin wandering around, ineffectually cleaning and babbling about nothing. He's thinking about going back down to the training ground to try and take his mind off him when there's a knock at the door.

"Come in."

Leon walks in. Arthur starts, surprised – of all the people he thought might come and talk to him, Gaius, Guinevere, his father, he hadn't expected Leon.

Nonetheless, he gestures for him to sit down. "Leon. What can I do for you?"

"Merlin. You exiled him for his magic."

Arthur's gaze flicks to the door, checking that it's locked. His heart's pounding at the topic of conversation. If anyone were to walk in or even overhear…

"You know about Merlin's magic?"

"I've known since he saved your life for the first time. I didn't tell you about it because it wasn't my secret to tell."

"But he could've been dangerous!"

Leon sighs. "Arthur, he'd just saved your life after you chased him around the town with a mace. I had no idea why but I wasn't about to turn him in for it. Besides, you're forgetting I was ten when the Great Purge started. I remember what it was like before that, and sorcerers aren't all bad. I don't think Merlin is."

"I know that Leon. I exiled him to keep him alive. If anyone else had seen what he did to Sigan he would be a pile of ashes by now."

Leon nods thoughtfully. "I thought he was wrong when he said you hated him now." He draws out a package covered in cloth and places it in front of him, keeping a hand on it. "I expect you'll want to open this alone. It's from Merlin." Arthur looks up at him, eyes wide. "He gave it to me before he left last night, and asked me to pass it on to you." He smiles slightly when Arthur can't respond, throat tight. "I'll ask the guards not to disturb you this afternoon."

"Thank you," he croaks. Leon nods, leaving Arthur to his thoughts.

Arthur pulls the package towards him, unwrapping the rough cream fabric carefully. There's a small book inside, a folded letter sitting on top. He sets the book and picks up the letter, words written in Merlin's scratchy handwriting.

Dear Arthur,

I'm not sure whether you'll read this, given that you hate me now, but here goes.

This book is a record of my time since arriving in Camelot. I'm not sure what Gaius and Leon have told you, if anything, but I was born with magic. I didn't choose it, I wouldn't choose something that would get me killed. The rest of it's in this book, although you should know that I do care about you. I always have.

Please, if I've ever meant anything to you, read this.

Don't be a prat,

Merlin

P.S. It's not true that sorcerers can ensnare people with their eyes. And anyway, if I could, and I'd wanted to, I would've done it months ago and you wouldn't have banished me.

P.P.S. I'm going to Ealdor, if you ever need to contact me.

Arthur sets it down, trying to ignore the tears dripping onto the parchment to mingle with the dried ones already there. Merlin… Merlin really believes Arthur hates him, could ever hate him. It hurts. It's one way to keep him out of danger, at least, but it feels like his heart's tearing apart.

Still, there's one thing giving him hope. The last postscript. He must believe Arthur doesn't want him dead, or he wouldn't tell him where he is.

Right?

He scrubs at his eyes, glancing towards the door. He's not sure he can read more, but he doesn't know when the next time he'll be left alone is. Leon can't cover for him all the time. He pulls the book towards him and opens the stiff leather cover.

And gasps.

There, on a double page spread, is Camelot. He recognises it as the view from Merlin's bedroom. The drawing's in charcoal, and so lifelike.

He turns the page to a dragon. A dragon. He traces the outline, careful not to smudge it. It almost looks like he could reach into the page and touch it.

Underneath one of the wings is a note.

There's a dragon under the castle. A bloody dragon. I heard a voice in my head, and it's a bit early to be going mad, so I followed it down to a great cave in the dungeons and there was a dragon. He says it's my destiny to protect the prince, and that he'll be a great king one day, but that's got to be rubbish. There's no way a prat like that will make a good king.

Arthur snorts. Things have certainly changed in a year. And it's something of a relief to see that he genuinely is here for him, not destiny or whatever else.

At the bottom of the page, a scrap of parchment is affixed: If you want to visit the dragon, he's in a cave under the dungeons. Head to the deepest part and take the steps down. But be careful – he'll probably be angry.

Arthur vows to investigate some time soon, and turns the page. Next to a picture of a snake coming out of a shield, it simply says, Maybe he's not so much of a prat after all.

He shuts the book and rubs his eyes. He only succeeds in letting more tears fall. He can't read any more of this right now.

Once he's splashed water on his face and locked Merlin's package under the false bottom in his desk drawer, he heads out to find the steward. He might as well do something useful.

--------

The next morning, Arthur awakes to bright sunshine on his face. He frowns, sitting up, and sees a figure standing at the foot of the bed.

"Who are you?"

"I am your new manservant, sire. I have polished your armour, sharpened your sword, selected your clothes. There is a slight chill in the air today, sir. And now, if you would allow me, I would like to serve you breakfast."

Arthur follows his gesture to the table, where a veritable feast has been prepared. "What's your name?"

"George, sire."

"Right, well, you can dress me and then leave for now. I won't need you until the council meeting this afternoon."

George bows slightly. "Yes, sire."

He dresses him professionally, perfectly, as a manservant should, fingers barely brushing him. It's so different from Merlin's way of dressing him, the way his fingers linger on his neck, the way he brushes imaginary lint off his shoulders, smooths down his tunic, puts his circlet on with so much pride in his eyes. Maybe it's for the best though, that he's so different. Hopefully it'll help him think of something other than Merlin.

--------

It doesn't help. Merlin's absence seems to be everywhere, from the flashes of black hair to the lack of teasing remarks and complaining to the way he beckons for him instinctively at a boring feast to talk to him or hear an amusing anecdote he overheard only to be met with George, pouring the wine at a perfectly boring angle with a perfectly boring attitude to it all.

His absence feels like a physical ache most days, and the looks from Guinevere and Morgana make it worse.

--------

He spends a long time looking through Merlin's sketchbook. Some pages aren't too hard to read, they merely leave him crying, but others… well.

There's several pages from their trip to Ealdor. There's drawings of Guinevere sharpening swords, Morgana fighting, himself teaching the residents of Ealdor how to fight…

And then there's Will's funeral. Beside it, in scrawling letters smudged by old tears, Merlin's written, I want to tell Arthur about my magic. My mother says he cares about me. But how can he, if he doesn't know such a big part of me? I'm not sure I'll ever be able to tell him.

He can't bring himself to open the book for a week after that.

--------

With every section of the book he reads,

Am I a monster? Gaius says no, but everyone else seems to think warlocks are. If everyone thinks you're a monster, are you?

and

If I'm not a person, what am I?

and

I can't keep losing people. I've already lost Will, I can't lose my mother and Gaius too. I just can't.

and

He's a good man. A bloody prat half the time, but a good man.

and

Can magic really be so good? It seems less and less likely, the more I see, and I don't know what I'm turning into.

he feels sadder, and guiltier. How did he miss all this? And how, how does Merlin still have faith in him after everything he's said and done? He's starting to see just how wrong his father is, what harm he's doing to innocent people, although he doesn't like to think about it. He's having trouble even eating dinner with him lately.

He can very clearly see his Merlin in here, the Merlin who teases him and trips over things and spouts occasional bursts of wisdom, but there's someone else here too. Someone powerful, and clever, and apparently in love with him if his writing's anything to go by (gods help me, I think I'm in love with the prat. He saved my life, and he's noble, and brave, and kind although he'll never show it. But he doesn't even know who I am. Maybe, some day, I'll tell him all of this), and someone he'd desperately like to get to know better, if he ever gets the chance.

And yes, he could contact Merlin at any time, but it doesn't feel… right, to say these things by letter. He can't bring himself to write it, because putting the words down on paper means accepting that Merlin's gone.

It's the tale of the Druid boy, Mordred, that finally gets him fired up enough to visit the dragon.

--------

Arthur exits his chambers that night in his chainmail, following Merlin's directions downstairs. He's amazed at how easy it is to get past the guards – how are they this bad at guarding? No wonder the prisoners keep escaping.

It gets colder and danker the deeper he goes, until he's almost feeling sorry for the dragon. Almost.

He reaches the bottom, stepping on the rough stone, and stares. The cavern is enormous, stretching out into complete darkness. He winces when he sees the chain. That's not right. No matter how angry he is at the dragon, it's not right to keep an intelligent creature chained like this.

"Hello?" he calls. "Dragon? Are you there? I want to talk to you."

There's the flapping of large wings and a massive dragon alights on a rock. "Pendragon," he snarls. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to speak to you about what the fuck you think you've been teaching Merlin."

The dragon snorts (who knew dragons could snort?). "Ah yes. Where is the young warlock?"

"Gone," Arthur snaps. "It's not safe for him here."

The dragon roars, exhaling fire at Arthur. He ducks behind a rock to avoid getting crisped.

This is going well.

Once the fire's gone, he steps out from behind the rock. He's at the end of his tether with Merlin having been gone so long, and this dragon is really trying the frayed remains of his patience.

"Are you done?" The dragon snorts again, shuffling on the rock. "Good. Because I want to know why you thought it was appropriate to tell Merlin to kill a child."

"He's a danger to you and to Camelot."

"How? He can't be much older than ten! I don't care if it's prophecised, how do you know it's true? For all we know, trying to kill him is what drives him against us. What makes you think it's accurate?"

There's silence in the cavern, only broken by the rustling of wings. Arthur raises an eyebrow, but the silence continues.

"Well. I guess that answers my question. You really are a manipulative bastard, aren't you? Do you actually want Albion? Because the way I see it, you're doing everything you can to stop it. You nearly killed him, and his mother!"

"Why should I care about the Pendragons? Uther chained me up here for over twenty years. Why would I want you to survive?"

"I am not my father!" Arthur roars. "You can hate me as much as you want, I don't care, but you do not get to manipulate Merlin like this! He's never done anything, you're using him to enact your revenge and that isn't right! Killing innocents is exactly what my father does, and how are you any different from him?"

The dragon snarls. "How dare you compare me to that monster?"

"How dare you manipulate an innocent boy? You know he relies on you for advice, you know he'll have to do what you want to save people, and you take advantage of that for your own ends."

The dragon sucks in an angry breath, and Arthur dashes for the stairs, making it out of reach just as the fire hits the bottom step.

He finds Leon at the top of the steps. "Leon? What are you doing here?"

Leon fixes him with a piercing stare. "Waiting for you. You left your room in chainmail in the middle of the night, there was a good chance you were coming here."

"Did you hear all that?"

"Some. It doesn't surprise me. That dragon is… unreliable, to say the least."

Arthur nods. "Why were you looking for me anyway?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Back to my chambers then."

Once they're inside, Arthur gestures for Leon to sit down. "So. What did you want to talk about?"

"Merlin."

Arthur groans. "Not you as well." Gaius, Morgana and Guinevere have already tried to talk to him about it. "I'm fine."

"Arthur, last week you made it as far as Merlin's room before remembering he wasn't there anymore. You spent last Saturday night drunk and sobbing on my shoulder. You are not fine, you're pining, and we really need to sort this out before your father notices."

Arthur knows this is serious if Leon's calling him by his first name, but he doesn't want to talk about it, can't talk about it. "I don't remember doing that."

"Well you did. And don't think I don't know you're changing the subject deliberately."

Arthur scowls and mutters, "sometimes I wish you didn't know me so well." Leon chuckles.

"Seriously though, you can't continue like this. You need to contact Merlin."

"I can't do that. He thinks I hate him! He probably hates me by now as well."

"Of course he doesn't. Sire, anyone can see how much he cares about you. That sort of caring doesn't just go away. But there is another option."

Arthur narrows his eyes at the hesitant tone. "What?"

Leon brings out a small bottle and places it on the table in front of him. "This is a memory potion. It was Merlin's idea. We pour it into the water supply, and when enough of it's in our systems we'll forget about Merlin. Everyone will."

Arthur recoils instantly. "No. Leon, no." Forgetting Merlin… it's not an option.

Leon nods, looking like he was expecting that answer. "Alright. I'll leave the potion here in case you change your mind." He pulls out a bottle of ale. "Drink? I don't like to encourage it, but I could do with one myself."

--------

The little bottle sits on Arthur's bookshelf, taunting him, for another month. Leon gives him knowing looks when he turns up to the training grounds at all hours, and starts snapping at everyone, including the king. He gets into more bar fights than he can count, and is in the dungeons more frequently than he's ever been in his life.

Eventually, he has to admit to himself that this can't go on, and despite it being the very last thing he wants to do, ever, he takes the little bottle and knocks on the door to Leon's chambers.

Leon looks him up and down, at the rumpled clothes hanging off his form, at his unkempt hair, at the bags under his eyes, and finally at the vial in his hand.

He nods.

---------

"You'll be immune, right?"

Leon looks at him. "Yes, sire. The potion I just drank is made from forget-me-nots. I'll remember him."

"So if," he clears his throat thickly, "if we need him, then–"

"Then I'll be able to find him, yes."

"I'm glad he'll still have you. Don't let him be forgotten completely. Everything he's done… don't let it be in vain. Please."

"I'll do my best, sire." He unstoppers the vial. "Ready?"

Arthur takes it, blinking tears out of his eyes and picturing Merlin, blue eyes bright with mirth, sun lighting up his hair. If this is the last thought he's going to have of the man, it's going to be a good one.

Leon rests a hand on his shoulder as he pours the green liquid into the water supply. Then he fills a goblet full of greenish water, the green colour quickly fading, and closes his eyes as he drinks the whole thing in one gulp. He wobbles, the potion making him lightheaded.

His vision clears.

Leon's standing next to him, a hand on his shoulder, looking concerned. "Sire? Are you alright?"

Arthur shrugs off the hand. "Of course I am, why wouldn't I be? And what are we doing down here?"

Leon looks at him slightly sadly. "We thought we heard a disturbance in the water supply. It turned out to be nothing."

"Well then," he says, shrugging off his slight confusion, "let's get out of here. A hard day of training tomorrow."

"Yes sire."

He heads up the stairs, not looking back. He needs to get some sleep so he can train for the upcoming tournament. George is never late, after all.

--------

Arthur wakes up the next morning to the blinding sun in his face, as usual, and George standing there, also as usual. There's something niggling in the back of his mind, something missing, but he shakes his head to clear it. Of course it's George, who else would it be? He fired Morris months ago.

He sits up as George feeds him a sumptuous breakfast, and then George dresses him. Perfect, as always, just as a manservant should be.

Perfect and somehow… impersonal. Why does he care that it's impersonal?

"George, what's my schedule for today?"

"You have training with the knights, sire, and dinner with the King."

Arthur nods. He knew all that.

"Let's go then."

George bows, opening the door for him. "Yes, sire."

--------

They're on the training ground when Arthur notices that niggling feeling again. And it's frustrating, and he doesn't know what to do with it.

"George," he calls, "pick up the target."

He knows he shouldn't be doing this, as crown prince he should be setting a better example, but all the same he's just a servant. And he won't actually hurt him after all.

"Come on, we don't have all day. Stand over there. Out of the sun, you idiot." Out of the corner of his eye he sees Leon cover up a quick wince.

Once George is in place he throws the dagger, and then several more, lapping up the praise and laughter from his fellow knights.

(Hangers-on, bootlickers, sycophants, says a voice in his head that he doesn't recognise but sounds very familiar, filling him with melancholy).

He feels uneasy about their praise now. Is it because he's the prince? That they know he won't hurt George? Or maybe, says that voice in the back of his mind, they just don't care.

At the end of training, after he's been congratulated by his friends for "showing the stupid servant a lesson", he walks over to Leon, grinning. He's managed to convince himself that he deserves the adoration, that it's because of him not his status (well, almost convinced himself), ignoring the voice in his head that says he's a prat.

Leon looks unimpressed, though, and for some reason that matters a lot to Arthur. He raises an eyebrow at him.

"Shouldn't you be setting a better example, sire, as crown prince? Rather than bullying commoners."

Arthur bristles. That comment hits too close to home. "I didn't ask for your opinion, Leon, keep it to yourself in future."

Leon gives him an almost pitying look which he ignores. "Yes, sire."

--------

That niggling feeling that he's forgotten something stays with him. That evening, after he dismisses George for the night, the room feels too quiet, too empty, and he has no idea why it feels wrong for his manservant to do what he tells him to.

The next morning, he wakes up after a full night's sleep resolving to ignore the feeling in his brain. He clearly hasn't forgotten anything, or someone would remind him. Morgana, for one, would delight in holding it over him.

No. He's going to ignore it. Whatever it is, it's not important.

---------

A couple of days later, Sir Kay accidentally hits him on the head with a staff, and Leon insists on taking him to visit Gaius, even though he's fine.

Arthur sits on the bench, tapping the table impatiently as Gaius examines him. "How do you feel, sire? Any dizziness, sickness, anything like that?"

Arthur rolls his eyes, the small movement causing him to wince. He has had head injuries before.

"I'm fine, Gaius." Gaius raises an eyebrow at him, one which is reminiscent of the scoldings he got as a child from him, and which he still can't go against. He sighs. "A bit dizzy. That's all, I swear."

"And a sore head," Gaius mutters. Arthur opens his mouth to protest – it's not that bad. "I saw you wince." That shuts him up.

"What does he need to do, Gaius?"

Arthur narrows his eyes at Leon.

"Get plenty of rest, and no training for at least a week. I mean it, Arthur, you need to recover before you do anything strenuous."

He scowls but nods. Gaius' most foul-tasting potions are reserved for when he disobeys his instructions. He glances up at the small room at the top of the stairs.

"Gaius."

"Yes sire?"

"Who lives up there?"

"No-one, sire, it's just a storeroom."

Arthur frowns. He could've sworn…

But then he sees Leon looking at him knowingly, and a sudden, hot anger fills him. "Thank you, Gaius. Sir Leon, with me."

He walks at a brisk pace back to his chambers, eager to get this confrontation over with. "Get out," he barks at George, who scuttles out the room, and then rounds on Leon.

"Do you know something Leon? I've seen the way you've been watching me. What is it?"

"Gaius asked me to keep an eye on you in case you had a relapse of whatever it was that happened at the water supply, sire."

Arthur gives Leon a long look, but he can't see any sign that he's lying. "Very well. But you're to stop reporting on me to Gaius, is that clear?"

"Yes, sire."

"Good. You're dismissed."

Leon bows and exits. Arthur throws himself on the bed. What the hell's he supposed to do for a week?

--------

By the second day of nothing, he's pacing. By the fourth day, he's investigating parts of his room he's not looked in for a long time (so, maybe he was exaggerating when he thought he had lots of head injuries). On the fifth day, he finds the book.

He's searching through his bedside cabinet when he finds a key he'd almost forgotten about. He brightens. That should make his day more interesting. There's bound to be some good stuff in there.

With an almost childish enthusiasm he opens the desk drawer, removing the false bottom. The first thing he sees is a small leather-bound book, which he opens curiously.

And almost slams it shut when he sees what it contains. There's a part of him that's curious, though, and he doesn't, looking through it with rising incredulity and anger. Who the hell would leave a book about magic in Camelot in his desk? And why would he have a friend who's a sorcerer?

When he reaches the end, he wants to throw it away, burn it, get rid of this book full of lies (because it must be lies, right? He doesn't remember any of it. And his father wouldn't lie to him about something that big. Would he?), but for some reason he can't do it. Can't even bring himself to tear up the letter.

He replaces it in the drawer. It was probably Morgana. He's going to kill her.

--------

The next morning, Arthur storms into Morgana's chambers, shutting the door carefully behind him.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Why thank you, Arthur, for knocking so politely."

"You never do."

"What do you want?"

"Did you leave that book in my chambers? You know how dangerous it is to leave information about magic around."

"What?"

"That book! The leatherbound journal! I have no idea how you put it there, but it must've been you."

"Arthur. I have no idea what you're talking about. Gwen," she calls, "do you know?"

She stares at them blankly and a little nervously. "No, my lady."

"Then who?"

"Show us, Arthur." He looks at Guinevere briefly, and Morgana rolls her eyes. "She's trustworthy. Show us."

"Alright. But if we're caught it's on your own heads." Of course he doesn't mean it, he won't let Uther do anything to either of them, but they don't need to know that.

"Fine."

He nods curtly and they follow him back to his chambers. "Here." He slams it down on the desk. "Recognise it?"

Morgana flips through the journal, Guinevere looking over her shoulder. She shakes her head, looking mystified. "Gwen?"

Guinevere frowns at it, head cocked to one side. "The handwriting's familiar, but I can't place it."

Arthur sighs. "Great."

Just then there's a knock at the door, and Arthur wrenches it open, Morgana and Guinevere blocking the guard's view of the desk. "What is it?"

"The king wishes to speak with you urgently in the council chamber, sire."

"Very well. I'll be down shortly." He shuts the door in his face.

--------

He enters the council chamber to see his father, Gaius and Leon standing around a map, grave expressions on their faces. They look up as he approaches.

"Arthur. Thank you for joining us at last." Arthur scowls internally. He wasn't that long. "There's a creature menacing the eastern border. Gaius?"

"It's a wyrm, sire. Like a giant snake."

"Why are you helping? We don't usually go to the border with Essetir except for patrols." Something he's always thought unfair.

"It's magical, Arthur, and must be destroyed."

"I understand."

"Just you and Sir Leon, undercover. We can't risk Cenred using it as an excuse to start a war if you have to cross the border."

"Yes, sire. We'll leave first thing in the morning."

--------

The next day, they leave Camelot in just their chainmail, riding through the forest towards the Forest of Ascetir. Arthur's trusting that Leon knows where he's going, until–

"Leon, this is Essetir. Where are you taking us?"

"To a small village, sire. We need some help."

"I'm not entrusting our lives to a sorcerer."

"He's not a sorcerer, he just knows about magical creatures. A bit like Gaius."

"Very well then. We'll find this man."

Leon turns around and smiles tightly.

--------

They arrive at a small village and Arthur feels a wave of familiarity hit him. He's not sure why he'd recognise (more than recognise, know) a hamlet in Essetir, but he does.

Leon jumps down and heads over to an old man. Arthur follows.

"Excuse me," Leon asks, "do you know where we might find a young man named Merlin?"

"Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"No, we just want to talk to him."

"Oh." The man sounds almost disappointed. "Well 'e's around e're somewhere. Pro'ly in the woods. 'e's more trouble than 'e's worth though, always 'as been. Better off without 'im if you ask me. Thought we were rid of 'im last year, but now 'e's back."

"Thank you," says Leon coldly, "but we'll make our own minds up."

Arthur wonders what this Merlin's done to earn Leon's loyalty and the old man's animosity.

--------

"How are we going to find this friend of yours? Just wander around until we stumble across him?"

His voice is full of scorn, because honestly. They don't have time for this.

"No." Leon raises his voice. "Merlin! I know you're there."

A lanky man with black hair and big ears stumbles out from behind a tree. Leon claps him on the shoulder and he grins. "Leon! Long time no see."

"Good to see you again Merlin. This is Prince Arthur."

Merlin's smile falters slightly as he looks at him, before reappearing so quickly he thinks he must've imagined it. He sticks out a hand. "Merlin, Ar– sire. Pleased to meet you."

Arthur just stares at him. He's much younger than he was expecting, just a boy really. "I know your name."

Merlin's smile fades, and he drops his hand, turning around briefly as he slings the pack off his back. "You're facing a wyrm right?"

"How do you know that?"

The boy has the audacity to roll his eyes at him. "Leon told me. We don't all have the luxury of being able to drop everything at a moment's notice to go and fight a magical creature."

Arthur bristles. "I'm the prince, Merlin, don't talk to me like that."

"Yes, sire," the boy mutters, wincing slightly at the sound of his name.

"And as my subject, you should do what I say. It doesn't matter if you're busy."

"Not your subject," he says, but doesn't protest beyond that. Arthur tamps down the indignant reply – it's true, a fact he'd forgotten.

"Fine. What do you have for us then?"

Merlin unstraps a sword that Arthur hadn't noticed before from the side of his pack and hands it to him. "Here."

"I have a sword."

Merlin rolls his eyes again (he thinks he might just have to get used to that. It's not like he'll be here for long, after all). "I can see that. But this sword is better, and more likely to work against a wyrm. Also, two swords are better than one, right?"

Arthur takes the sword instinctively. There's something nagging at the back of his mind, telling him to trust this boy, but he tries his best to ignore it. After all, he can't go around trusting every handsome boy he meets, no matter how trustworthy Leon thinks they are.

"Now, this wyrm. It's twenty feet long and bright green. Keep away from the fangs, they're poisonous."

"Anything else?"

"Only that it's hard to fight. It came near Ealdor a few days ago, and we barely escaped with our lives." And indeed, Arthur had noticed that they looked a bit weary, but he doesn't know much about peasants, never having been close to any.

"Right then. Let's go."

Merlin nods, shouldering his pack again. He doesn't have a horse for some reason, so they have to walk, following the slithering tracks until they get to a river. It's almost dark now, so the three of them make camp in a clearing. Once Merlin's walked away to get firewood, he turns to Leon, speaking quietly.

"How do you know he can be trusted? And how do you know him anyway?"

"He's an old friend, sire. And he's always been good to me, despite being from Camelot."

"Well you better be right about this."

Arthur takes first watch. He wants to be able to keep an eye on Merlin, whom he doesn't entirely trust.

But Merlin doesn't go to sleep. He just sits there, occasionally poking at the fire with a stick, an indefinable melancholy about him.

Eventually, Arthur feels compelled to say something. "You should sleep, we've got a hard fight tomorrow."

Merlin doesn't turn around. "I'll sleep soon."

But when Leon takes over from him, Merlin's still sitting there, watching the fire.

--------

They crouch in the trees, peering out at the creature in the river. It's enormous, and not exactly trying to hide with its bright green skin (he supposes that being that big with fangs the length of his forearm there's unlikely to be anything that eats it).

"Right. I'll distract it, you two stab it. And remember to avoid the fangs."

"Who are you to give me orders?"

"Sorry sire. What would you suggest we do?"

Arthur tries to think of another way to put it, because as much as he doesn't want to admit it, it's a solid plan.

"Me and Leon will fight, you distract it. I'm sure you won't be much use in a fight, clumsy as you are."

The smirk and quip he's expecting (although he's no idea why he's expecting them) don't come. Merlin simply nods, running into the clearing. Arthur readies himself to run, and when Merlin yells at the creature, making it turn its head towards him, he and Leon charge.

He slashes at it, but the sword glances off the scales. Unfortunately, the sword hitting the back of its head gets its attention, and they're apparently more interesting than Merlin.

The snake turns around, faster than he was expecting, and rears up angrily. Arthur spies the soft, unprotected skin of its belly and thrusts his sword at it, thinking that this at least must sink in–

But it doesn't. It just glances off again. The creature's bearing down on him, its mouth opening to bite, and behind it Merlin's eyes widen, and–

And those blue eyes glow gold. Glow. Gold. He's working with a sorcerer.

There's a split second where the creature jerks backwards, and he's shocked, but then Leon yells "Arthur!" and he jerks out of his furious haze to see its mouth above him again. He thrusts his sword upwards, right into the creature, burying it deep in the roof of its mouth.

The wyrm flails, tail thrashing back and forth, crashing through bushes and splintering trees. At last its hideous screeching dies and it slumps to the ground, lifeless.

The sorcerer yells gleefully, "you killed it, Arthur!"

His grin falters when Arthur turns a stony face to him. He starts backing away, eyes wide, and he obviously knows what Arthur's seen, but he's running, like a coward, and that just makes him angrier. How dare this sorcerer use magic so blatantly in front of him and just run?

He strides forward, yanking his sword out of the wyrm as he goes. The sorcerer scrambles backwards, eyes trained on Arthur. He trips over a rock, falling on his back beside the river, and Arthur advances on him, sword raised. He freezes as he presses the sword tip to his chest.

"Tell me," he hisses, voice low, "why I shouldn't run you through right here and now."

The sorcerer doesn't speak, chest heaving. Arthur feels a slight pang at the obvious terror, but reminds himself that this is a sorcerer, one who they trusted. His anger rears its head again, and he pushes the swordpoint a little further. "I said, tell me."

"If I was going to kill you, I would've done it already! Why would I wait to lead you to a creature that there was a chance you could defeat? Why would I give you a sword?" His voice is fast now, frantic.

"I don't pretend to understand the minds of sorcerers!"

Leon puts a hand on his arm. "Sire, we should take him back to Camelot for trial."

Arthur doesn't take his eyes off the sorcerer, but he nods. That is the right thing to do, after all, and he's not about to do something dishonourable. He'll leave that to sorcerers.

"Fine," he spits out. He pulls the sword back slightly, allowing the sorcerer to stand. "Move. Back to camp. And don't try anything."

The sorcerer puts his hands in the air slightly shakily and starts walking back the way they came, sword poking into his back as a reminder.

"Sit down. Back against that tree."

The sorcerer complies, still with his hands in the air, stretching his legs out in front of him. Leon hands Arthur some rope and he wraps it around him, binding him to the tree trunk. Quick as a flash, before Arthur can tie his arms, he reaches out and touches Arthur's hand. The touch is there and gone, but a jolt runs through him.

"What the hell was that?"

The sorcerer doesn't respond, and Arthur snarls, fury building in him. He grasps the sorcerers chin in a tight, bruising grip. "Don't you dare do magic on me again, or I swear I'll run you through where you sit." He lets go, throwing his head back against the tree, and tightens the ropes around him until he can't move, trussed up tight. As he yanks it, he realises distantly that he shouldn't treat prisoners like this, but he's too angry to care right now. The sorcerer had the audacity to do magic blatantly in front of him, try to run away like a coward, and then do magic on him, to him, like he wouldn't notice. Like he wouldn't have noticed the golden flash of his eyes at the river.

That's the worst part of it, actually, that he'd be so blatant and expect him not to notice. Does he really think he's so stupid?

The sorcerer makes a questioning noise as he rips two strips of cloth off his cloak (it's not like he's got anything else, he wasn't expecting to have to gag anyone on this quest), and then a comprehending one as he gags and blindfolds him. He pushes down the unease in his chest at treating a bound man like this – he can't risk being enchanted, after all.

"I'll take first watch, sire."

Arthur nods. "I know he's your friend, but he's dangerous. Don't release him. And don't believe a word he says, if he manages any."

"Yes, sire."

Arthur tosses and turns on his bedroll that night. It's cold, and at one point he almost gets up to give the sorcerer his cloak.

But he can warm himself up, right? Or maybe not – that was the point of the gag, after all.

Eventually, he falls asleep, something uncomfortably like guilt churning in his stomach.

"Hey, come on, that's enough."

He turns, stunned at the objection, to see a handsome, black-haired peasant boy standing at the edge of the training ground, a determined expression on his face.

"What?"

"You've had your fun, my friend."

"Do I know you?"

"Er, I'm Merlin."

The boy holds out a hand.

"So I don't know you."

"No."

"Yet you called me 'friend'."

"That was my mistake."

"Yes, I think so."

"Yeah. I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass."

*

"And how long have you been training to be a prat?"

He scoffs, astounded at the peasant's audacity.

"You can't address me like that."

"I'm sorry. How long have you been training to be a prat, My Lord?"

*

"You shall be rewarded a position in the royal household. You shall be Prince Arthur's manservant."

Arthur looks at his father, horrified.

"Father!"

Merlin turns away from him in disgust.

*

"He saved my life. I can't stand by and watch him die."

"Then don't look."

*

"Still alive, then?"

Merlin turns and gives him a weak smile, face wan. "Oh. Yeah, just about." He hesitates. "I understand I have you to thank for that."

"Yeah, well, it was nothing. A half decent servant is hard to come by. I was only dropping by to make sure you're alright. I expect you to be back to work tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, yeah of course, er, bright and early."

He turns to leave, but a voice stops him.

"Arthur. Thank you."

"You too."

*

"We're supposed to be hunting. It requires speed, stealth and an agile mind."

"So you're able to get by on two out of three, then?"

*

"You've got to believe in them. Because if you don't, they'll sense it, and the battle will be lost before it's begun."

*

"I'm glad you're here, Merlin."

*

"Are you ever going to change, Merlin?"

"No, you'd get bored. But promise me this, if you get another servant, don't get a bootlicker."

"If this is you trying to leave your job…"

"No, I'm happy to be your servant. Till the day I die."

"Sometimes I think I know you, Merlin. Other times…" He shakes his head.

"Well, I know you. And you're a great warrior. One day, you'll be a great king."

"That's very kind of you."

"But you must learn to listen as well as you fight."

"Any other pointers?" This conversation is getting too sentimental for his liking.

"No. That's it. Just… don't be a prat."

*

"Together we can rule over this land. Arthur will tremble at your voice, he will kneel at your feet."

"I don't want that."

"You'd rather be a servant?"

"Better to serve a good man than to rule with an evil one."

*

"I hereby banish you from Camelot, on pain of death."

*

"Goodbye, sire."

Arthur gasps as he sits up, heart pounding. Merlin. He forgot Merlin. Gods, he almost killed him.

He scrambles to his feet, suddenly desperate to check if he's alright. It must be cold, gods, the man doesn't even have a blanket. Does he even have his jacket? Arthur can't be sure, he didn't notice through the blinding fury.

Merlin's still awake, he can see that, and his heart cracks at his utterly defeated posture, the way he's slumped against the ropes, any fight drained out of him entirely. It's his fault. He put that expression on Merlin, the best man he's ever known.

He crosses the clearing quickly, crouching down in front of him. Merlin's head tilts as he tries to listen. Arthur reaches a hand behind his head, gently untying the blindfold. "It's just me, Merlin," he reassures him quietly, "I remember you. I remember everything."

Merlin blinks up at him, eyes filled with tears as Arthur takes out the gag.

"It's you? You really– you really remember?"

"Well unless I have another dollopheaded servant with self-sacrificial tendencies and a propensity for saving my life…"

"That's my word," says Merlin weakly, a small smile on his face.

Arthur sees him flinch as he picks up his sword, but doesn't say anything. It's a perfectly reasonable reaction, given that a few hours ago he was almost stabbed with it.

He starts sawing through the ropes, but they're tough (has Merlin strengthened them or something?). After a minute or so, Merlin says quietly, "I can do it. If– if you want me to."

Arthur takes that as the olive branch it is and nods. Merlin murmurs a word, and the ropes fall away. Arthur makes sure to look directly into Merlin's eyes as he does so, not flinching, and he sees them light up a beautiful, brilliant gold, like a sunrise.

Merlin smiles at the expression on his face. "Wow. You're really not afraid of me, are you?"

There's a tentative hope in his voice, and that's all it takes for Arthur to pull him into a hug. There's a beat, before Merlin hesitantly puts his arms around him, sagging into it.

"I'm sorry Merlin," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry for everything I did to you."

He can feel tears wetting his neck where Merlin's face is buried, and is sure that when he pulls back, there'll be a wet patch in Merlin's hair.

But for now it doesn't matter. Nothing does. Maybe Merlin won't want to come back to Camelot, maybe they won't be able to lift the forgetfulness potion from anyone else, maybe, maybe. So many maybes.

But that's in the future.

For now, he's just going to sit here, Merlin in his arms, back where he belongs.

Chapter Text

1 year later

Merlin jumps out of bed, grinning. It's a good day today.

He draws the curtains, and as Arthur groans and pulls the pillow over his eyes, he shouts in his ear as cheerfully as he can manage, "rise and shine!"

"Go 'way Merlin," Arthur mutters. Merlin yanks the pillow away.

"Nope. You have to get up. You've got lunch with your father later."

"You mean we have. You can't get out of them now."

Merlin scowls. "I should've chosen a different position. I could've had anything. Why on earth did I choose to be your consort? And a knight at that."

"Because you love me very much and would do anything to keep me happy?"

Merlin rolls his eyes, leaning down to kiss the lingering uncertainty off his face. "Gods help me, but I do." The kiss goes on longer than he intended, but eventually he pulls away reluctantly. "You really do have to get up though. I promised Gwen I'd help her with her chores, and Morgana will have my head if she finds out I cut further into their limited free time together by not turning up."

"Alright, fine. I need your help later though, so don't be late."

"I won't." And he means it. Despite the awful few months, he can't help but be grateful for the forgetfulness potion, for all that followed it. Because even though Gaius is still liable to feed the pair of them and Leon fouler-tasting potions than normal, and even though only Gwen, Morgana, Gaius and Arthur have got their memories back, he's still happier than he's ever been. He has friends who know about his magic, he has someone who understands what it's like, he has people who really care about him.

And Arthur. He has Arthur.

For now, and for forever. The prophecy can fuck off. The dragon can roar all he likes, because Merlin's not giving this up for the world.