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They are surrounded by druids.

Now, this is not necessarily a bad thing. Arthur has been working to make peace with the druids, and they’re a rather peace-loving people to begin with, so the burgeoning relationship between Camelot and the druids has been steadily improving. No druid has been killed for the mere crime of existing in years , and a tentative trust has grown between Arthur and the druid camps near him. 

There’s an easy truce between them, one with advantages for both the druids and Camelot. They tell him when there’s something dangerous coming. He doesn’t burn them on the stake. All in all, fair dealings. The ones that Uther would never have had.

All things considered, the druids are rather good neighbours to have. Besides the bit with magic, Arthur can almost understand the way they choose to live, close to nature and within the forests. Their religion is a bit wacky, of course, and Arthur can never really accept anyone who would practise the Old Religion, but the druids are nice about it. Not as forceful as Morgana. They do their own thing, and the religion bit of their existence stays far away from Arthur.

That is, until now.

“Emrys,” one of the druids says, clearly their leader. He is on his knees, his head bowed, the perfect picture of obedience and loyalty. It’s not just him; there must be nearly forty druids in the camp that they’d stumbled upon. Truly, Arthur needs to start listening to Merlin when he says to stay away from certain places, but that would mean giving Merlin the satisfaction of being listened to. He can’t quite do that, when Merlin is the absolute worst servant to ever walk the Earth.

Even more so, now that all the druids are bowing to him. Merlin blinks, and then raises his gaze to meet Arthur’s. He looks panicked, Arthur realises distantly, but the sunlight catches Merlin’s dark hair quite beautifully, almost making him look like a sort of untouchable creature of myth that the druids are making him out to be.

“What?” Merlin says weakly, and turns back towards the druid. “Please, don’t – I’m not – this isn’t necessary. I promise.”

The druid slowly climbs back to his feet, confusion speaking volumes on his face. “Lord Emrys,” he protests slowly, his gaze swinging between Arthur and Merlin, “we heard of your coming. We only thought to welcome you, now that you have come into your full powers.”

“Full powers,” Merlin says, and now he holds Arthur’s gaze. “I don’t – look, I’m – well, flattered, I suppose, but this really isn’t –”

Now Arthur is getting it. He hasn’t heard the name Emrys in a while, but it clicks as he sees the druids staring at Merlin like he’s some sort of god who walks the Earth. There’s the prophecies, of course, the ones that hail the coming of the warlock that the druids worship. Emrys. Somehow, for whatever reason, they think it’s Merlin.

They think it’s Merlin. Have they met him, his goofy servant with two left feet? 

“It’s very honourable of you,” Arthur says, his mind whirring. He smiles broadly, and comes to stand next to Merlin, tossing an arm over his shoulder. “To welcome Lord Emrys here. In fact, we came to look for you!” That is not true, of course. Arthur came to hunt, as will be evidenced by the two dead rabbits that are slung over the horses that Merlin had insisted they dismounted when they found the druid camp.

Merlin, in the meanwhile, looks very, very concerned. He is staring at Arthur like he’s grown two heads, or drunk some sort of magical potion. Arthur turns the smile on him, willing Merlin to finally catch up with him and play along. 

“As it must be,” the druid says peacefully, and bows again for Arthur. With much less gusto than he’d bowed before Merlin, but some matters can’t be helped. “Emrys and the Once and Future King, side by side, as prophecy commands. You do us great honour in reaching out to us.”

“Well,” Arthur says, and loosens his hold on Merlin. “That’s because we want to be. You know. Honourable. And to commit to a better relationship with the druids, obviously. What better way to improve our standing with the druids than come and bring my extremely powerful warlock friend here, whose name is Emrys?”

Merlin doesn’t seem like he’s understanding quite fully yet. He keeps staring at Arthur, the crease between his eyebrows increasingly more comical the longer it’s there. 

“You knew?” he says finally, sounding a little faint. At least he’s playing along now, even if he still seems thrown by the entire situation. Fair’s fair, though; it’s not like Arthur forces him to pretend to be a sorcerer of prophecy every day. He just hopes that the druids won’t actually ask Emrys here to do any magic.

“How couldn’t I?” Arthur says, folding his arms. “You thought I wouldn’t notice a sorcerer in my court, Emrys? I’m not that much of an idiot, you know.”

Merlin blinks again, taking a step back. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

This isn’t what Arthur really had in mind, but he has to give Merlin some credit. He looks very sincere, his entire stance so tense that Arthur thinks he could blow some air in his direction and Merlin would fall apart. And really, it’s quite believable that, if Emrys truly had been part of Arthur’s court, he’d have kept his magic a secret. It’s quick thinking on Merlin’s part, although Arthur will never admit it.

“Come, now,” he says, and tries to be gentler. Tries to act like this is really them, like Merlin was actually a sorcerer and Arthur had actually known it. “What would I have said? Anyway, I’m still working on opposition from the Court against anything magical. We couldn’t have done anything about it.”

“Still,” Merlin says, and tilts his head. “I — God, I’m so sorry, Arthur. I didn’t want to keep it a secret from you, please believe me, I’ve been so close to telling you, but everyone kept reminding me — and over time, it just became too much. I thought…  Well, it clearly doesn’t matter. But you could’ve said!”

“Emrys,” the druid interrupts, but he inclines his head towards Merlin again when they both turn towards him. “Your destiny is too mighty to go untold. For the Once and Future King to walk beside you, your fate was to be revealed. This, too, was foretold.”

Somehow, that seems to settle Merlin a little bit. He breathes out deeply, and then casts Arthur a watery, sincere sort of smile. 

(Truly, Merlin’s more capable as a liar than Arthur had thought him to be. He’s not sure if he should be proud or concerned.)

“What is your name?” Arthur asks the druid, because Merlin is opening his mouth, and he’d rather get the ordeal over with as soon as possible. 

The druid starts. “Adelmar, my King.”

“Adelmar. Please, this – this coming into his full powers thing. Is Emrys required to do anything to make it official? Is there a throne, perhaps, that he has to sit on? Is there some sort of spell to bind him to –” Arthur waves his hands around, “nature, and the Earth, and the water, that kind of thing?”

“Well, no,” Adelmar says, frowning. “Emrys is magic. We can all feel it. Nothing more is required. We simply came to prove our loyalty, and to tell him, tell you, Emrys, that we will come, at your call. The druids’ allegiance is with you.”

Merlin’s smile is blinding. “Thank you, Adelmar,” he says kindly. With how he’s straightened his back, he could almost pass as magical royalty. There’s an easy manner to him with the druids that belies his comfort, and Arthur thinks of the many times Merlin has gone to the forest to get herbs to Gaius. Has Merlin met druids? 

Of course, he can count on Merlin to befriend everyone he meets. Arthur stops himself from sighing, and just watches as Adelmar grasps Merlin’s arm in a sign of friendship. There is true admiration in the druid’s face, and Arthur feels almost bad for throwing Merlin to them as their once-and-future Sorcerer.

“If there’s nothing else,” Arthur announces, “we should be going. Perhaps you could come to Camelot in two weeks’ time, Adelmar? I think it is high time we improved the druids’ stance within our borders.”

“Of course, Sire,” Adelmar says. “It would be my honour. Lord Emrys.” This time, Adelmar’s bow to Arthur is a little lower. He is gratified to see it.

Merlin almost trips over his own feet to come and walk next to Arthur, as they leave the druid camp behind and make their way back to their horses. Merlin feels almost radiant with his good mood, and Arthur just bumps their shoulders together to see that vibrant smile turned at him. Merlin doesn’t disappoint, and Arthur can’t help but return the smile.

“I hope,” he says in good humour, as he mounts his horse again, “that you are aware this doesn’t mean you don’t still have to wash my socks. Being druid royalty means nothing in Camelot, you know.”

Merlin hums. “Oh, I know,” he says. “Being royalty never meant that much to me, anyway. Too many prats to socialise with. No, no, this is fine with me.”

“I resent that,” Arthur says. “Be careful, or I’ll be giving you actual titles, Lord Emrys.”

It would be a little funny, in a way. For a second, he envisions Merlin as a noble, in a deep blue tunic that isn’t as ragged as the ones he always wears, and with a threaded coat to keep him warm. The image disappears, and it’s his servant before him again, his smile a little softer.

“Will you tell me when you figured it out?” Merlin asks. “The magic, I mean. Well, the Emrys part, too, I suppose.”

Arthur’s mind blanks for a moment. Then understanding dawns. “They did mention Emrys to me before, you know,” he says. “The druids, mostly, but I’ve heard the name from Geoffrey as well. It wasn’t so hard to piece together.”

“Right,” Merlin says, blinking, “But how did you know I -”

“You must truly think I’m thick,” Arthur says, because honestly, the fact that the druids worship Emrys is common knowledge, when one thinks to look into the druids for more than a second. How could Merlin think that Arthur wouldn’t know?

Merlin smiles, though, tightly. “Well,” he says, and shrugs. “I was relying on you being thick, Sire. You’ve never really shown much evidence for anything else.”

“That’s it,” Arthur says, and spurs on his horse so he can push Merlin off. Merlin rides away, laughing.

(Arthur catches him in the end, of course, poking him hard enough to fall off the horse. If he helps Merlin up again afterwards, well, no one needs to know.)

~*~

Arthur knows he’s lying, of course. 

It’s not the honourable thing to do. The thing is, it’s by far the best outcome for both of the druids and him. Their relationship with the druids is fine, but there are dozens of druid groups out there. If he wants his entire kingdom to be accepting of their peaceful clans, something official must be drawn up.

And he can’t think of any way to bring them closer to him than by offering them the existence of Emrys. As long as Emrys is here, by Arthur’s side, the druids will follow him.

Besides, they were the ones to call Merlin by the name of a prophesied warlock. It’s not as if Arthur set out to intentionally mislead them. To be honest, it’s a little awkward that they don’t recognise their own sorcerer to begin with. Who knows, maybe Merlin can even be persuaded to learn a bit of magic to impress the druids with, when Adelmar comes to court. In fact, if he can get Merlin to be that heretical, who knows, maybe he’ll turn out to be the sorcerer they’re looking for.

(And he’s sure he can convince Merlin to be at least a little heretical, since Merlin has shown little regard for Camelot’s other laws. In fact, Arthur’s a little surprised Merlin hasn’t tried his hand at sorcery yet, for all the disdain his manservant has shown for the rules laid upon him by authoritative figures.)

Anyway, he spends his days after meeting the druids in the forest by drawing up official treaties that will be amenable to the druids as well his more magic-opposing advisors. All in all, magic is dangerous, but the druids could perhaps tame the sort of evil that other magic users have in them. 

If he could just find a way to word it correctly.

(Merlin keeps staring at him with hopeful eyes. Arthur’s not quite sure what that is about, either.)

~*~

“Merlin,” he says, when Merlin’s just come in with his bath water. His manservant looks up, but there’s this distracted look to his eyes, and Arthur scowls, even as he dips his toe into the bathwater. At least the temperature is perfect. “ Merlin.”

“What?” Merlin says dumbly, and blinks. Arthur gestures at him, and Merlin tiptoes closer. Arthur slaps the back of his head. “ Ow! What was that for?”

“I’m talking to you,” Arthur says, and sinks into the water, sighing as his cramping muscles relax in the warmth. “I’ve been thinking. About the druids, and their visit.”

Merlin frowns. “Yes? What about it?”

“I want you to do magic in front of them, when they next come.”

“What,” Merlin says flatly.

“Not the rest of the court, obviously,” Arthur says. “Look. This is a complicated issue, you’re aware. I can’t legalise magic. That need not be said.”

“You can’t?” Merlin demands, and he sounds irrationally lost. “But Arthur, you said —”

“Let me talk,” Arthur interrupts him, grinding his teeth. “Magic is too dangerous, Merlin. You know that. You’ve seen it yourself. Any power is a different tool, and I’ve had too many sorcerers use it against me to vote for its return. But the druids, they can control it. They’re peaceful, thoughtful. If they are allowed to be within Camelot, within our kingdom, without being hunted — we can send the sorcerers to them. The druids can be the conduit through which magic is controlled.”

It’s quite ingenious, if he says so himself. Uther’s many attempts to kill everyone who uses magic has been unbelievably dangerous to all of Camelot, numerous times. Arthur doesn’t want to see that happen again, not under his reign. He will be fairer, he’s decided, and that means being more merciful to those who have gained that trust. The druids deserve to be protected by Camelot, in the end. But he needs Emrys to seal it.

Merlin doesn’t seem so pleased. “Magic’s no more dangerous than the man who controls it,” he says. “It doesn’t corrupt, no more than any power does. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” Arthur says, although he’s not quite so sure what that has to do with it. “Merlin, believe me. The druids are the first step. If those who have magic have a safe haven, they might not be so tempted to use it against me in the first place.”

Merlin exhales, but he is thoughtful. Arthur has grown familiar with that expression on Merlin’s face, although he doesn’t always relish it. The advice Merlin gives is often valuable, but it’s not always what Arthur would prefer to hear. That’s why he still listens to him, of course.

“I suppose I see your point,” Merlin says. “So magic will still be forbidden in the castle, but you want — what? To impress the druids? I really don’t think I’ll have to, Arthur. If I impress Adelmar any further, he might faint. Or, I don’t know, start giving me crowns, or magical thrones. I’d rather just be by your side, during your treaty.”

Arthur frowns. “But you’ll be going as Emrys. You’ll have to play your part, or he won’t be convinced.”

Merlin laughs quietly, and crouches next to the tub, his arms leaning on the sides of it. The sight of him makes Arthur want to do something irrational, like pull him in. 

“I doubt he’ll need convincing, Arthur,” Merlin says, letting his hands fall into the soapy water. “It’s not something one needs to prove, you know? And I’m fine staying by the sidelines, anyway. I’m not supposed to be doing all the hard work. I’m supposed to guide you while you do.”

Arthur huffs. “We can get Gaius,” he says stubbornly. “He can practise one or two spells with you, surely. I’d rather not be caught unprepared, in case the druids are expecting something.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows. “I doubt I need to practise, but thank you for your concern.”

“Figures you’d be as rubbish at this as everything else,” Arthur mutters, and runs a hand over his face. “Look, Merlin, we need the druids on our side. It’s important.”

“I know. We will.”

“This is hard,” Arthur says, and leans his head back. Watching the ceiling is easier than watching Merlin, anyhow. “I’m not sure how to do this. The only ones I’ve had to make treaties with were nobles, at most. The druids aren’t like that, and I want — I must protect Camelot, and I know they are the first step to doing that. But I don’t understand them, and the Emrys angle is the only one I can think of.”

“Emrys or no, they respect you, Arthur,” Merlin says, and splashes a few droplets at Arthur. Arthur leans forward again, only to see him grinning. “Don’t worry so much.”

“Are you sure you can’t do a bit of magic?” he asks. “I promise I won’t behead you for it.”

“Very reassuring,” Merlin says. “Truly, that’s an extreme act of mercy on your part, my Lord. It’s almost enough to convince me you aren’t a dollop-head.”

“What use are you,” Arthur mutters, but he does feel a bit lighter. 

~*~

Adelmar bows deeply enough for his face to touch his toes, when he comes to visit. And he does it before Merlin.

“My Lord Emrys,” he says, when he’s risen again. These druids must be extremely flexible, to be able to bow so low. 

“Please,” Merlin says, sounding a bit pained. “No need for formalities, Adelmar. That’s — that’s not necessary.”

Arthur thinks there is very much a need for formalities, so he only smiles tightly when Adelmar bows to him, too, and the druids Adelmar brought with him follow his example. The rest of his court seems a little stunned, and Arthur wonders distantly if he ought to have updated them on his scheme before Adelmar came. 

He pulls at Merlin’s sleeve; he explicitly gave Merlin some nicer tunics so that he wouldn’t stand out so much. Merlin had looked deeply uncomfortable at the three new blouses and two pants that he’d had brought to Gaius’ rooms, but Arthur can’t help it. If Merlin is to be the druids’ king, more or less, he should learn to deal with the thought of being a noble.

It’s a little funny, though, Merlin playing at being a noble. Endearing, really. The real Emrys surely wouldn’t be so embarrassed, though, and so it’s important that Merlin doesn’t seem too overwhelmed. The real Emrys would be the picture of power, Arthur imagines, like a noble king of old. That sorcerer would exude magic and probably be too haughty to ever smile as broadly as Merlin, and turn up his nose at joking around with his friends.

In fact, the real Emrys probably doesn’t even have friends. Prophecy and fate on one man’s shoulders, well, that’s a lot to deal with. Arthur couldn’t even blame the man for it, really.

“Act natural,” Arthur mutters under his breath, so only Merlin can hear. “You’re pretending to be noble, remember? So accept the damn bows, you moron.”

Merlin straightens his shoulders, and Arthur smiles at Adelmar.

“Be welcome in Camelot,” Arthur says. “You, and your brothers and sisters.”

“Thank you, my King,” Adelmar says, and his eyes keep flitting to Merlin. “My Lord Emrys.  Your invitation to us was most kind, but I cannot help but think that there is a purpose to it. Is there a matter you wish to discuss with the druids?”

“Yes,” Arthur says. The court starts to murmur among each other, but to Adelmar’s credit, he does not look worried in the slightest. Arthur wouldn’t let anything happen, of course, but it has been a long time since a druid came to court, let alone six. One of the druids behind Adelmar shuffles on her feet, a bit, but none of the others visibly respond.

“Sire –” Lord Eadric starts, but Arthur raises his hand. He knows that not all of his advisors agree with his methods. That’s no reason to openly defy him, however. He has discussed the druids’ status with them, and they all had their say then. 

“For a long time,” Arthur says, his voice echoing as the court falls silent, “my father has persecuted all those who practise magic. He has waged war on the druids, and not once, the druids have returned the violence. In doing so, many of your people have died. I, myself, have raised my hand against your people in the past. The reason I summoned you here, Adelmar of the druids, is to pledge to you that such will be your fate no longer.”

“My King,” Adelmar simply says, inclining his head.

“Since I have ascended to the throne,” Arthur continues, “I have stopped the attacks on the druids. However, I now hope to align our causes even further. Camelot has long had issues with magic users. For years, our war on magic has made us a target for a group who can do things that we have lost, and it has been a disadvantage since the Purge. Our hate has made us weak, rather than strong, as my father once hoped. It is only in uniting our land that Camelot will rise above itself.”

Arthur stops for a moment. The crowd is silent as they process Arthur’s words. The Knights and the rest of his advisors had known, of course. Still, the fact that even Gwaine is frowning means that this will be a pivotal moment of his rule. He catches Leon’s gaze, and his oldest Knight slowly nods at him in approval. 

For a reason he would not be able to put words to, he glances over his shoulder to see Merlin, by his side. Merlin’s eyes shine, blue and full of faith, and a sincere smile plays on his lips. All things considered, he looks proud.

Arthur turns back to Adelmar. “I hereby declare the druids to be protected citizens of Camelot. You have the same rights as any of my people, and you will not be persecuted, lest you do not cause harm.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Adelmar says, and bows again. “Your grace extends far beyond that of your father. You are guided by counsel that rings true, and we thank you for your acceptance.”

Arthur takes a step forward. “It should have been done long ago,” he says, and feels a little awkward for it. “However, Adelmar. Your people have known the ways of peace, but not all magic users have been so gracious in the past. The druids walk free, but I cannot accept yet other users of magic in these lands. It is my hope that the druids will help me to deal with any attacks of a magical nature that Camelot will face.”

“We are a peaceful people, King Arthur,” the druid says easily. “Dark magic is a plague upon all lands, and the druids are not strong enough to deal with them, if that is what you are asking. We have lost our own people in recent attacks, and we don’t have the strength to defend our own, let alone Camelot. We will guide all of those with magic that ask for our help, but we will not fight. Emrys is destined to guide you in your battles, and to win you Albion.”

It’s not as if Arthur can tell him that the Emrys they have in mind is actually a good-for-nothing servant who is more likely to slash his own ears off rather than nick an enemy during battle, if he got his hands on a sword. When he looks back to Merlin, though, his oddball of a manservant has his eyes fixed on Arthur, heavy with promise.

“The druids are not warriors, Arthur,” Merlin says, a little darkly. He looks at Arthur through his eyelashes, his gaze meaningful. “If there is a battle, it will be ours. If you need any strength, it’ll be mine.”

That sounds like the sort of thing that Emrys should say. Merlin doesn’t even look upset about it; if Arthur didn’t know better, he would believe that Merlin would fight off a dozen sorcerers for him.

(The thought of it sends something spinning in Arthur, and he tastes something vile in his mouth. He has never been able to leave Merlin behind, nor has Merlin ever allowed himself to be sent away from danger. And yet, Merlin should never be put in a position where he could be hurt. Arthur is not sure he could forgive himself, if that happened.)

“We will heal your wounded,” Adelmar says. “We will care for those who find themselves without a home. But we will not use our magic to fight. As you know, corruption is easy. Our power is not for ourselves, but for others. Dark days are ahead, and it is Emrys who has been foretold to stand against it.”

“That sounds ominous,” Arthur mutters under his breath, and then clears his throat to address everyone again. “There will be ongoing talks with the druids and their leaders,” he says. “The issue with the dark magic users notwithstanding, I will wish to have your opinion on several matters pertaining to magic, and we will need to discuss how to move forward in uniting our people. But the most important thing is that your people are safe in Camelot.”

Merlin slides up to him, and Arthur forgets to breathe for a second as Merlin’s fingers brush against his wrist. Merlin looks happy, truly content, and it fits him so well that it should be considered a crime that he doesn’t always look so taken with Arthur’s choices.

(Perhaps this is why Arthur listens to him so often, these days. Merlin prattles on about many things, but there is some wisdom in him, from time to time. And Arthur always knows when Merlin is glad to be heard, surprised to be taken into consideration, and sometimes, he smiles like that. Like he knows that Arthur could be like this, and like his dreams are coming true.)

“Well done,” Merlin whispers, and then the fleeting touch of his fingers is gone. Arthur shouldn’t miss it, but he does. He almost wants to reach out again, but Merlin is gone to talk to Adelmar, and the rest of the court is chattering amongst themselves.

So he stands there, and watches Merlin and the druids. Perhaps, in another life, Merlin would have liked to be part of their group. He sort of seems to fit with them, in a way he’s never seemed to quite blend with the Knights. 

One of the druids stares at Arthur intently. Arthur stares right back.

“A convincing speech, Sire,” Gwaine says, casually coming up to him, and breaking Arthur’s gaze. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’ve somehow convinced the druids that our Merlin is a sorcerer.”

Arthur huffs. “They were the ones that called him Emrys,” he says. “It’s not my mistake, is it? If they want to think that Merlin is some sort of sorcerer with godlike powers, it’s not up to me to correct them.”

Gwaine blinks. “They called him that? And Merlin didn’t protest?”

“Didn’t give him a chance to,” Arthur says. “It’ll be a smoother transition if the druids follow Merlin. He’ll do what must be done.”

“He always does,” Gwaine agrees, “even if it’s not necessarily what you think must be done, Princess. Won’t this give you any trouble with your advisors? If they distrust Merlin, it’s –”

“Don’t worry. It’s only for a few months. And no one will give Merlin any problems; if they do, they’ll have to deal with me.”

~*~

The thing is –

(There are a great many things, in fact. Arthur is not entirely lost about how the castle politics work, although he has been oblivious to it in the past.) 

Everyone likes Merlin. His manservant seems to have no enemies, no people who even slightly dislike him. It’s as if men and women alike see Merlin, and all simultaneously decide upon meeting him that Merlin deserves all the best things in this world. Except Cook, maybe, but Arthur has long learnt that Merlin sometimes steals food from the kitchen and feeds it to his Knights.

So, therefore, the thing. The thing is that Merlin, albeit a horrible servant who has been on time on maybe two separate occasions, is really a good person. Merlin’s advice always consists of honesty and openness, of loyalty and trust, of relying on the strength of those he trusts. Merlin is the definition of someone who unites, and it has taken Arthur far too long that Merlin has united Arthur with his people, in a way. That Merlin is uniting Arthur with the druids, now, which is possibly the only reason that Merlin is going along with the lie at all.

And a plain truth that Arthur has ignored for several years now comes to light. He needs Merlin, and has needed him since Merlin first spoke back to him, uncaring of Arthur’s station. 

Merlin can’t remain a servant.

~*~

“It’s blatantly disrespectful to your father, Sire,” Lord Eadric says, his voice pleading. Arthur would feel for him, if his advisor hadn’t cornered him in the hallways as Arthur came back from training with his Knights. He is sweaty, and uncomfortable, and Percival got a blow in that is still making Arthur’s ears ring distantly.

“What is?” Arthur says wearily, and Lord Eadric presses his lips together so tightly that they’re as white as his hair. Arthur has never particularly liked his father’s advisors, although he usually got on splendidly with the Knights. It’s probably because he only knows the advisors from Uther’s court, where they’d spent hours debating matters that Arthur considered clear-cut. Now he is King, he knows even the simplest of issues aren’t black-and-white. 

“Allowing a sorcerer to be in your court, my Lord,” Eadric says, crossing his arms. Lord Eadric doesn’t quite equal Gaius in age, but he has always struck Arthur as one of the old men, in mind rather than in physical years. Arthur never likes challenging him, if only because it feels discourteous in the way that insulting someone twice your age is. Just because he’s King doesn’t mean he feels wiser than the other men in his court.

Lord Eadric can make it really, really difficult not to talk back to him, though. Arthur has allowed him to stay, because Lord Eadric was nothing if not loyal to Uther, but the nobleman is now showing his hand in coming to Arthur. These are matters to be discussed openly, in court, during a session. 

“If you have a problem with Merlin’s presence,” Arthur says evenly, “You are free to discuss it tomorrow, provided you have updated Sir Leon. He gets awfully cross if unexpected items come up during these sessions.”

Leon is in charge of the sessions as Arthur’s First Knight, making sure everything is discussed in time. The only reason he is able to hold the job is because of his flexibility, considering that there’s always a thousand things that come up at the last possible moment, but Arthur isn’t above some minor threats.

“When you are under his enchantment?” Lord Eadric scoffs.

Arthur, despite the throbbing ache behind his eyelids, responds fast as lightning. He grabs Lord Eadric’s wrist, and pushes him back so they’re no longer in the open hallway, but hidden near the windows, where they won’t be spotted or overheard so easily.

“You should be very careful, Lord Eadric,” Arthur mutters, “with the accusations you are making.”

Lord Eadric twists away his wrist, rubbing it. “I’m only looking out for you, Sire!” he snaps. “King Uther understood the danger of magic, and he knew the darkness it heralds. Not only have you allowed the druids back into Camelot with little to no notice to your advisors, now there is a named sorcerer at your right hand! Making your bed! Serving you your food!”

“I trust Merlin with my life,” Arthur says.

“He may be a good manservant,” Lord Eadric alleges, unaware that Merlin is possibly the worst manservant to have ever walked the halls of Camelot, “but in being a sorcerer, he is committing a crime. He must be burned, Sire. It’s the only way to make sure that your mind is your own. It is the only way to protect Camelot!”

Arthur stills. The dark whispers haven’t escaped his notice, but it’s something he thought would die down after the initial surprise passed. Arthur can only hope Merlin hasn’t noticed, as oblivious as he can be at times. He doesn’t think so, though. Not if the whispers have grown loud enough to be muttered to Arthur, by his own advisor, no less.

He could tell them that Merlin is no true sorcerer. The deception could end, and that would be the end of it. There would be no further risk to Merlin’s safety, but the druids would soon learn that Merlin was not the mythical Emrys they were promised. Arthur’s deception, the one he still considers necessary, will be brought to light, and his association with the druid leaders will be brutally ended before it has really begun.

“Listen to me well, Lord Eadric,” Arthur starts. “Merlin is my most trusted servant in Camelot. If I found out that anyone has harmed him, or if I hear that someone has even so much as looked at him funnily, it will be them in the dungeons.”

Lord Eadric’s look is one of resigned anger. “Yes, Sire. But will he be allowed to do magic in the capital?”

“Magic is not legal,” Arthur says, “But I will not condemn a man for having a power that I do not have. Merlin’s existence should not warrant a death penalty; it is only his actions that I judge, and he has always been loyal to the Crown of Camelot.”

At least his advisor seems a little settled by the news that Arthur isn’t planning on repealing the ban on magic. There are certain boundaries that Arthur cannot cross. Besides, he trusts the druids not to harm him; there is no guarantee for other magic users. The past has taught him that sorcerers are corrupted by their powers, and Arthur means to be just, not stupid.

(Sometimes he remembers Morgana, the way she used to be before she found her magic. Arthur doesn’t think that, even if he went back and had the power to change things, he could do harm to her. She was good and then she was not, and Arthur will never know how deeply her magic cut her.

More often he remembers Morgana, her dying breath spilling across Arthur’s cheek. He’d often hoped for words of reconciliation, but she had not said anything as he held her. She’d died, and Arthur does not talk about her anymore. Merlin has stopped mentioning her.)

It’s better this way. Merlin will be safe, even despite their temporary deception in Camelot. Arthur has made his thoughts on the matter clear, and he trusts Lord Eadric to spread them.

Merlin is not to be touched.

“A sorcerer in Camelot, Sire,” Lord Eadric whispers, and only now Arthur realises that it is fear that he can see in the nobleman’s eyes. Fear of Merlin, of all people. “As your manservant, no less. Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” Arthur confirms. “But there is no reason to be concerned, Lord Eadric. Merlin would give up his own life before he allowed anyone in Camelot to be harmed. Besides, he won’t be my manservant for much longer.”

Lord Eadric frowns. “I’m not sure what you mean, my lord.”

Arthur grins. “You’ll see.”

~*~

The gardens are really quite beautiful. They might have even been better if Arthur’s manservant wasn’t trodding through the flower beds and picking the flowers without an ounce of respect for the hard work of the gardeners.

“How did you find me?” Merlin asks. There is something defensive in his tone, which is really mostly amusing. Perhaps he knows what Arthur thinks of his desecration of the royal gardens; Merlin is sitting among the flower beds, his new pants already dirtied with soil, and Arthur really shouldn’t have expected anything else to come of giving Merlin new clothes. There are a few strikingly red flowers already in Merlin’s woven basket, and Merlin’s short nails are dark with dirt.

“I followed the sounds of insubordination,” Arthur says, leaning against a tree. “Weren’t you supposed to be mucking out the stables, Merlin? Am I to guess you’ve taken a fancy to a girl, instead?”

“Prat,” Merlin mutters, and gets to his feet. “Gaius needs some more poppies. We are running low on sleeping draughts, and I thought I’d get them from here rather than running all the way to the forest in search of them. So I’d be in time for mucking the stables, Sire. It’s only the sensible thing to do.”

Merlin sounds the same as always, but the way he runs a hand through his hair catches Arthur’s attention. Suddenly, even more than ever, he guesses at Merlin’s daily routine.

“And then?” Arthur prompts. “After you’ve finished the stables? What’s your day going to be like?”

Merlin eyes him with some distrust. Presumably, he’s concerned about Arthur giving him more tasks to finish. “Well, your sword needs to be sharpened again, so I was going to bring it around to Gwen. Get you your lunch, in the meantime. And your room must be swept, and I think Gaius might be done with the potions by then, so I can bring them ‘round everyone who asked for one. That’ll take me long enough for it to be dinnertime, so I’ll serve you, and then I’ll have my own dinner with Gaius. Then I’ll get you your bath, if you’ll be needing one, and I’ll be going into the woods to talk to the druids. After that, I suppose I’ll be able to sleep.”

“Talk to the druids?” Arthur demands. “I wasn’t aware you’ve been going to see them.”

Merlin smiles wryly. “I’ve been visiting them on and off for years, Arthur,” he says, like it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Arthur just blinks. “Now that you’ve legalised their stay in the city, they won’t be as far. They’ve been asking me to come, and I thought – well, now it doesn’t need to be a secret anymore, does it?”

“Why are you going to them, anyway?” Arthur asks. “What do you discuss with them?”

Merlin hums. “Magic, mostly,” he says. “It’s truly fascinating. Gaius has taught me what he knows, of course, but the druids have so much information that was lost in the Purge. They’ve been telling me stories, and they’re –”

“Right,” Arthur says faintly, mostly to put a stop to Merlin’s ramble. It’s one thing to have Merlin pretend to be Emrys to the druids; it’s quite another to have Merlin going off on his own, talking to the druids about magic. Although, it’s quick thinking on Gaius’ part, to tell Merlin everything he knows about magic. It’ll help to convince their story about Merlin being a supposedly all-powerful warlock. Still, there are so many complications involved, especially with Merlin’s admission that he has talked to the druids before.

“You could come, but you’ve got that council meeting in the morning,” Merlin says. “I know how you need your sleep, and you’ll be grumpy –”

“I’m the King, I’m never grumpy!”

“– If you get anything less than six hours, and yes, you do get grumpy, and it’s really annoying for me, because you’ll be a right prat all morning. Besides, maybe I should ask the druids before I bring you. Some of the children are still a little wary about a Pendragon. Nothing personal, of course. I’ve only been telling good stories.”

And that’s even odder, the thought of Merlin sitting around a fire with the druids, telling them about Arthur. Suddenly, he wants to be part of that meeting, listening to Merlin’s words.

“You’ll be at the council meeting in the morning,” Arthur says suddenly. “Don’t you need your sleep?”

Merlin snorts. “I’ve been running on five hours a night since I first came to Camelot, Arthur. It’s one of the many joys of being your manservant. And I won’t really need to pay attention to the council, anyway. I just pour water when your cup’s empty, and that’s it.”

Arthur eyes him, only more convinced of his plan. It’s unprecedented, but it’s the right thing to do. Merlin, albeit a surprisingly good juggler, can’t continue to go on like this, especially not with Arthur’s blessing. Merlin certainly will be paying attention to that council meeting, and he’ll be telling Arthur all his thoughts in private, and Arthur wants him to be aware of every little detail of what is going on. That is how they have done it for years, and Arthur doesn’t mean to stop.

“Merlin,” he says, and ignores the way Merlin raises his eyebrows. He probably expected an insult. “I want you to delegate your responsibilities to other servants in the household. We’ll get Gaius an errand boy, if you don’t want to give up your position as his charge. Although, we should probably get him another apprentice, since you won’t be doing it.”

Merlin’s eyebrows are now doing a spectacularly different thing, the sort of crease in them that Arthur only gets to see when Merlin isn’t following. Surely it’s not that difficult to see what Arthur’s intentions are?

“Excuse me, my Lord?” Merlin says.

“I’m appointing you to the position of royal advisor, you idiot,” Arthur says. “Which means I can’t have you running around picking flowers at all odd hours. And I’ll probably get you a title, because I’m sure Lord Eadric and Lord Reagann will have my hide if you’re my advisor while you’re a commoner. They’ll be picking battles with you soon enough, and I expect you to be prepared to really be a noble, rather than pretending to be one.”

Merlin’s mouth is forming a perfect little ‘o’, and Arthur doesn’t fixate on his lips, at all. Here he is, making a noble out of the creamy-skinned thin Merlin, the servant boy who taunted him a decade ago. The man who has served him more loyally than anyone ever since.

“Oh,” Merlin just says, and then his basket has fallen to the ground and Arthur has an armful of manservant. Merlin’s hair prickles Arthur’s nose, and he moves his face even as he inhales Merlin’s earthy scent. Awkwardly, he pats Merlin’s back.

“That is very unlordlike,” Arthur manages, “and you’re never to do it to anyone else.”

“Can I still do it to you?” Merlin mutters, straight into Arthur’s ear. Arthur swallows.

“Yes,” he says, and surprises himself by pulling Merlin to himself even more tightly for a moment. “You’ve been a loyal servant, Merlin, and an even better friend. If anyone should be prattling in my ear during my reign, I want it to be you.”

Merlin is the only one who truly belongs at Arthur’s side, in all ways that he could conceivably be by his side. But Arthur won’t tell him that.

“And I will,” Merlin breathes, and lets go of Arthur. So close, Arthur can see the way his eyes shine with unshed tears.

“Such a girl,” Arthur says, and pushes at Merlin with his shoulder. “Perhaps you should start looking for a maid rather than a manservant, hm?”

Merlin looks absolutely horrified at the thought of getting his own servant, and Arthur leaves him standing in the garden, as he laughs.

~*~

Everyone grows fearfully quiet when Merlin takes the seat on Arthur’s right hand around the Round Table.

The Knights closest to him don’t seem that surprised, Arthur notes, and Leon even inclines his head at Merlin in a sign of respect. Gwaine, unsurprisingly, just winks. It’s mostly the other advisors that Arthur pays attention to, though, the advisors that have been in court since Uther’s reign.

Lord Eadric’s lips are pressed together in a thin line, but Lord Reagann shows no signs of any emotion at all. Sir Caridoc leans forward in interest, his eyebrows raised at Merlin. Sir Vidor smiles, and it seems sincere enough. Arthur rises from his seat just as Merlin takes his, and all eyes stray towards him.

“All of you have known Merlin for a long time, now,” he starts, and purposefully doesn’t look at his former servant as he addresses the members of his court. “All of you have seen the loyalty that Merlin has shown over the years. Merlin does not have the skills with a sword that a Knight has and, despite that, he has always shown the bravery of one. More than once he has offered his own life in service of Camelot, and it has not been forgotten. As Camelot enters a new age, we will need our most trustworthy citizens to fill the positions that require the most trust. To this end, I have named Merlin to be my right hand. I know that he will stand by me and he has stood by me for years.”

“My King,” Lord Reagann says, “Does that mean you are giving him a title?”

“Yes,” Arthur says bluntly.

“The sorcerer!” Lord Eadric hisses. 

Arthur had not told the court of his deception. Up until now, he is not sure whether that is the right decision. He isn’t intentionally trying to betray them, but there are many ears in Camelot. If all his court is to know that Merlin isn’t actually Emrys, and is just pretending, the druids will undoubtedly find out. Arthur cannot break the little trust that he has gained.

And yet, there are implications to making Merlin his advisor, when his court will think that Merlin has been hiding his magic for years. He can understand that; if he were in that position, if Merlin did actually have magic and had never told him, Arthur can’t quite say what he’d do. Certainly, he wouldn’t be making Merlin his most trusted ally in Camelot. Still, the simmering rage in Lord Eadric’s voice simply because someone has magic…

There is a lesson to be taught here. When he tells him that Merlin does not have magic, they will have learnt how to treat someone who does have it, and who has never used it against them. The deception will serve to make his advisors see reason, in the end.

“Magic may be evil in the wrong hands,” Arthur says sharply, leaning forward on the table to meet Lord Eadric’s gaze, “but so is a sword. And there are no one’s hands I trust more than Merlin’s.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” Merlin murmurs, and Arthur sits down next to him. He can’t quite make himself stare at Merlin so openly, but from the corner of his eye, he can still make out the shock of dark hair and pale skin, the movement of Merlin’s dark blue sleeve as he folds his hands on the Round Table.

This is the right decision, Arthur knows at once. This is where Merlin should be.

“Leon?” Arthur says, looking to his oldest Knight. Leon grins broadly.

“Yes, Sire. First, we should discuss…”

~*~

The castle settles down in the weeks after Merlin joins Arthur’s advisors.

The druids have come to Camelot twice more, mostly to answer some of Arthur’s questions regarding magic, and a little to discuss the matter of rationing supplies between the druid camps. As far as Arthur is aware, Merlin goes to them twice a week. He has offered to let Arthur come along, but Arthur hasn’t taken him up on it yet. There is something strange in Merlin’s eyes, every time he offers, and Arthur feels ill at ease at the thought of coming between Merlin’s easy camaraderie with the druids.

The days are long, though, with winter settling in. There are some concerns about food, as the harvest wasn’t as plentiful as it has been in other years, and Arthur and his advisors have been working around the clock to make sure all towns have their due. The scarcity of food has also caused more bandits to appear on the roads, and Elyan and Percival have left to track down some of the more violent perpetrators. It’s been a turbulent year, and Arthur is aware that his quickly-changing laws on the druids and magic in general may have been a little sudden for some of his more conservative citizens.

What can he say? An opportunity presented itself in the form of Emrys, and he took it.

The exhaustion from the long days is most clear when Arthur is training. On one particular day, he slips and Gwaine slashes his arm. It’s not a particularly deep wound, but it does bleed a lot, and that is how Arthur finds himself in Gaius’ chambers.

“You really ought to rest more, Sire,” Gaius says, his disapproval thick in the air even as he hides behind formalities, and Arthur huffs out a breath.

“I’ll rest when everything has been dealt with,” he says, although even he is a little vague about what constitutes as everything. He hasn’t seen Gaius in a long time, he realises suddenly. With Merlin’s rise in station had come a new set of chambers, one he’d had to bully Merlin into. Since then, there’s been little reason and even fewer time to go and visit his physician.

“I’m sure you will, Sire,” Gaius mutters, and it’s really no surprise that Merlin remained so disrespectful after years of living with Gaius. “Perhaps you should take a hunting trip to take your mind off of things.”

Arthur blinks. “I might,” he says, and mulls it over. It’s been a while since he went hunting. It’s more of a summer activity, but Arthur does enjoy the occasional short winter trip. There’s something alluring about it, hunting as he spots the tracks in the snow, as the cold wind cuts through the air. He could take just his closest Knights with him, and Merlin. Like old times.

Gaius binds the bandage tightly. “I never got to tell you,” Gaius says suddenly. “But you must know, Arthur, that I am eternally grateful for your leniency. Merlin has spent so many years keeping you safe, and I know he always says he doesn’t do it for you to thank him, and he means it. Despite that, it’s such a relief to know that he has got the recognition that he deserves, and that he’d never thought he’d get.”

Arthur frowns. “Of course,” he says. “Merlin’s a loyal friend. I would not forget that so easily.”

“I must admit, you have taken it far more gracefully than I thought you would,” Gaius says, and smiles sincerely as he pats Arthur’s uninjured arm. “Merlin wanted to tell you for years, of course. He was convinced you’d forgive him. I suppose he knew you best, after all.”

“Forgive him for what?” Arthur says, utterly confused. 

Gaius taps his head, like they’re sharing a secret. “You’re quite right, Sire. He’s only ever done what he does for you, after all.”

Arthur wants to ask more, but then Leon is in the door opening to get Arthur for another meeting about the patrols. It is followed by a message from Elyan about the bandits, to which Arthur has to reply. By the time that is done, it is dinner. Merlin still seems horrified by being allowed to sit by Arthur’s side and be poured wine by the servants, and Arthur amuses himself by the way Merlin grasps helplessly at his cup.

Gaius’ words are quite forgotten by the time he finds himself in bed.

~*~

“Arthur,” Merlin says. He sits in Arthur’s chambers, a cup of wine untouched in front of him. Arthur had summoned him to share a drink in the evening, as he tries to do every evening that they have time for it. Merlin is not his manservant anymore, and it means there’s no real reason for him to see Arthur outside of court unless Arthur summons him. So Arthur does, and does it often.

(Truth be told, he’d somehow forgotten that Merlin’s rise in rank would mean that he isn’t supposed to cater to Arthur’s every whim anymore. It is unimaginable, in a way, to think that Merlin now has a choice about spending his every waking moment with Arthur. Fortunately, Merlin doesn’t seem to have realised that he has the choice, the way he always lingers around Arthur.)

“What?” Arthur says absently, peering through the window to look at the empty courtyard. Percival and Elyan should have returned today, but there has been no sign of them yet. If they don’t arrive tomorrow, he’ll send out Leon to look for them.

“You should come with me to the druids the next time I’m seeing them,” Merlin says.

Arthur turns. It’s not the first time Merlin has asked, but it’s the first time he’s phrased it like that. “Oh, should I, Merlin?” he says, but he does take a seat next to Merlin so they can discuss it properly. “And why is that?”

Merlin looks at him. His hair has grown out a little bit, and it’s making him look more mature. In the candlelight, Arthur almost doesn’t recognise Merlin, his advisor, as Merlin, his manservant. 

“It would be good for your relationship with them,” Merlin says. “Not all of them trust you equally, and I can’t make them if they don’t know you any better. Not all the druids believe your words. They have been hunted for so long that they think it’s a trick, and they’ll resent you for it if you don’t show them that you mean it.”

Arthur slowly nods. “Alright. You have a fair point. Is that all that bothers you?”

“You haven’t asked me a single thing,” Merlin confesses, his voice low. “And, well, you know, Arthur, I’m glad you know. Honestly. You’ve been so well to me, and I never wanted to keep secrets from you. But I thought I’d be able to explain everything I’ve done for you, and you haven’t asked.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur says, and maybe he’s had one too many cups of wine, because none of this really makes much sense. “You’ve always been horrible at keeping secrets. I know what you’ve done for me.”

“You do?” Merlin asks, and he sounds sincerely surprised. Arthur is a little offended at that. Merlin has stood by his side for years, and he’s been in so much trouble on Arthur’s account. There was never a moment where he doubted Merlin’s loyalty, or his stupidity. Of course Arthur knows what Merlin has done for him; he’s seen it over the years. He’s just not sure what part of that was supposed to be a secret.

Arthur leans forward, and Merlin does the same, almost as if in challenge. He’s close enough so that Arthur can see the shadow that his lashes cast over his cheek, gently painted by the candlelight. 

“Of course I know, you moron,” Arthur says, and kisses him.

Merlin responds immediately, and his hand comes to rest in Arthur’s hair. It’s insolence, the way that Merlin presses him closer, the way that he keeps them bound together.

(Arthur has always known that they are woven together in imperceptible ways. Merlin is there, he’s always there, and he’s always exactly what Arthur needs, and Arthur has always done everything he can for Camelot. Merlin at his side is what will make Arthur strongest, and that is what Camelot needs, and he has known this to be the truth for a long time.)

“Arthur,” Merlin says, or well, gasps, but Arthur is not interested in hearing Merlin prattle on as much as he’s interested in getting as close to Merlin as he can.

“Not now,” he says, and busies himself with taking off the thrice-damned scarf Merlin insists on wearing, even though he has decent enough clothes that he doesn’t need the extra warmth.

“Prat,” Merlin says, but he finds Arthur’s lips again, and Arthur can’t mind quite so much when they’re finally pressed together, and they fall to the floor in front of the hearth right as Arthur pulls Merlin out of his seat. Arthur wastes no time in pressing Merlin to the floor. Merlin leans on one elbow, a familiar twist of a smile playing around his lips, and pushes Arthur away.

“You shouldn’t be stopping,” Arthur protests. “Have you gone insane, Merlin?”

“Clotpole,” Merlin insults him fondly. “If I’ve gone insane, it’s clearly because you’ve taken so long to kiss me properly. A man can only wait so long, Arthur.”

“You should’ve said something,” Arthur says.

Merlin throws his head back in laughter. It exposes his pale skin, now that Arthur finally got rid of the red neckerchief, and he quite enjoys the sight. “I never could’ve, before,” Merlin tells him, and runs a finger over Arthur’s cheekbone. Arthur stills at the touch. “I would’ve been too afraid that you’d turn me away, after you figured out all my secrets. I’m never leaving you, Arthur, so you best make sure that you have your mind made up.”

“If you left,” Arthur says, and even the thought of it is preposterous, “I’d follow you and drag you back to where you belong. Or even worse, it’d make Gwaine do it, so you’d have to suffer through his tales all the way back.”

Merlin smiles. “You’re a ruthless man, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur kisses him again.

~*~

Merlin’s new chambers are only a stone’s throw away from Arthur’s, skirting against the royal wings in a way that might be considered scandalous if Arthur cared about that sort of thing. 

He sort of likes it this way. He likes the thought of Merlin living nearer to him than anyone else, and the implications that it sends the rest of the court.

Mostly, Merlin spends his evenings in Arthur’s presence. Arthur hasn’t chosen a new manservant, and despite Arthur’s concerns about Merlin’s time, Merlin still does many of the same things he used to do before he became Arthur’s advisor.

They now share the baths that Merlin draws him, though. Arthur can pull him in and laugh at the way Merlin sputters, and run a hand through Merlin’s wet strands of hair. Behind closed doors, there is a new intimacy to the way Merlin helps Arthur into his armour, his fingers now lingering where normally they would’ve brushed aside in a matter of seconds.

Arthur can tell that Merlin has wanted this, too.

None of them have said the words, but their dinner together is a standing appointment. So when Arthur retires to his chambers only to find Merlin dining there with Adelmar is something of a shock.

“You’re late,” is all Merlin says cheerfully, gesturing at Arthur’s seat. Adelmar looks towards, hesitation painted on his face. 

“Merlin,” Arthur says, and blinks.

Usually, Merlin will respond to that tone of voice with some sort of explanation. Now, however, his smile just broadens, and he pats the arm of the chair next to him. It puts him in between Merlin and Adelmar, and he reluctantly takes it.

“Good evening, my King,” Adelmar offers, with a tight smile. “I was wondering if I could speak with you, but Emrys offered me inside, and –”

“There’s no explanation necessary, Adelmar,” Arthur interferes, not oblivious to the relief that settles on Adelmar’s shoulders. He nudges Merlin. “ You, however –”

“There’s food, it was getting cold,” Merlin says, and unceremoniously shoves a plate towards Arthur. “And it’s rude to leave guests waiting, so yes, I invited him in. We had a lovely discussion about the ability to make tinctures more potent by ways of magic, and the sort of herbs that are especially –”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur says. It’s one thing that Merlin is already openly learning about the theoretical applications of magic from the druids and Gaius, but one of these days they might ask him to perform a spell. “I’m sure you did. Now, Adelmar, what did you want to see me for?”

Adelmar frowns. “Well, my King, it’s only a small matter. Surely not one that would take up so much time. I could come back at a more opportune moment, perhaps –”

“Adelmar,” Merlin says, and leans forward. “Tell him what you told me.”

There is a side of Merlin that has taken to being Arthur’s advisor like a duck takes to water. It’s a little jarring for Arthur. Admittedly, Merlin has been his closest confidante for years, and Arthur knows better than anyone that Merlin’s comments tend to be refreshingly insightful. However, Merlin also tends to put his foot in his mouth in front of the court, and Lord Reagann has sent him increasingly dark moods during council sessions. Merlin only seems to regain his confident and steadfast equilibrium when it’s Arthur – or the druids. 

It’s because Merlin knows they trust him, Arthur thinks. The advisors prefer to think of Merlin as the bumbling village idiot, despite Arthur’s warning looks in their direction. Once Merlin shows them how capable he is, he’ll find this unflinching trust in his own senses when it comes to the court, too. 

Adelmar sighs, but he does as Merlin asks. “Some of my people have been threatened in the market. No one was harmed, but the ban on magic puts the druids ill at ease. Magic is our way of life, my King, and your reluctance to allow us to use it may lead to estrangement.”

“I don’t arrest people for having a knife, Adelmar,” Arthur says slowly, “but that does not mean I am ready to let them hold it to someone’s throat.”

“ Arthur,” Merlin says. “That’s not what this is. They’re not putting anyone in danger. They’re only asking for their way of life to be honoured. If you can’t accept that, the druids might as well not come to Camelot at all!”

“People are afraid of magic,” Arthur says. “The druids won’t be accepted by the people of Camelot until they see they don’t mean any harm. That means that they don’t want to see any magic.”

Merlin frowns darkly at him. “They’re not afraid,” he says. “Most of them remember the days before the Purge. Magic wasn’t always this evil thing your father said it was, Arthur. They should be reminded of the beauty of it. Magic is – magic is life and it is nature and there is nothing about it that is inherently dark. Remind them of that, and they will stop being afraid.”

“All we ask, my King,” Adelmar says quietly, “is to be accepted. To use our magic is to breathe in freedom. We do not wield it in violence, but to help others. Our magic is part of us, just as it is part of Emrys.”

Merlin’s eyes are heavy on his, and Arthur swallows. For a moment, he thinks something gold flickers in the blue of Merlin’s gaze, but it must only be the reflection of the candlelight. If the druids had to mistake anyone for Emrys, it could only have been Merlin. Arthur sees it now, the way he hadn’t seen it at the time.

Merlin’s eyes remain blue, and Arthur turns back to Adelmar.

“Small tricks only,” he says strictly. “If any druid uses their magic to cause harm to anyone, there will be consequences.”

“Yes, my King,” Adelmar says. “Thank you. And thank you, Emrys.”

Merlin’s smile is sincere, and underneath the table, he runs his thumb over Arthur’s open palm.

After Adelmar leaves, Arthur kisses Merlin until Merlin stops thanking him. It takes a long time.

~*~

Elyan and Percival arrive back at Camelot two days late, bearing with them the positive news that the bandits have all been dealt with. Two of them end up in the dungeons, and one of them pleads for his life. Arthur exiles him, but the other man only shouts bitter insults at Arthur and his Knights, and has to be condemned to death.

Arthur never likes doing so, but Merlin just gives him a curt nod when he does. It’s all he can expect, for Merlin to guide him towards the right choice, even though he’d rather show mercy.

As the dust settles a bit, Arthur decides to take Gaius’ advice and plans a hunt. Merlin agrees to come along, but only because Arthur privately plies him with kisses and accuses him of being afraid of blood when Merlin groans. It’s enough to convince him, anyway.

He still doesn’t see as much of Merlin as he’d like to, and Merlin does look at him a bit oddly, sometimes. One time, Merlin had asked if Arthur really had no interest in knowing what Merlin has done for him. Arthur keeps telling him that he knows the extent of Merlin’s loyalty, and doesn’t understand why Merlin seems so bothered by that.

The day of the hunt, they leave bright and early. Merlin complains about the ride, but the Knights tease him and Merlin always smiles back, and insults the lot of them. His wit is sharp as a blade, and Arthur rides next to him the entire morning.

Things go sour in the afternoon.

“Can you hear that?” Percival says, and Merlin stops his horse. All the Knights halt, looking around in the trees. The wind blows through the leaves, and one of the horses quietly neighs, but there’s nothing else that Arthur senses, even as he strains his ears.

“No birds,” Merlin says, peering into the foliage. “I think there’s something here. Or some one.”

“Tracks,” Gwaine notes, gesturing towards a track on the ground. There’s no snow, or it might’ve covered the footsteps that Arthur sees. They seem to be recent, judging by how visible the tracks still are.

“Perhaps one of the druids?” Leon suggests, looking towards Merlin. 

“Maybe,” Merlin mutters, and gets off his horse to inspect the footsteps better. Arthur joins him, standing right next to him and bowing over the ground. “The druids don’t live too close, but it’s not impossible one of them came this way. And there’s magic in the air.”

Arthur doesn’t really feel it, but Merlin says it like it’s a fact. Perhaps he’s learnt to recognise it during his time with the druids, although Arthur is a little sceptical about it. He rises and turns to his Knights, but before he can utter a word, they’re all thrown off their horses by a powerful blast.

A druid stands before them. Vaguely, Arthur recognises him from the first time that Aldemar came to court. This is the druid that had stared at him. Now, there is clear contempt in his expression, and his hand is stretched out towards the Knights.

“You shouldn’t have come, Emrys,” the druid says, but his voice trembles.

“Osgar,” Merlin says, and steps in front of Arthur. “What are you doing?”

“He’s not the Once and Future King,” Osgar says, and raises his hand towards them. “I refuse to believe it. The true King would not murder our people so callously. He would have stopped him before! Arthur Pendragon is no more honourable than his father, and you can’t serve him!”

“Are you questioning my judgement?” Merlin says darkly, and raises his own hand. “Do you think I wouldn’t know my own destiny?”

Osgar’s breath is ragged, in the silence of the woods. “I believe you’ve been tricked.”

“By a dragon?” Merlin says, and the amusement in his voice is more grim than Arthur has ever heard. “By the countless people who have recognised Arthur as the Once and Future King? Your own people? No, Osgar. You’re grieving for your people, but there is no reason to turn on Arthur now. He’s making things better. For all of us.”

“You traitor,” Osgar howls suddenly. “For years you’ve been hiding, knowing what he’d do to you if he found out who you really were! And now you are protected by his favour, you expect everyone else to submit to him like you have done? You’re a coward, Emrys!”

Arthur steps forward, because Osgar’s intentions are not nearly as peaceful as he’d hoped. Merlin’s attempt to intimidate the druid had been worthy, but there’s no way that both of them will survive a druid’s magic if he attempts to kill Arthur. And if it is Arthur’s time, he won’t see Merlin go. So he steps in front of him, watching Merlin’s face, which he’d like to be the last thing to see if he does go.

Merlin’s eyes flash golden, and he whispers, “Astrice.” 

Arthur doesn’t die, but he turns back quickly when Osgar yelps and is thrown against a nearby tree. The druid slumps against it, and Arthur doesn’t know if he’s merely unconscious or dead. All he can see now is Merlin, his eyes back to their ordinary blue.

Merlin strides past him, falling to his knees before Osgar and checking his pulse. “He’s alive,” Merlin says conversationally, as though he’s not just done magic. In front of Arthur. Merlin knows magic? “We should bring him to the druids. Adelmar will know what to do with him for his treachery.”

“You used magic,” Arthur says, although that’s not what he meant to say. In hindsight, he’s not quite sure what else he could have said, though.

Merlin blinks at him. “Yes,” he says. “Would you have preferred to run him through with your sword? Because I rather think he was about to use a spell of his own, and I’d rather not let all my previous efforts at saving your life go to waste, if you don’t mind.”

“You used magic,” Arthur repeats, a bit more frantically.

“I’m not sure why –” Merlin starts, and then falls silent. “Oh. That’s the first time I’ve used it in front of you? I must’ve – well, I’ve used it plenty of times, of course, but I hadn’t realised you hadn’t actually… Arthur. Look, you’ve known for months. I’m not sure what else you expected? I know the whole legalisation issue is still a bit ambiguous, but I’ve been doing this for years, so surely you weren’t expecting… Arthur, can you please say something?”

“How,” Arthur says, “in the world. Do you know magic? Is this – have you always –”

“Did you hit your head?” Merlin demands, and he’s at Arthur’s side within the blink of an eye, his nimble fingers moving through Arthur’s hair, looking for a nonexistent injury.

Arthur pushes him off.

(He can’t deal with it, otherwise. Merlin is so close to him, and it aches to remember the nights Merlin has spent with him now, when Arthur had thought he’d known Merlin best in the world. When Merlin had told him, no more secrets, and Arthur had naively believed him.)

“Explain,” he bites. He should be checking his Knights, but this is a more immediate problem, and he can feel himself teetering on the edge of righteous anger at the sight of Merlin’s confused expression.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Merlin says helplessly, and he lets his arms fall to his sides.

“How do you know magic?” Arthur bites. “Now, Merlin –”

“What do you mean, how do I know magic? You’ve known about my magic for months now! The druids, they told you I’m Emrys, and you said that you knew. You figured it out ages ago, and you just haven’t told me when! You told the druids that you’d come to visit them with me, because you wanted to improve the relationship between Camelot and the druids. What is there left to explain?”

Suddenly, everything is achingly clear. “You’re Emrys?” he asks, and can’t help but sound horrified. “That’s you?”

“What other sorcerer would be stupid enough to linger around you for so long?” Merlin says, a fragile smile on his face. “You absolute dollophead.”

“But the druids got it wrong,” Arthur says, and takes a step back. “You’re not – a powerful sorcerer. I thought they were – the druids were mistaken, and I thought we could use that to bring them closer to us. You’re not whoever that Emrys is, you’re Merlin.”

“I am Emrys,” Merlin says, his voice frantic as he realises what Arthur is saying. “ And I’m Merlin. I always have been, because I can be both!” 

“No, you can’t,” Arthur snarls, and watches as Merlin’s face falls. “Because that means you’ve lied to me. That you have been lying to me, for years. Do you think I could trust you, after that? You’re no better than Agravaine!”

“And you were just using me to get close to the druids!” Merlin says, throwing up his hands. “Everything I’ve done, all these years, just to protect you! And you’re just – I can’t believe you! You didn’t realise I was a sorcerer? They told you, Arthur! You are supposed to know!”

“I’m not the one who’s been lying,” Arthur yells. “About everything!”

Merlin stops. “Not everything,” he says quietly. “Not nearly everything, Arthur.”

It’s enough to kill the rage that is bubbling in Arthur’s chest, threatening to overcome him. He is tired, and Merlin just stares at him with quiet resignation. The Knights are still unconscious, but one of them shifts, and Arthur looks over to see it’s Leon.

“You should take the druid back,” Arthur says, falling back into formality. He can’t really do anything else; there are no words for the ache in his chest, or at least none that he wants to give voice to. 

“And what then?” Merlin asks. It’s a fair question, and Arthur knows. If Merlin comes to Camelot, will Arthur forgive him? Can he?

“Answer me this one thing,” Arthur says. “Have you ever used it against me?”

Merlin stays silent. Arthur exhales loudly, and turns away to kneel beside Leon.

“Sire,” Leon mutters sluggishly, and Arthur grips his arm. Leon returns the grasp unconsciously, slowly coming back to awareness, and Arthur doesn’t know what they will do if Merlin is still here, and the truth is out.

He turns back to Merlin, who still stands there. Merlin, who still can’t say no to that one single question, and Arthur’s heart breaks.

“Don’t come back,” he says, and turns back to help Leon.

When he turns his head again, Merlin and Osgar are gone.

~*~

Arthur doesn’t explain it to the Knights, because he can’t. He just shakes his head when they ask about Merlin, and when Gwaine angrily shouts at him, Arthur just rides off by himself. His head still aches thinking about Merlin’s deception, and he doesn’t even know what to think yet.

So many things fall in place, all of a sudden. Gaius’ words, and Merlin’s own confusion about Arthur’s lackluster response. Even Merlin’s joy about having no more secrets, and Arthur shakes to even think about the easy smiles Merlin had given him for weeks.

Sure, it had clearly weighed heavily on Merlin. But he’d never told him, and at least at one point, he’d used his magic on Arthur. The thought of gangly servant Merlin, secretly harbouring that much power and never telling Arthur –

Why hadn’t he just trusted him?

~*~

Arthur wakes up alone.

He has woken up alone more often than not, the past few weeks. Whatever Merlin had done to him, whatever enchantment Arthur had been under, they had both been slow to put names to it. Slow to talk through the future, even if Merlin’s eyes had shone with possibility.

(Arthur only understands why now. If anything, he wonders why Merlin hadn’t pressed his advantage more clearly. If he thought Arthur knew, and if he thought Arthur loved him, then he could have easily asked Arthur to lift the ban on magic. 

Merlin hasn’t enchanted him, not in any way that involves spells. Arthur knows his own heart well enough, for all that he sometimes wishes he didn’t.)

There is the terrifying prospect of facing Camelot alone. He will have to explain to everyone that Merlin will not be returning, now that Arthur has sent him away. Perhaps Merlin will stay with the druids, and Arthur might see his face among their number before he’ll duck away.

His heart constricts at the thought of a future of seeing Merlin only in glances. It would have been easier if Merlin had just been the ordinary man that Arthur thought he was. If Merlin was inconceivably brave and wise without his magic. If Arthur didn’t have to evaluate everything that they have ever done before without having to consider what Merlin might have done behind Arthur’s back.

Arthur has been betrayed before. He just had thought he knew Merlin too well to ever be betrayed by him.

So there is only one thing to do, when he leaves his bed. He makes his way straight to Gaius’ chambers.

~*~

“Merlin is a sorcerer,” Arthur says, when he enters. Gaius is brewing a potion, and he fixes a strict eye on Arthur. Of course Gaius knows; he is a father to Merlin, and Arthur isn’t unaware of Gaius’ own past.

“Yes,” Gaius says, with a heavily implied addition of what is your point. 

“I didn’t know,” Arthur says, and at least that startles Gaius. The physician puts down the potion, and it sizzles angrily, flashing red. Gaius huffs at it, and turns to Arthur.

“The druids told you,” Gaius says, and narrows his eyes. “Merlin told me they told you of his name, of his magic. You all but made Merlin your Court Sorcerer in giving him a title and your trust.”

Arthur would have made Merlin much more, if the truth hadn’t come out. At least Merlin doesn’t seem to have told Gaius about what has passed between them; the whispers and hopeful glances in dark nights are only between them. Somehow, that makes it only more painful to remember.

“I thought they were mistaken,” Arthur confesses bluntly. Gaius is the only one who might understand. Gaius is loyal enough to have withstood Uther’s opinions on those who practise magic, and he is Arthur’s only hope of being understood in this matter. “I went along with it because I wanted to create a better relationship with the druids, and I thought, if they thought Merlin was a powerful sorcerer –”

“They would follow you,” Gaius realises, and takes a shuddering breath. “If Merlin was the sorcerer who was promised to bring back magic to Albion.”

Arthur frowns. “And he is?”

“He is,” Gaius confirms. “By your side. You truly didn’t think –”

Arthur shakes his head. It’s stupid, in hindsight, to not have even considered the very thought that the druids might actually be able to recognise the man they call Emrys. The truth is that the thought hadn’t even occurred to Arthur, with how well he knows Merlin.

Thought he knew Merlin, anyway.

Arthur interrupts Gaius. “He couldn’t swear to me that he never used his magic against me. I sent him away, and I do not think he’ll return.”

“Oh, I very much doubt that,” Gaius says, although his smile is brittle. “Merlin is stubborn as a mule, and he doesn’t always keep his promises. He’s too loyal to you to leave you, Arthur. Even if you don’t want him there.”

“I need to know.” Arthur takes a seat, and Gaius crosses his arms. He can’t even consider what he’ll do if Merlin comes back, because it’s too complicated to really untangle in one morning. The grief still rages in his chest, and Arthur needs to know all the facts before he can decide what to do about Merlin. “What did he do to me? I will need a list of all the instances that you remember –”

“That won’t be necessary,” Gaius says curtly. “It was only ever the once, and only ever to save your life. It’s not my story to tell, Arthur, but the Merlin you know isn’t changed. He’s the same loyal, foolhardy boy who made his way to Camelot. If he has changed, it has been for you.”

“I don’t understand,” Arthur says, and leans into his hands. He feels as if his legs won’t hold him if he stands. “Why didn’t he ever… tell me?”

Gaius kneels before him, and Arthur swallows heavily. “Merlin is the kindest soul I’ve ever come across,” Gaius says solemnly. “And he is more devoted to you than anyone else you’ll find in this castle. That man has always put your life before his own, even at a time you wouldn’t have thanked him for it. He has never done it for any thanks, or for any recognition. Merlin has a good heart, and he has only ever hardened it in service of you.”

“But he lied,” Arthur points out. “He’s been lying since the moment I have known him.”

Gaius shrugs, and rises. “He thought you knew these past few weeks,” he says. “And I have never known Merlin to be as happy as he thought that you knew all of him, and still accepted him. Did he really change so much? Do you honestly believe that Merlin would ever use his magic to do you any harm?”

Arthur thinks of Merlin, his eyes burning gold as he’d stood there and saved Arthur’s life. Merlin, lying in front of Arthur’s hearth, laughing warmly at Arthur’s attempt to remove his tunic.

“I know he wouldn’t,” Arthur says.

“Then it would be a disservice to both of you to keep him from your side,” Gaius says, and raises his eyebrows as he adds, “Where he clearly belongs.”

Perhaps Merlin has told Gaius more than Arthur had thought. Perhaps Gaius has guessed. Arthur slowly rises from the chair, feeling a bit more settled. Merlin will come back, and Arthur will hear him out when he does. He owes it to both him and Gaius, at least.

“Thank you,” he says to Gaius. 

Gaius just smiles. “It’s not me you should thank, Sire.”

~*~

Arthur spends that day evading his Knights, wary of questions that he doesn’t have an answer to, and instead catches up on all the letters he needs to respond to. No one comes to bother him, mostly because Arthur hasn’t bothered appointing a manservant, and everyone is clearly confused by the hierarchy among servants now that Merlin has become something else entirely.

The day after, however, he isn’t so fortunate.

“My King,” Gwaine says, his eyebrows raised even as he watches Arthur struggle with his armour. It is possible for him to put it on by himself; it just requires a certain level of dexterity that Arthur has never really bothered to see if he has. 

“Do you never knock?” Arthur snaps, only to see Gwaine shrug. He did, in fact, knock, but Arthur just hadn’t told him that he could enter. No one respects him in this castle, Arthur thinks sourly, but his mood goes truly downhill when he sees Merlin step in front of Gwaine.

“Thought I’d return something to you,” Gwaine quips, when it becomes evident that Merlin and Arthur aren’t going to say anything. “He turned up early this morning. I thought Percival was going to barrel into him before we recognised him. On an unrelated note, we’d really prefer it if you’d tell us when Merlin is going to sneak into your bedroom. We could pretend to be surprised.”

Merlin’s face does something complicated. “Thanks, Gwaine,” he eventually says. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

Gwaine shrugs and turns to leave, closing the door behind him. It leaves Arthur in an awkward spot, with his chest piece still hanging halfway his head. Merlin sighs, and quickly makes his way over to Arthur, tugging down the armour piece. It snaps into place, and Arthur rolls his shoulders, feeling infinitely more comfortable.

Merlin wordlessly fixes all the buckles, and moves on to help Arthur with the straps on his shoulders and around his waist, working as efficiently as he ever has. His hands don’t linger, and his eyes are fixed on Arthur’s armour. Lastly, he hands him Excalibur, and Arthur takes it. The sword glitters, and Merlin shows no concern in handing Arthur a weapon after his blatant betrayal.

“You’re not my manservant anymore,” Arthur just says. Merlin is back to wearing his old outfit, rather than the clothes that Arthur had made. It reminds him of earlier days and a younger Merlin, whose smiles came more easily.

Merlin has a good heart, and he has only ever hardened it in service of you.

“No,” Merlin says, and takes a step back to admire his handiwork. “A shame, really. I’ve gotten quite good at that, haven’t I?”

“I told you to leave,” Arthur says bluntly. 

It’s the first time Merlin looks at him, and Arthur’s heart skips a beat. Only two days ago, his eyes flashed golden in Arthur’s defence, and Arthur had sent him away. Now, they are the same deep blue that Arthur has grown intimately familiar with.

“I know,” Merlin says, and shrugs helplessly. “It’s not the first time I’m not doing what you told me to do. To be honest, I doubt it’ll be the last.”

“I think,” Arthur ventures carefully, “that there’s been rather a lot more times you haven’t done what I asked you to than I ever truly knew. And I think that there have been a great many times where you have done far more than I ever thought to ask of you. Haven’t there?”

Merlin’s shoulders slum. “Yes.”

“I think you should tell me, then. Everything that you have done. So that there will be no more secrets between us.”

“I will,” Merlin says, and grimaces. “There’s a lot, Arthur. And not all of it is good. I’m – I should have known, before, that you didn’t realise. When you said that you knew all I’ve done, I just thought that maybe Gaius had – or that you’d been aware of it for so long –”

“I shouldn’t have dismissed the possibility that the druids were right,” Arthur blurts out. “You were trying to be honest, by the end.”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you back,” Merlin tells him, and Arthur takes a sharp breath. Merlin’s eyes widen, and he continues quickly. “Because of the secrets, I mean. I wanted to kiss you, obviously, I just wanted you to know everything before I did. I’ve never… well. There’s so much to talk about. People have died because of me, Arthur. Not just bad people.”

It must be a terrible thing, Arthur decides at that moment, as Merlin almost pleads before him, his palms upwards and open as if asking for mercy. It must be a terrible thing to be bleeding with unspoken secrets, and to admit to all your darkest moments in front of the man you are asking to forgive you. 

Merlin is stronger than him, in many ways.

“Come on,” Arthur murmurs, and he takes Merlin’s hands, leading him to a chair. “I want only two stories today. One that is bad, and one that is good. And then you will do the same thing tomorrow, and we’ll see how they even out in the end.”

Merlin has never looked as terrified as in that moment. “You might send me away again,” Merlin points out, even as he takes the seat. “What if you decide that I can’t stay, after you have heard what I have to say?”

(Arthur knows his own heart. Despite everything, he thinks he still knows Merlin’s, too. This only confirms his quiet suspicions, and something settles in him.)

“I won’t send you away,” Arthur tells him. “No matter what you tell me.”

“You can’t promise that,” Merlin says, looking like he’d like to bolt out of the room. Arthur wonders vaguely if he should be worried that Merlin will leave of his own accord, even if Arthur asks him to stay.

Arthur shrugs. “Have you ever done anything with the intent of harming me?”

“No,” Merlin blurts out. “Of course not! I’ve only ever used it for you. To help you.”

“Then I can promise,” Arthur says. “Because I’ve done bad things, although I’ve never had bad intentions. So. I won’t send you away, Merlin. Not again.”

Merlin starts speaking.

~*~

They shout at each other. Quite a lot, actually.

For sixty-five days, Merlin tells him stories. He stumbles over them a lot, clearly used to keeping secrets, and he doesn’t tell them in chronological order, which causes Arthur to ask a lot of questions that Merlin can’t really answer without going into something else entirely. 

It’s bad. Merlin undoubtedly has a great many stories of valour, tales that make Arthur reconsider Knighting him. If anything, Merlin’s unabashed belief in Arthur shines through in every word he says, the undoubting conviction that Arthur will do the right thing simply through virtue of being Arthur, that he has a hard time coping with. He has always known that Merlin thinks that he’ll be a good king; but now Merlin’s words are laced with prophecy and destiny, and it feels less like trust and more like religion.

Considering the very grounding fact that Merlin himself is a major figure in several prophecies that apparently have been around for centuries doesn’t really help, in that regard.

Besides that, it becomes clearer with the day that Gaius wasn’t wrong when he says that Merlin has hardened his heart for Arthur’s benefit over the years. Merlin’s words are halting when he tells Arthur of Kilgharrah, and when he speaks of poisoning Morgana, when he finally comes around to telling Arthur that he’d robbed him of his free will to save him. Arthur shouts at him for all of these. Somehow, the thought of Merlin having poisoned Morgana at a time Arthur still thought she could be saved hurts the most.

For over two months, Arthur and Merlin are on a slippery slope, their easy camaraderie suddenly a thin rope that can break at any time. Despite this, Arthur doesn’t send him away. Every day, he dreads the stories that Merlin will tell him, concerned that Merlin might say anything that Arthur truly can’t forgive him.

The final dark secret Merlin tells him is of his role in Uther’s death, and he breaks out in sobs when he ends. That time, Arthur didn’t shout at him. He embraces Merlin, and doesn’t even berate him for crying over his tunics, like he normally would.

“I think,” he says gravely, “we finally understand one another, Merlin.”

They sit there the entire night.

~*~

The months in which they find their footing don’t go unnoticed in the castle, although it takes Arthur some time to realise that his relationship to Merlin is even a topic of gossip at all within the castle walls.

(He wonders if it has been before, and if Merlin has been aware of it. If people have noticed when Arthur started to glance at Merlin like a friend rather than a servant. He wonders if they can tell how much Arthur has come to rely on Merlin, and if they would agree that he’s stronger for it.

Somehow, he likes the thought of there being an Arthur-and-Merlin to speak of, in quiet whispers before a fire. Uther would have never allowed it.)

“They’re treating me fine, Arthur,” Merlin insists, even as Arthur follows him back into his chambers after a council meeting. “You shouldn’t badmouth Lord Eadric simply over speaking the truth.”

“He was speaking out of turn,” Arthur insists. 

Merlin glances at him, and it’s his you can be such an idiot and I don’t know why I’m still around glance, which Arthur has seen measured at him in so many different ways over the years that he’s actually grown a little bit fond of it. 

“He said I was a farm boy,” Merlin says, “and he was right. And I’m not letting it bother me, so you really shouldn’t.”

Arthur folds his arms, standing at guard in the entrance to Merlin’s chambers. They are cluttered, books and unfinished manuscripts everywhere. There’s a few unwashed socks lying scattered around the room, and two unfolded tunics are thrown haphazardly over Merlin’s stool.

“You need a servant,” Arthur says, and turns back to Merlin. “How are you such a swine? You’ve been my servant for years, you should know how to do this.”

“I do know how to do it,” Merlin says, not missing a beat as he grabs one of his books and peers into it. “Just because I know how to do it doesn’t mean I enjoy doing it, especially now I’m not getting paid to do it. And frankly, you made much more of a mess than I possibly could. I know where everything is, and I don’t want a servant.”

He sits sideways on the chairs, and has to turn to look at the pages. Arthur covets the glance at Merlin’s pale skin when his tunic rides up. They haven’t discussed anything else that lies between them in months, and Arthur has no idea where he stands. He’s not sure of what Merlin even is, now.

“Did you use magic to clean my chambers?” Arthur suddenly asks, and his mouth goes dry when Merlin looks at him.

“Sometimes,” Merlin admits, and shrugs. “Not a lot under Uther’s rule. A bit more often under yours, although that was also because being a king’s manservant is a lot more work than being a prince’s manservant. You needed me at your side, not washing your dirty socks.”

“You could stand to wash your own dirty socks a little more often,” Arthur fires back, and then falls silent. In hindsight, he doesn’t understand why he didn’t see it earlier. Merlin does have a silent command about him, a sort of ethereal wisdom. Arthur has relied on Merlin for years; how could he not have seen who Merlin truly was, underneath that clumsy demeanour?

Merlin grins. “You can’t tell me what to do anymore, Your Majesty,” he drawls. 

“As if I ever could,” Arthur says. “Look, Merlin. Lord Reagann did speak out of turn, and I will be talking to him, no matter how much you insist I shouldn’t. I named you my right hand, and he’s not offering you the respect that your position demands.”

Merlin’s smile falls off his face, and Arthur comes to lean against his desk, gently probing Merlin’s bony knee with his own. 

“It’s not a surprise, Arthur,” Merlin just mutters, and doesn’t meet his eyes. 

“Why?” Arthur demands. “He’s painting you as an unknowing farm boy, unaware of the ways of this court. And I know that you aren’t bothered by your background, and I don’t care, but he’s sending a message in order to undermine your position. It’s not the sort of thing I am supposed to let go!”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, and pokes him in the stomach. Arthur almost falls over, mostly out of surprise at Merlin’s unending insolence. “I know what he’s doing. All I’m saying, it’s not unexpected, is it?”

“Why not?” Arthur says heatedly.

“He’s making a grab for the role of your right hand,” Merlin says bluntly, “because you’ve stopped progressing the laws to help druids, and because we’ve not been exactly quiet when we were shouting at each other.”

Arthur stops. 

“That’s ridiculous,” he says, frowning. “Just because we’ve had – but that doesn’t mean –”

“I haven’t brought it up,” Merlin says, hand in his hair, “because I know things will go back to normal. I know, Arthur, and it’s natural. I’ve been lying to you for the better part of a decade. I’ve always known that it would be hard for you to come to terms with that, that it might impact how you saw sorcerers in general.”

“It doesn’t,” Arthur insists.

“Maybe,” Merlin allows. Arthur might not have known everything about Merlin for a long time, but he does now, and even if he didn’t, he’d still recognise the wavering confidence in Merlin’s face. Merlin sidesteps it neatly, though, and continues, “But there has been a lot for you to think about. I didn’t want to press you, but you know that the Court has been picking up on – how things are, between us.”

Arthur did know, mostly because Leon had pulled him aside and told him of the whispers. Arthur hadn’t paid attention to it, because if there’s anything that he’s used to, it’s rumours. Now, his chest clenches with the thought, if only because Merlin wasn’t supposed to know that his relationship with Arthur was under scrutiny.

“Things are fine,” Arthur snaps, and Merlin huffs out a smile and rises from his chair. It brings his face really close to Arthur’s, and Arthur’s breath hitches. 

Then Merlin steps away, and his face shutters close, and Arthur knows that things aren’t entirely fine, even though they are getting closer to fine-adjacent at the moment. Even if Arthur wants, neither of them have talked about picking up where things were before Arthur found out about Merlin’s magic.

Arthur isn’t sure what he’d say, but Merlin’s lips have crooked into the sort of smile that tells him that Merlin understands. It’s a little soft, and a little melancholy, and it’s far away enough for Arthur not to fall over and kiss him.

“Yeah,” Merlin says. “They’ll see that we’ve fallen back into place, Arthur. There’s no need to get into a fight with your nobles just to protect my non-existent virtue. I’ll get back at him next time. If you’re out there defending me, he’ll just pick on me in private.”

“Have people been doing that?” Arthur demands.

Merlin raises one eyebrow. He must’ve learnt that from Gaius. “No,” he says in a low voice that means he’s lying.

Arthur huffs in frustration. “How many titles do I need to give you before people will see what you are?”

“What I am?” Merlin says in amusement, and blinks. “Someone in the court who swats at the King’s head and gets away with it? Because I’m sure that a lot of people are very jealous of me, considering how much of a cabbage-head you can be –”

“The noblest man in this court,” Arthur says, and it’s a little satisfying how well that shuts Merlin up. It needs to be said, though. There are no more secrets between them, and if Arthur’s regard for Merlin is the last secret to be told, then that’s how it shall be. “The person who has spent a decade by my side, not even in an attempt to gain favour, but simply because you trusted me. Because you believed in the King I could be, and you’ve made me become him.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, and his eyes flutter to the floor. “I’ve told you everything I’ve done. I’m not nearly as noble as you are making me out to be.”

Arthur pushes himself away from the desk and takes the two steps necessary to take Merlin’s shoulders, and grasps his friend tightly. “You have faced hard choices,” Arthur says, “and you have dealt with it admirably. If anyone knows the difficulties in facing a destiny, Merlin, it’s me. I cannot hold it against you, not even after everything you have told me. You are the bravest man I know.”

“Arthur,” Merlin repeats, and Arthur is now the one who puts distance between them. There are things that need doing, before anything can be said. 

“Get some sleep,” Arthur says brusquely, and makes his way to the door. “And take care of your socks, will you? The stench will drive me out of the castle before long.”

“Clotpole!” Merlin calls out after him, and Arthur snickers to himself.

~*~

The druids come in the night, and Gwaine rouses Arthur at an ungodly hour. Dawn has not even broken when Arthur hurries into his council chamber, not even dressed in his armour. He isn’t the only one; only the Knights and guards who were on duty in the night are dressed properly.

Merlin is already standing there, face blank and unreadably. He’s not wearing anything appropriate either, his blue blouse not covering all of his chest. His bedhead is absolutely atrocious, but there is no sleep in Merlin’s expression. He merely stands there, his arms crossed, and Arthur can only think, you are meant to be here.

“Arthur,” Merlin says. There are no other councilmen present, presumably all still in their bed. It’s only Gwaine, Percival and Sir Caridoc that Arthur truly knows. The rest of the guards are vaguely familiar to him, but none of them have a place on the council. 

Adelmar stands before the Round Table, wringing his hands. Two other druids are by his side, both women, their heads bowed as Arthur enters.

“Please, that’s not necessary,” Arthur says, and they all look up at him. Even in the light of the candles, he can’t help but notice their eyes are red-rimmed.

“We came for your aid, my King,” Adelmar says, and inclines his head to Merlin’s. “And yours, Emrys, if you will offer it to us.”

“What happened?” Arthur asks, and takes the cape that Percival offers him. The nights are cold, and it helps him settle into his role as King a little more easily. The weight and warmth of the cape are a good reminder of Arthur’s role, and he prefers them to the cold metal of the crown pressed against his hair.

“We were attacked,” Adelmar says. “A band of sorcerers who use dark magic. Our camp was destroyed, and not everyone lives. Some of our people are gravely injured.”

Arthur frowns. “Who were these sorcerers?” he asks.

“Renegades,” Merlin says before Adelmar can answer. “Not everyone is happy about the druids’ new freedom in Camelot, Arthur.”

“If I may, my Lords,” one of the women says, and steps forward.

Arthur gestures at her. “Of course. What is your name?”

“Innis, Sire,” she says, and curtsies clumsily. “There has been unrest among some of the magic users, my King. Not even all the druid camps think favourably of your laws, despite the welcome you have given us. I believe that these renegades will not merely stop at our camp.”

“And you will not fight?” Arthur asks. 

“We cannot,” Adelmar says. “Even if we wanted to, my King. They are powerful, and even if we were to rebuild our camp… Innis is right. They will return. They have banded together, and that makes them a danger to all druids. And to Emrys.”

“What makes you say that?” Arthur asks, eyes flitting to Merlin.

“Well, magic isn’t legal in Camelot, is it?” Innis says, frowning. “You allow the druids to use it in the marketplace, but that’s the extent of how far we are allowed to go. Emrys isn’t allowed to use his gifts to protect his own life, if the renegades come here. It would be breaking your laws, and he told us he didn’t want to use it unless you changed Camelot’s laws.”

Merlin winces.

“You said what?” Arthur thunders.

“It’s one thing to keep it a secret,” Merlin snaps back. “It’s really quite another to practise it while you know, in a country that technically still should have me beheaded for it! And I still don’t know where you stand on the matter!”

“It’s been a bit of an awkward situation,” Gwaine says. “Having a Court Sorcerer in a court where magic’s still outlawed.”

“I’m not Court Sorcerer,” Merlin says, peevish. “And don’t push him, Gwaine. I told you not to mention it.”

Gwaine shrugs, and winks at Arthur. 

“Didn’t you know?” Percival says unhelpfully, and elbows Gwaine so roughly that Gwaine almost falls over. “We can’t push him.”

“Look here,” Arthur says, and pushes down some of the bitter taste in his mouth to address later, when he can properly think about it. “Merlin is my advisor, and it’s in really bad taste to execute your advisors. Especially those who’ve been prophesied to be by your side, and have done a very good job of it. And those laws won’t be here forever.”

“They won’t?” Merlin asks, and seems surprised to have spoken the words.

“Those laws won’t be here forever,” Arthur repeats decisively. “And in the meantime, Merlin, you really can’t be going around telling people that I’ll have you beheaded for using your magic. Honestly.”

Merlin blinks. “I didn’t,” he says, “I wasn’t -”

“Idiot,” Arthur adds, for good measure, and turns back to the druids. “Now, Adelmar. Your people can stay in Camelot for as long as you need. But you said you needed Merlin’s help, too, and I’m a little at a loss of what you mean for him to be doing.”

“They will destroy the other druid camps,” Merlin says, his eyes dark. “That is what you fear. That their darkness will spread, and it will be magic that destroys magic.”

“Is it said that you are the light against the darkness,” Adelmar says. “If not in this, I do not know what else. The druids will not fight, Emrys. You have come into your powers. This battle will not be concluded by swords and arrows, but by magic alone.”

Merlin stands utterly still for a few moments. The light of the candle flames plays over his face beautifully, and Arthur wants to watch him for days. 

“I will help you,” Merlin says eventually, and raises his eyes to meet Arthur’s. “If my King permits me to go.”

With everything he has been told, Arthur knows that Merlin is powerful. It’s a little hard to visualise, however, when all he’s ever seen is Merlin bumble around the castle, tripping over carpets. These past two months have driven home one certainty, however, and that is that Merlin will follow Arthur anywhere.

He is a man of destiny, and he loves Arthur. The knowledge comes like a sucker punch.

“Yes,” Arthur says. “But you won’t go alone. I do need you to come back, you know, so I’d rather you don’t trip over a log and die.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “There aren’t any other sorcerers in Camelot,” he points out. “None that are ready to show themselves to you, anyway. Who do you propose come help me to defeat a bunch of dark magic users?”

“Didn’t you have a dragon?” Arthur says.

The druids exchange glances. 

~*~

“I’ll be fine, Arthur,” Merlin says, hastily packing his bags. None of his new clothes, Arthur notes, a little displeased. Merlin will grow cold in the nights, without a sleeping place or any decent pants. At least he’s taking the boots.

“I know that you’re not the blithering idiot that I’m always saying you are,” Arthur says, “but has it ever, at all, occurred to you that I’m telling you these things because I mean them?”

Merlin stops in his tracks to watch Arthur with plain confusion written across his face. “I know you mean it. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count, honestly, even when you probably shouldn’t have risked it for a servant.”

“Not a servant,” Arthur says, and grabs Merlin’s hand to stop him even as Merlin tries to walk past him. “Look at me, Merlin. Not a mere servant. A friend.”

“Right,” Merlin says faintly, and tugs himself free. “Even so. You know, it’ll be nice. Using magic without having your life on the line, for a change. I’d be surprised at the number of attempts on your life, but I’ve met you, so.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Arthur says. “Not tonight.”

Merlin sighs. “What do you want me to say, Arthur? I’m leaving with Kilgharrah, and don’t think I haven’t seen you snuck a sword in my bag, because that was really obvious.”

“It wasn’t sneaking,” Arthur protests, “I meant for you to see it. Why would I sneak a sword into your bag? If you need a sword, I obviously want you to know you have it and use it.”

“Fine, alright, you didn’t sneak. I’m just saying, Arthur, I’ll be alright. I know that you’re worried, but there’s no need to be.”

Arthur can’t stop himself. He cusps Merlin’s face between his hands, looking at him intently. Merlin frowns, but doesn’t push him away, so Arthur runs his finger over Merlin’s lip. Merlin’s breath hitches, and his own hand comes up to rest on Arthur’s arm.

“I don’t think I know how to not be worried for you,” Arthur admits. “It’s a bit easier, knowing you’re an all-powerful sorcerer, but I don’t think I’ll sleep well a single night when you're gone. You have been by my side for so long, and now I can’t protect you in return.”

“It’s not your job to protect my life,” Merlin whispers. “It’s my honour to protect yours.”

Arthur presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes. “I’ve always considered it my task to protect you, even when you were being annoyingly self-sacrificial about the entire ordeal. You’re really, truly bad at taking care of yourself.”

“My own safety hasn’t ever mattered as much as yours,” Merlin says, and now that they’re so close, his breath is warm over Arthur’s lips. Still, they remain in the same position, and Arthur opens his eyes to see Merlin staring back.

“It has to me,” Arthur says, and kisses him.

Merlin doesn’t waste any time in kissing him back, entangling his hand in Arthur’s hair. He makes a noise, and Arthur pushes him back. Merlin stumbles, and then falls over his half-packed bag on the ground. For a moment, he stares up in confusion at Arthur.

Arthur laughs.

“Great,” Merlin says, and winces as he carefully strokes his own back, prodding to feel for bruises. “I’m already being felled by my tunics. Is there any chance you’ll pretend not to have seen that?”

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur chortles. “I’ll never let you forget it. In ten years’ time, we’ll be at the tavern, and I’ll turn to you, and I’ll say, hey Merlin, do you remember that time I had to snog you only for two seconds for you to fall at my feet like a swooning maiden? We’ll celebrate the anniversary.”

“Prat,” Merlin says, but he does take Arthur’s offered hand to get up, and smiles. “Ten years, you say?”

Perhaps Merlin meant to tease Arthur about it, but Arthur just pulls Merlin back against him. “If you’ll have me,” he murmurs against Merlin’s ear, and then lets go.

“I will,” Merlin says dazedly, and shakes his head. “I mean, maybe. If you learn some manners, that is. Instead of pushing unsuspecting servants on the floor.”

“I didn’t push you, you tripped,” Arthur points out. “And you’re not a servant anymore.”

Merlin smiles. “What am I, then?”

Arthur takes the bag and plops it on top of the bed. He folds Merlin’s clothes a little more carefully, and adjusts the sheathed sword so that it’s neatly sitting between two stacks. There’s also some vials with colourful potions in them, as well as a short wand that Arthur hasn’t seen before. 

Merlin is watching him carefully. Arthur turns, aware of Merlin’s eyes following his every move. 

“You’re the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the Earth, or so I have been told,” Arthur says. “And a wonderfully kind and patient man. You don’t exist in relation to me alone, Merlin, no matter what you’d like to tell me.”

“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Arthur says sincerely, and when he thinks Merlin will protest, he continues, “I know. But for years, you’ve been telling me that I am the Once and Future King. I wanted to return the favour, this once. And to tell you that I do expect you to return to me. Because you know what you are to me, even if you’re being especially obtuse about it.”

Merlin smiles, and turns back to his bag. There’s really nothing left to pack, and there’s some urgency to Merlin’s mission. They can’t linger much longer.

“Of course I’ll be back,” Merlin says. “Can’t let your head get too big without me, can I?”

“I rely solely on you to curb my ego,” Arthur confesses.

Merlin presses a dry kiss to Arthur’s lip, and is gone before Arthur can truly answer it. If he had time, Arthur would have stayed and chased the kiss, but Merlin’s bashful look stops him. There will be time to discuss everything Arthur wishes to say after Merlin returns.

“I have to go,” Merlin breathes. “Stay in one piece until I come back, will you?”

“As long as you do the same,” Arthur promises. Merlin takes his bag, and leaves his own chambers, one last lingering look at Arthur. Arthur stands there for a little while, trying to gather his thoughts.

There are things he must do.

~*~

Adelmar shuffles, unwilling to meet Arthur’s gaze. The two druid women, Innis and Skadi, are with him again.

“I’m not sure why you are asking me, my King,” Adelmar says. “It is Emrys who should be advising you -”

“And he will,” Arthur assures him. “But right now, Merlin is off fighting the sorcerers. And I know that I can’t help him in this, that he’s powerful enough to do this on his own. But my Knights are right – I can’t have this law over Merlin’s head, not if it will stop him using magic. And it’s not fair to the other magic users, either.”

The Knights’ responses had bothered Arthur. He knows now that Merlin has talked to them about his magic, about his powers, and that they expected him to lift the ban on magic use ever since then. And it has been on Arthur’s mind, but with Merlin’s admissions to what has happened during all the years he spent protecting Arthur, he hadn’t wanted to think about the political implications of Merlin’s actions.

That might have been something of a mistake. While Arthur was processing Merlin’s side of everything that had happened over the years, the laws had been stagnant, and Merlin was still technically illegal. No true wonder some advisors had seen Arthur’s refusal to bring it up, along with their shouting and the cold shoulders they’d given each other after some particularly harrowing nights, as evidence that Arthur wouldn’t legalise magic.

He wonders if Merlin has been doubting it, too. 

“So what sort of advice is it that you seek?” Adelmar asks.

“I’ll need strict rules,” Arthur says. “Nothing can be left to chance. If I legalise magic, there’s every chance that dark magic users will take the opportunity to harm those without it. Magic is a tool, I’ve been told, and tools can be used for both good and bad, so I must make sure that the bad is still punishable by law. Thing is, I’m not exactly sure what the boundaries of magic are.”

“There aren’t boundaries for Emrys,” Innis interrupts. “He is magic.”

Arthur’s mind reels with it for a moment, and he smiles tightly as he flexes his fingers. Merlin had told him of his destiny, of his powers and what they meant. He knows who Emrys is to the druids. And still, it’s quite a different thing to be told time and again that your closest friend, the one who trips over his own feet, is the most powerful sorcerer to have ever lived.

“Right,” he says, and forces himself not to think too hard about the molten gold in Merlin’s eyes when he whispers a spell. “But for other people. Merlin isn’t my immediate concern when it comes to breaking the law.”

Although maybe it should be. Merlin is notoriously bad at following Arthur’s orders.

“I doubt it will be easy to make a new law, my King,” Adelmar says hesitantly. “Many magic users are hiding, and have been doing so for decades. Your lifting the ban on magic will not be so easy to draw them out.”

“Perhaps it’s best to set up a group of magic users besides Emrys,” Innis says, and adds, “Sire,” afterwards, inclining her head as if she’s afraid she crossed some invisible line.

Arthur eyes her. Skadi is content with following Adelmar’s lead, but Innis is younger and seems to have less regard for Arthur’s status, or maybe just forgets it. It’s not a bad idea, though. If there is a group that regularly uses magic that is under Arthur’s protection, he has a way of both promoting sorcery and a group that will be able to help him manage anyone who uses magic for more nefarious purposes.

“Innis,” he says slowly. “How would you like a place in my court?”

~*~

The days trickle by, both too slowly and too fast for Arthur to grab hold of.

Merlin has been gone for over a month by the time Arthur finishes setting up his magical advisors. There are four of them in total, Innis spearheading the advisors even as he has chambers set up for them in the castle. Besides Innis, there are two other druids. One, however, is a young woman of the city, Adeline, her magic unpractised but, Innis has told Arthur, powerful. 

None of them are at ease in Arthur’s vicinity, and especially Adeline from Camelot shuffles uneasily when she first meets him. He can’t blame her for it, when two years ago she might’ve faced the pyre for even admitting to having magic. He hopes he can show them that he is here to help them, now. That things are truly changing in Camelot.

Somehow, he thinks he needs Merlin to return for them to truly believe it. In all honesty, Arthur himself isn’t entirely comfortable with the magic users in the castle. He trusts Adelmar’s judgement, and so he trusts Innis, and in that way, he trusts that she helped him pick the right group for this daunting task.

Still. He’s been attacked by magic users more than once. The dagger under his pillow is nothing more than a precaution.

It’s a long month.

~*~

“Innis,” Arthur says, in their third meeting as a magical subpart of his advisors. It’s still only the four of them. Arthur has plans to merge the sorcerers into his usual council of advisors and Knights when the time comes, but he wants to wait for Merlin’s return before he makes any major decisions about the way he will ban the laws on magic in the entire kingdom.

“Yes, Sire?” she says, her eyebrows raised. She’d been in a discussion with Alar, a druid twice her age, about the uses of magical enhancements to medicine, as to increase their potency. 

“The druids,” he starts, and twitches his face as he realises he doesn’t quite know where to continue. He wants to look at his right, but remembers that Merlin won’t be quietly sitting there. “The druids, do you think they will be able to help the other magic users at all? If they aren’t druids, and they have used dark magic – if it means putting the druids in danger…”

If there is anything that Arthur has had in Merlin’s absence, it’s time to think. Lately, Arthur has spent his nights pouring over magical textbooks. Gaius lent him two, an unreadable expression on his face as he handed over the yellowed and fragile manuscripts. He wants to learn to understand magic, so that when Merlin comes back, Arthur will understand him .

There aren’t many more books, Gaius had told him when Arthur complained. Uther burnt them all, he’d said, his voice even. We’re lucky that some even survived.

They must have suffered horribly. All of them, but it’s the thought of Gaius and Merlin that burns Arthur to his core. The simple mental image of them pouring over a magical textbook together, only to have to hide it if someone came in, has shaken him. So many secrets, simply because Uther burned anyone who showed even the slightest inclination towards magic.

And Merlin had stayed. For Arthur. 

It’s not only Merlin, though Arthur’s thoughts stray towards him most often. Now that Innis has taken on a role as magical advisor, and brought three other magic users with her, Arthur is only starting to understand the strain that the magical community has borne for decades. Arthur had considered the druids a means to an end, despite his genuine desires to create an alliance again. Now, he starts to realise how far down a dark path he’s strayed.

It’s a little humbling, really, but Arthur wants to make strides. He wants to show Merlin that he does mean to change things, even if Merlin hadn’t thought Arthur would.

“The druids have always helped magic users in need,” Innis says. “Although, as a general rule, we’ve avoided dark magic practitioners. More often than not, they don’t want our help. We’ve had some bad dealings with some of them, my Lord, even long before they attacked our clans.”

“It’s true,” Erai adds. She is older than Innis, but age hasn’t creased her face like it has Alar’s. All Arthur knows is that she isn’t from the same druid clan; she travelled farther, but all she said is that the journey was worth seeing magic return to Camelot. 

“I didn’t know,” Arthur says, frowning. 

Erai inclines her head at him. “You wouldn’t, my King. The druids don’t often talk to strangers, and a King of Camelot is unlikely to hear the news. I trust that, now that an alliance has been formed, there will be fewer attacks. No one would invite Emrys’ wrath, while we are part of Camelot and you sit on its throne.”

Right. Emrys.

Arthur clears his throat. “Do you happen to know when Merlin will be returning?” he asks. 

“We don’t know,” Alar tells him, and at least he sounds a little apologetic. “We can only communicate with him when he is nearby.”

“And no news?” 

“He’ll return to you when the task is done,” Erai says decisively. “He is fated to be by your side.”

It should sound like a promise. Instead, Arthur just wonders when their prophecy will be fulfilled, and when he won’t be guaranteed to have Merlin back. What power does fate have that Merlin doesn’t, when it comes to his return?

When fate has decided that it is their time, will Arthur be able to rally against it?

“Right,” Arthur says, absently drumming his fingers on the table. “What’s those prophecies, again?”

Alar stares at him with unconcealed horror. “He has told you, hasn’t he, Sire?” he says. “That your fate is to bring magic back and to unite Albion?

Arthur waves his hand. “Yeah, sure, he’s mentioned it. I asked him about how I was meant to do that, though, and he just shrugged. Merlin isn’t the best at telling me things I need to know, actually, so it’d be great if you knew any details you could share. And, truth be told, it doesn’t seem like all druids believe that, anyway.”

“Most of us do,” Erai says, her face unreadable. “We believe in the prophecy you and Emrys share, however. The fact that we are sitting here, united, only strengthens our belief.”

Adeline squirms in her seat. “Could I ask something, my King?”

“Of course,” Arthur says, taken aback. His advisors are always unnervingly respectful towards him, but he might not ever get used to the clear discomfort that Adeline shows. He hopes she’ll grow more at ease with him with the passing of time; her wriggling is making him nervous.

“Well. It’s just that. Lord Merlin did not arrive in Camelot until some years ago, didn’t he? When your father was still alive, that is. And magic was still banished. I was just wondering – this change, it’s so sudden. There were the druids, suddenly, but magic was still forbidden, and now you’re changing that law too – I guess what I wanted to know, my King, is why you changed your mind? Why now?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Arthur says. “It just took me a while to see that.”

“Not everyone believes that you do,” Adeline says quietly.

It takes Arthur a few seconds to understand what she is saying. Adeline is brave to have come, and suddenly Arthur can see clearly the conundrum that he is to the people of Camelot. To those without magic, but especially to those with it. Merlin knows him, and he hadn’t even trusted Arthur enough to tell him of his own accord. 

What of the people of Camelot who have seen Arthur stand by his father’s side while magic users were executed?

“Not even the druids in our camp all do,” Innis adds, suddenly. “I was there, when Emrys brought back Osgar to our camp. There’s others who doubt. I know your intentions are good, my Lord. I trust in that, and I trust in Emrys’ word that you intend to change things for all of us. But darkness is rising, and Emrys and you are both needed to stop it. And you’ll need to show Camelot that we are by your side.”

Arthur exhales. “I changed my mind,” he says, “because Merlin has shown me that a man can use magic, and still be the kindest and bravest man you could possibly meet. I changed my mind, because I have come to realise that magic is a tool much like a sword. And I’ve changed my mind, because I want to be true to all of my people.”

“It’ll be a long time until everyone believes you,” Adeline says.

“But we will be by your side until Emrys returns,” Innis responds fiercely. “And after. I believe in the world you’re building. You’re an honest man, my Lord.”

“I lied to the druids,” Arthur says, not quite sure why he’s doing it. Innis and Alar frown; Erai looks impassive. Arthur isn’t sure if she has guessed, or if she is masking her expressions. “When you called Merlin Emrys, I didn’t know it was him. I never considered Merlin could have been lying to me, so I thought the druids must have been mistaken. I used him to bring the druids closer to Camelot, because I wanted to change the laws. Not the ones on magic, not yet. Not until I realised what they meant; not until Merlin showed me. I did lie, and I’m sorry for that now. I realise that might not be enough.”

“You show courage and honesty in telling us this, my King,” Erai says after a few seconds of stunned silence. “And I am glad you have seen the errors of your ways. A man cannot rule a kingdom without guidance, not even the Once-and-Future King.”

“The druids are right not to trust me,” Arthur says, and his chest aches, because it’s true. He has lied, all in the consolation of knowing it was for a good cause. If there is one thing he should have learnt by now, it is that things should be done the right way. The proper and noble way.

Innis inclines her head. “You are doing the right thing now, my King,” she says. “I still trust you.”

“As do I,” Alar says. “You are a man of destiny, but still a man. You are forgiven.”

“I will do anything in my power to earn your trust,” Arthur says, and it feels like an oath that settles on his shoulders. The four magic users incline their heads at him, a sign of more loyalty than Arthur has felt he deserves.

(He used to feel like he deserved loyalty by decree of his title, before he met Merlin. Merlin, who has never shown him any regard for his title, but who has shown him loyalty above any other. Arthur has learnt what loyalty means because of Merlin, and he learns what it feels like now, when four sorcerers whose existence was forbidden a year ago show him that they trust him to lead.)

“My King,” Erai says, her voice low, and Arthur understands.

~*~

(He removes the dagger under his pillow, when he goes to sleep that night. There is shame at the thought that he really believed he might need it, but there is also hope. He has learnt, and now he is a better man than he was yesterday.)

~*~

“My King,” the boy says – he can’t be more than five years younger than Arthur, but they all seem like boys now, these men no older than twenty-three – and he gulps loudly when Arthur turns to look at him.

They are rotating the servants attending to Arthur. He’s not sure if it’s because no one dares to take the position of manservant, or if he’s been in such dark moods lately that everyone fears that he will throw something at their head.

(He’d only done that once, and it was at Gwaine.)

“What is it?” he says, trying to curb the impatience in his tone and clearly failing.

“There’s a visitor for you, Sire,” the boy, and Arthur should really start learning their names, says. 

“Not now,” Arthur mutters, already turning back to his letters. There is an envoy coming that he needs to prepare for, and he has a meeting with his magic council to draw up some tentative new laws, and then there’s the meeting with his regular advisors to actually try and get them to accept some new laws. 

“He’s really quite insistent, my Lord,” the boy says nervously. “He told me to tell you at least three times. He said you’d want to see him, and that he was in his chambers. With a new apprentice. And that travelling on dragonback isn’t as comfortable as it sounds.”

Arthur whirls around so suddenly that the boy takes a step back in alarm. “Merlin?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He brushes past the boy and into the corridor before a sane thought can even form. He doesn’t quite run, but it’s definitely a hurried pace that he upholds as he takes the few turns it takes to get to Merlin’s chambers.

The doors are wide open, a trickle of laundry already making its way down the hallway as if it’s grown feet.

“– be in the antechamber,” Merlin’s familiar voice drifts through the room, and Arthur is arrested right before the threshold. “If that’s too small, though, I’m sure we’ll find something else. There’s plenty of room, but don’t tell Arthur, because he’ll –”

“I’ll do what?” Arthur says, and leans against the doorframe.

 Merlin looks up from where he’d been unfolding his own clothes. His hair has grown out a bit, the ends of it curling into his eyes, and he’s a bit thinner than when he left. Besides from being haggard, he doesn’t look ill, and Arthur smiles.

“Whine, of course,” Merlin says, and grins broadly. “There’ll be no fooling Ari here.”

He nods his head towards a boy on the opposite side of the bed, quietly staring at Arthur. He’s still short, but in that lanky sort of way that precipitates a growth spurt. He can’t be out of puberty, but he huddles in on himself in a way that makes it hard for Arthur to guess his age.

“Hello,” he says politely, and smiles. “Don’t believe everything Merlin here tells you. He’s a liar of the worst kind.”

Merlin huffs out a laugh, and walks up to him. So close, Arthur can see the bruises that start on Merlin’s wrist and disappear into his tunic, and the way he slightly limps as he walks. Not entirely uninjured, then, but Arthur is too relieved to see Merlin alive and well to interrogate him now.

Then he’s in an embrace, and Merlin is flush against him for a moment. Arthur settles his hands on Merlin’s back, and falls stunningly silent.

“I missed you,” Merlin murmurs, and then he pushes back.

“I’m glad to see you,” Arthur says, and there are so many words on his tongue, but he can’t say them in front of this strange boy in Merlin’s chambers. What is he even doing here?

Merlin’s face does something complicated. “Plaster the image all over your mind,” Merlin says apologetically, “Because I can’t stay long. Ari is my apprentice, Arthur.”

Arthur frowns. The boy stares at him, clutching a book to his chest. The fact that he is a sorcerer isn’t as much as a surprise to Arthur as it would have been a year ago – he now knows that magic comes in many forms.

“So?”

“Ari,” Merlin says, turning around. “You should go to the kitchen. We missed lunch, and it’ll be a few hours before dinner. Tell the cook that you came from me, and she’ll give you whatever’s left over.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Ari mutters, and puts down his book hesitantly. He pauses, and then quickly walks past Arthur, not meeting his eyes. Arthur waits until his footsteps have receded to turn back to Merlin.

“I brought him back from the dark magic users,” Merlin says, his voice even. “They taught him all sorts of things, but I knew his heart wasn’t in it. When one of the witches caught me – well, no need to go into that now. He’s good, though, and I owe it to him to show him that there’s light in magic. That he can use it for the good of others.”

“When the witches caught you?” Arthur hisses. “Don’t think I’m letting this go, Merlin –”

Merlin sends him a pointed look. “He deserves a tutor, and a chance to use magic for good, Arthur. I promised him, and I won’t go back on it now.”

“Sure,” Arthur says. “I just don’t see why you need to leave for that to happen.”

“You don’t?” Merlin says incredulously. “Arthur, I can’t teach him here. There’s this little thing called a ban on magic that has –”

“No,” Arthur interrupts. “No, there’s not.”

Merlin blinks at him. Arthur just smiles, glad to see his friend stunned for once. Merlin isn’t the only one who can still surprise others, and Merlin has been gone for over two months. Arthur hasn’t been sitting still.

“What do you mean?” Merlin asks, when he gets his mouth to work.

Arthur takes a step towards him. “It means that the ban will be lifted soon. The laws are all drawn up. I just wanted to wait for you to get back so you can look at them, and we can make it official. I’ve been fighting my advisors on it, and they all know it’s going to happen regardless of what they say. I can have it official by the afternoon.”

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes, and then his arms are around Arthur’s neck.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Arthur says, the words spilling out. Merlin’s hold on him tightens, but somehow it makes it easier not to see his face as his hot breath spills across Arthur’s neck. “It’s not just because of you, of course, but you’ve made me see that – I know now, I realise how wrong my father was. I can’t even begin to understand how many people have suffered under his laws, and I wish –”

“You’re a good man, Arthur,” Merlin says thickly, and kisses him.

Arthur deftly kicks the door to Merlin’s chambers shut, and kisses back.

~*~

(“Would you ever have told me?” Arthur asks, when the night is cold enough that his breath is visible.

Merlin doesn’t need to ask him what he means, even though they’ve been silent for a long time. He huffs, and stretches himself, the pale expanse of his arms coming to rest in Arthur’s lap.

“I don’t think so,” Merlin says quietly. “I liked to imagine telling you, at the start, when we became friends. I longed to tell you of everything I’d done for you. But then the years dragged on, and I started doing things I regretted, and I wasn’t so keen to tell you.”

“Morgana,” Arthur murmurs, and Merlin nods wearily.

“I suppose, in the end, I didn’t want to make you choose between your laws and me. I couldn’t put you in the position where you might have had to ignore any regard you may have held for me.”

Arthur sighs, although it’s the answer he had expected. Merlin never expects any thanks, even now, and doesn’t expect Arthur to make exceptions for him. Arthur takes particular joy in the way Merlin’s ears redden when Arthur commends him in front of the entire council.

“Oh, Merlin,” he murmurs, and presses a kiss against the pale wrist. “It wouldn’t have been a choice.”)

~*~

Magic is legalised a day after Merlin’s return.

Merlin stands by Arthur’s side as Arthur reads out the new laws to his people. He doesn’t do it in the court, where most of the changes in laws take place. 

He does it in front of all his people, standing on a balcony of the castle as the courtyard fills up. There are several groups of druids. Arthur’s group of magical advisors stands behind him, united under Arthur’s rule. 

(“I’m so glad you have some other magic users to talk sense into you now,” Merlin says, grinning broadly as they walk back from Merlin’s first meeting with Innis.

Arthur huffs. “I have plenty of sense, Merlin, and that’s not thanks to you.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Merlin says, the familiar lilt of his teasing voice a balm to Arthur’s soul. “That’s why I’ve had to save your sorry backside so often over the years. You’re such an idiot, Merlin, he says, while going to fight a dragon with nothing but a steel sword.”

“Well,” Arthur says, and slings an arm over Merlin’s shoulders. “I suppose I always must have known that you would save me, almighty Emrys.”

Merlin just snorts.)

Arthur barely remembers what he says, as he overthrows the rules that his father ruthlessly held in place. It feels so simple, that he has written down these words, that he can read them out now, and that hundreds of people are suddenly free.

When he later thinks back to that day, he remembers the crowd, the mutters as Arthur read out the new laws. He thinks of the druids, the way they whispered his name, the way they murmured Once and Future King like Arthur was all of their dreams come true. Emrys, they’d added, like Merlin-and-Arthur, like one entity borne from legend.

He remembers the rain, and how it had not moved a single person from that courtyard. He remembers that his parchment got drenched, and he’d had to finish telling everyone the new laws. He remembers that he knew them by heart, a clear result from the hours he’d spent pouring over every letter that judged Merlin’s existence a crime.

Mostly, though, he will remember how Merlin held his hand when Arthur stumbled over a word. The ache he felt when Merlin smiled at him, free for the first time since he was born. He wanted to kiss him, at that moment; press that smile against his own, so he could learn what Merlin’s freedom tastes like.

Enough laws have been broken for one afternoon, though.

This is one for another day.

~*~

Arthur doesn’t like thinking about the time Merlin was gone.

He’d shared a breakfast with Merlin, dragging his friend (or whatever Merlin is, now, but he’s always Arthur’s closest friend) out of the gardens and back into Merlin’s chambers. It’s Merlin’s chambers because Arthur had breakfast brought up there as a surprise, and of course Merlin had gone off early in the morning to pick flowers or something equally inane.

Sometimes, he wonders how he ever thought Merlin could be changed into a proper nobleman. Mostly, he’s just content to see Merlin’s rich blue tunics stained with mud, and his face carefree and open. 

Merlin has been back a month, and that is how long magic has been legal. Still, Arthur isn’t used to the way that Merlin’s eyes bleed gold, when he whispers a spell; the way that Merlin glances at him, as if still unsure of his response. The hesitant smile, whenever Arthur nods.

(He is afraid, sometimes, that he broke Merlin’s trust in him. Some nights, he remembers all the times he renounced magic in front of Merlin, and it breaks his own heart to think of his own unthinking cruelty. Maybe he’ll tell all of this to Merlin one day.)

The door flies open, right as Arthur complains to Merlin about Sir Caridoc’s flowery reports on city walls.

“Ari,” Merlin says quietly. Arthur is broken out of his thoughts, and finds Merlin’s young apprentice staring at them. He is trembling, his hands folded into his sleeves and his eyes large.

“I’m sorry,” Ari says, and breaks into sobs.

Merlin is gone from Arthur’s side in an instance, taking long strides to envelop Ari into an embrace. Arthur stands up, frowning at the display. Ari hides his face in Merlin’s chest, his cries muted. Merlin just kneels on the floor, one hand in Ari’s hair and the other on his back. 

“What’s wrong?” Merlin mutters, and presses a kiss against Ari’s curls. “Are you hurt?”

For a few seconds, the only answer Merlin gets is Ari’s gasps for air. Merlin doesn’t seem bothered; he rubs circles on Ari’s back, and Arthur quietly stands up from his chair. It doesn’t seem like the sort of interaction he should be part of, and he doesn’t really know what to do.

“There was a man,” Ari says, and dissolves into tears again.

“What man?” Merlin asks kindly, and eyes Arthur, mouthing “Stay here”, even as he keeps his hold on Ari tightly. Arthur doesn’t know what he can do, but if there is some sort of trouble, either for Ari or for magic users in general, he wants to know about it now.

“He – he said,” Ari says, and presses his face even further into Merlin’s chest, holding on for dear life. “He – I can’t – he said I shouldn’t be here. That you should’ve left me. With them.”

Arthur knows who Ari means by them, even if Merlin had only given him the barest of information about Ari and his interaction with the magic renegades. They don’t often talk about it, and now Arthur wishes he’d asked more, even as Merlin’s face becomes more drawn.

“He’s wrong,” Merlin insists, and grabs Ari’s arm to push him away. Ari’s face is tear-stained and his eyes are red, but Merlin lifts his face so they can look at each other eye to eye. “He is wrong, Ari. You’ve been very strong, and you’ve been doing so well. I’m very proud of you, and I’m really glad you wanted to come with me.”

“He’s right,” Ari says, and he’s still crying, but the tears come silently now. “I would’ve killed you, and she was – I could’ve been too late, and you would be dead, and it was all my fault. I’m bad, and I don’t – I’m really bad.”

“You weren’t too late, Ari,” Merlin says. “Listen to me. I know it’s hard, okay? But you’ve been very brave. You saved me, and she’s your sister. She was wrong, and you loved her, and it’s okay to admit all of that. It’s okay to admit that you did bad things, but they’re not you. You wouldn’t have saved me if you weren’t good.”

Ari trembles, and presses himself against Merlin again. Arthur swallows, and meets Merlin’s gaze.

“I dream about her,” Ari suddenly says, the words muted by Merlin’s tunic. 

“I know,” Merlin says, but he’s still looking at Arthur. “You loved her, and she betrayed you. It’s a terrible thing, to have a sister you once knew to be good and kind, and to love the ghost of her.”

(Arthur remembers shouting at Merlin, when Merlin had told him he’d poisoned Morgana. Merlin had been sitting in the corner, pale and shuddering, taking Arthur’s abuse like he wanted it. They’d both cried that evening.

Yes, he knows the pain of loving a sister who will harm you. Arthur doesn’t talk about her, but her shadow will always be cast over him – and over Merlin.)

Arthur kneels beside them, his shoulder brushing Merlin’s.

“It is the sign of a good man,” Arthur says, “to remember the goodness in all people, even when the goodness has disappeared. It’s not an easy thing to love someone who has harmed you, Ari. You are as brave as any Knight I’ve seen, to remember her every night. Braver than you should have to be.”

“‘M not brave,” Ari mutters.

“I think you are,” Arthur says, and hums to himself. “Perhaps I should knight you. You’ve saved Merlin once, and I know how hard he likes to make it on people to actually get around to saving him. And that despite all the experience he has getting into trouble.”

Ari laughs a little bit at that, and Merlin smiles. 

“Don’t want to be a Knight,” he says, and peers at Arthur. “Merlin says Knights are thick, because they’ve been hit in the head one too many times. He says –”

“Never mind what I said,” Merlin says hastily. “Will you believe the King, Ari, if you don’t believe me? You’ve got King Arthur’s seal of approval. You belong here, no matter what any man says.”

“Who even told you that?” Arthur asks. If they know where Ari came from, it must be someone from the court. That information is not privy to just anyone.

Merlin’s expressions darkens. “I think I might know,” he says. “I’ll deal with it, Arthur. Ari is my apprentice, and I’ll make sure no one says a word to him again.”

“It’s my court,” Arthur protests, “and these are my –”

“If I told you everything that has been said to me since my magic was revealed,” Merlin says lightly, “Your court would be near empty, Arthur. You should be able to trust your advisors. I’ll deal with them, and I’ll hand out a last warning. They’ll change their minds, but it’s taking some time. You should give them that.”

Arthur frowns. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? If someone threatened you?”

“Is that including your daily threats to put me in the stocks?” Merlin asks dryly. “They can’t do anything to take me from your side, and they won’t be able to do anything to make Ari turn from mine. I’d tell you, Arthur, of course, if you can’t trust them anymore. But please trust me with this.”

Needless to say, he doesn’t like it. Ari is still shaking, and Merlin gently leads him towards Arthur instead. Arthur is still staring at Merlin even as he embraces Ari. The boy settles against him.

“I expect you to return soon,” Arthur says. With a curt nod, and a last pat on Ari’s head, Merlin is out of the door. 

“They’re afraid of him,” Ari murmurs. “So he’s been kind to them, to show them there’s nothing to fear. He never gets mad, though. I haven’t ever seen him mad.”

“I don’t think you will,” Arthur says. “Merlin's a very good man. Better than most.”

“I know,” Ari says, and pulls away from Arthur. His eyes are dry, if still red and swollen. He smiles hesitantly, and runs his sleeve over his face. 

“If you ever want to tell me,” Arthur says, and tries to find the right words. “About yourself. Merlin didn’t tell me everything, and he doesn’t need to. He trusts you – he cares about you, and that means you will always have my trust, too. I know it might be hard to talk to Merlin about some things, when you care about him. But my door is open to you, Ari.”

Ari hesitates. “He told me you had a sister, too. That she did things that he can’t forgive. That he did things he regrets, too.”

“I did,” Arthur says, and falls silent. He should say something else, perhaps, but the words don’t come so easily. 

Ari smiles weakly. “I don’t want to disappoint him. Merlin’s just – so powerful, and he’s really nice, and I don’t want to – I know he wouldn’t send me away. But sometimes I want to tell him something, and I can’t. I don’t know why.”

“It’s because you care about him,” Arthur says. “It can make it hard to be honest with someone. But my door is always open to you, Ari. I promise you that.”

Ari frowns. “It’s because he’s important to you, right?”

“He is,” Arthur admits quietly. 

“He loves you,” Ari says thoughtfully. “He called out your name, when I first saw him. My sister and the others had taken him. That was my fault, even though Merlin always says it wasn’t. But I led him there, and they attacked him. He almost died. He called out your name, even though he could’ve said a spell. I didn’t understand why until we came here.”

“How did you save him?” Arthur asks, and forces himself to smile. “Did he do something dumb again?”

Ari shrugs, and absentmindedly scratches his wrist. “They bound him and left me to guard him. But then he said – it doesn’t matter. He was bleeding, and I couldn’t – he told me what herbs to find him, and I just gave them to him and gave him some bandages. I freed him, and he asked me if I wanted to stay with him.”

Most of the story must have been skipped, but Arthur can’t blame Ari. He only knows fragments from Merlin’s own hasty recounting of the tale, but he’d conveniently left out the part where he’d been injured. It’s unfair to make Ari tell him, the boy’s tear tracks so clearly visible on his cheeks.

“You were very brave indeed,” Arthur says instead, laying a hand on Ari’s shoulder. “Knights always try to free innocent men. And you were going against your own sister. Don’t tell Merlin I said this, but he’s right.”

“He was really bad,” Ari whispers, eyes darting to the door. It’s still half open, but Merlin will be halfway the castle by now, hexing whoever upset Ari. “And he came back for me. He’s the only one who ever came back for me, and he wasn’t even mad when they took him. He just looked all sad. Still does, sometimes.”

Arthur squeezes. “Can I ask you something, Ari?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

“If he ever looks like that, you’ll come and tell me, okay? And if you ever feel like that, you’ll tell Merlin or me. It doesn’t matter what it’s about, but you’ll come.”

Ari scrunches up his nose. 

(Arthur remembers being that age, the time when you’re not quite a child and not an adult. Gaius had made him promise something similar, back then, but Gaius had seemed even more ancient than he is now, and Arthur hadn’t meant to keep his promise even as he’d made it.)

“Okay,” Ari eventually says. Arthur doesn’t know if he is telling the truth, but it’s enough that he knows that Arthur welcomes his presence. 

Ari smiles, anyway, and that’s more than enough promise for Arthur.

~*~

The matter of having a Court Sorcerer is brought to Arthur’s attention even before magic is legalised.

Obviously, there’s no contention for who should take the position. At that point, however, when Gwaine starts ribbing him about it and Leon sends him meaningful glances that he’d deny if Arthur ever asked, Merlin isn’t back yet.

But then Merlin returns, pale, haggard, but deemed healthy by Gaius. Magic is legalised, and Merlin stands by his side as Arthur proclaims it so. In a far off distance, druids are making magic dance above the trees, and Camelot shines in the glow of beautiful sorcery.

Innis is the one who brings it up, and Alar is the one who hands him the crown that the druids made. It shines like the moon, shimmering discreetly in Arthur’s hands, and all he thinks is, that’s perfect. Tiny leaves bud from the sides of it, glowing dully. Even then, he knows how it will look in Merlin’s hair, how striking it will be against the black of his hair and how it will illuminate his skin. He will look like Emrys.

And Arthur can’t wait.

He doesn’t show Merlin the crown, and none of the druids bring it up when Merlin joins their magical counsel that day. Adeline hardly does anything but stare at him until Merlin accidentally tips over his red wine and his ears match the colour of the stain.

Merlin doesn’t say anything when Arthur tells him of the ceremony. He kisses him, though, steadily and certain, holding Arthur close. Arthur keeps them pressed together, uncaring of being seen. It no longer matters what his advisors think, or what his Knights have to say. It feels like Arthur has been waiting for this day since Merlin came back to Camelot, though, when he asked Arthur not to send him away again and Arthur knew he never could.

(He doesn’t tell him about the crown. That, Arthur wants him to see for himself.)

It has been a long time coming. Arthur once knew that Merlin could not remain a servant to him; now, the plans have grown far beyond him. Merlin will be at his side in every way, if Arthur gives him the crown. Merlin will be his advisor; his sorcerer; his guiding light, and he has hold of everything that Arthur is and will become.

So he plans the ceremony. 

~*~

“I don’t think I can do this,” Merlin says faintly, half an hour before the ceremony is taking place.

Arthur isn’t really supposed to be here. There are several security details to go over, and there’s always some final changes to the plan. Besides, he needs to be on the throne by the time Merlin enters, so he can officially name him their Court Sorcerer. 

Leon and Elyan had shoved him into Merlin’s chambers, though, and he feels there might be some wisdom to it now.

“Don’t be like that, my boy,” Gaius says, beating Arthur to it. They share a look, though, and Arthur finds himself grinning at Merlin’s panicked face. It’s not as if Merlin hasn’t ribbed Arthur about being nervous before. The day before Arthur was named the crowned Prince, Merlin had spent the better part of an evening talking Arthur down from escaping the castle.

He’d been kind about it then, though. The joking had come afterwards.

“You’ll be perfectly fine, Merlin,” Arthur adds, remembering Merlin’s own gentle words when Arthur was the agitated one. He grins. “Besides, I’m not sure the druids will keep you on as their prophesied Emrys if you faint. What did I tell you? It’s time to stop pretending to be a noble, and actually be one, if you think you can manage.” 

“I don’t,” Merlin snaps, and turns just as Gaius tries to straighten his tunic. Merlin is pacing, both hands in his hair, tousling it. One end sticks up, when Merlin finally drops his hands. “I don’t think I can manage it. Oh, God. I’d rather chase another goblin through the castle. Do you think I still have time to go and find one so we can focus on that, instead?”

“Stop worrying,” Arthur insists, and steps forward so he can grab Merlin’s hands before he starts mussing up his hair again. When Merlin stills, he lets go of him and pats down Merlin’s locks. He looks presentable, if not as collected as he did two hours ago.

“Easy for you to say!” Merlin says. “You’re just telling me, oh, Merlin, look here now, become the Court Sorcerer of a country that’s been persecuting your people for over two decades! I’m sure it’ll be all fine and dandy, and no one will come after you to assassinate you or anything!”

“They’ve come to assassinate you before,” Gaius remarks, rather calmly. “It doesn’t usually seem to stick.”

“Right, right,” Merlin says, nodding fervently. “But now I’ve got a title, and Arthur’s got to take me seriously –”

“A little hard to, right now,” Arthur mutters under his breath, and it earns him a dark glare from Merlin.

“– and, anyway, I don’t have time to stop the endless assassinations on Arthur, as it is, and now I’ve got to deal with my own? And who really thought it was a good idea to give me magic, anyway? Destiny’s not a reliable indicator for who should have what powers, and I hardly think –”

“That’s your problem,” Arthur says, a little more gently, and takes Merlin’s shoulders. “Stop thinking, Merlin. You’re my Court Sorcerer because I trust you more than anyone else in the world, and you happen to be a very powerful sorcerer on top of that, which is very convenient more than anything else. This is your place, Merlin. This is where you’re meant to be. Can you stop worrying for two seconds and just focus on that?”

Merlin swallows. “So it turns out you’re not completely rubbish at comforting people. That’s actually a bit of a surprise.”

“Twat,” Arthur says fondly, and presses a kiss to Merlin’s forehead. “I trust you, Merlin. If there’s anyone trying to either assassinate you or me, there’s no one better to deal with it.”

“And they’ll have to get through me, first,” Gaius says, patting his walking cane. Arthur would laugh at him, but it wouldn’t be the first time Gaius has swung it at his head, and it does actually hurt quite badly. 

More importantly, it startles a sort of anxious laugh out of Merlin, who exhales and presses himself inside Arthur’s arms. Arthur rolls his eyes, but allows Merlin’s head to fall into the crook of his neck, swinging his arms around Merlin’s lean body.

“This isn’t the end, you know,” Merlin mutters. “The people who had Ari – it’s a setback, but you know not everyone is destroyed. The country is still fractured, and not everyone trusts magic. Nor you. They’ll return.”

“And we’ll deal with it together,” Arthur says firmly. “If you stop trying to run away from your own ceremony, at least.”

Merlin sniffs. “Why did you have to invite the druids?”

“Because you’re supposed to be their leader, and you’re some sort of half-god to them, for whatever reason,” Arthur says easily. “Also, Adelmar bowed to you three times last time, and I want to see if he’ll do it more often if you’re my sorcerer in an official capacity. It must count for something, don’t you think?”

“You’re such a prat,” Merlin complains, and pulls away from Arthur. His eyes are shining, though, and there’s the beginning of a fond smile playing on his lips. 

The door opens, and Arthur keeps his hold on Merlin’s arm even as Gwaine peers inside. His Knight smiles knowingly, and leans against the door post.

“They’re ready to start, Sire,” he says. “But if you’d rather stay here and cuddle –”

“He’s ready,” Arthur says, and looks at Merlin. Merlin sighs, but nods at him curtly, rubbing his own arm consciously. Gwaine disappears again, and Arthur pulls at Merlin’s tunic to straighten it out again. 

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t run away screaming, Sire,” Gaius says. Arthur smiles, and cups Merlin’s face for a final quick kiss. Then he’s out of the door, and takes his place on the throne to wait for Merlin to enter.

(When he does, none of the doubt can be seen in his face. The people rise for him, and Merlin walks as calmly as if there was not a hint of anxiety in him. 

He kneels before Arthur, ready to swear his fealty, as if Arthur doesn’t know what Merlin has done for him. What Merlin will do for him, if it is asked. Arthur places the crown on his head, and he will never forget the look on Merlin’s face as he touches it tentatively, feeling the glimmering buds of leaves that decorate the thin circlet.

The druids chant Emrys, Emrys, Emrys, and Merlin wryly mouths long live the King, and Arthur hoists him up to his feet to show the people that they finally have a Court Sorcerer to forever stand by his King’s side.)

~*~

Merging the magic users and the ordinary council is smoother than Arthur would ever have considered.

Not all of the nobles trust magic. Innis’ words have rung true, though; the presence of magic in the capital and in the court has done a lot to ease people’s concerns. The druids are peaceful as ever, and in their gentle magic, their healing tinctures and cryptic wisdoms, even the most vehement of magic haters has settled a bit.

That is not to say that Lord Eadric will stop glaring at Merlin within the next year. It does mean that any open hostilities don’t benefit him, now that magic is not just lawful, but under Arthur’s protection. When Lord Eadric scowls at Merlin, Merlin is now free to smirk back and take his place besides Arthur.

“So if we send a small group of Knights to guard the road, the bandits will certainly be waylaid,” Leon is saying, frowning as he reads of the problems that travellers have been experiencing on the open road. “Although the additional issues with the losses in the forest are disturbing, Sire, and we might want to send some more men to see if there is a reason for why people don’t return –”

“You could send Erai and Adeline,” Merlin proposes easily. “With the use of some tracking spells, some of the people who are lost could be found. Adeline’s spells are very precise, so she will do very well at locating them. And Erai’s clan used to live near these forests, if I’m not mistaken.”

“They did, my Lord Emrys,” Erai says evenly, and nods. “I agree. Magic will be able to help us search much faster.”

Arthur slowly nods. “I could send six Knights along to protect you from the bandits.”

“Or for us to protect,” Adeline says, with some quiet humour. Gwaine snorts, but one look from Arthur has him silent again. “I am willing to go, my Lord.”

“Then it’s decided,” Arthur says, and frowns for a moment. “Except I’ll have lost nearly half my magical counsel.”

Merlin smiles broadly. “I’ve already discussed this with Adeline and Alar. There’s plenty of uses for magic, and many voices to be represented. We want to consider setting up a sort of – guild, for magic users. Especially the sorcerers in Camelot might need a nudge to start using their powers, and we can teach them.”

“A bit like the Knights,” Elyan says thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Merlin says, and eyes Arthur. “There’s a lot to discuss, of course, but we think the idea has merit.”

Arthur has to force down the grin that is threatening to overtake his face. Merlin is all but bouncing in his chair, the silver circlet on his head slightly eskew. His hands itch to straighten it out, but he keeps them to himself. 

“I do think it might be a useful thing to implement,” Arthur says, trying to keep his tone even. “Make sure to come to my chambers after our meeting, Merlin, and we’ll discuss how you think we should proceed.”

Merlin’s eyes are bright. “Of course, Arthur.”

~*~

Merlin does go to his chambers that evening, and they do get around to discussing his sorcerers’ ideas for improving Camelot’s standing on magic, and how to help those who have it.

But first, Arthur holds him, and traces the name Emrys with his fingers on Merlin’s bare arms over, and over, and over.

~*~

“Arthur,” Merlin says, and runs to catch up to him. Arthur pauses in his stride, frowning, but judging by Merlin’s easy smile, it’s not a serious matter. “I thought I’d never catch you before the day’s end.”

“I always have time for you,” Arthur says. “Where’s your tiny shadow?”

Ari barely leaves Merlin’s side during the day. It’s not something that Arthur would have considered years ago, but Merlin is a good teacher. His quiet comments to Ari are insightful and always aimed at making Ari come to his own conclusions, whether it’s about magic or court politics. 

And Ari is slowly improving, the colour coming back to his face. He has come to Arthur’s chambers two or three times, although he hasn’t spoken of his sister yet. All Merlin is willing to tell Arthur is that dark magic will never truly leave the land, but that they are here now to combat it with magic that deserves to see the light of day. Magic that helps.

“Studying with Innis,” Merlin says with a meaningful glance. Arthur understands why. Ari, much like Arthur, definitely has a favourite sorcerer, and it’s Merlin. If he finally is learning to trust the other sorcerers in Camelot, that can only bode well for him.

“Good,” Arthur says, and tugs at Merlin’s hand to get him a little closer. “Now, is there something you wanted? I promised the Knights a decent training session, and I’m already ten minutes late because Lord Reagann doesn’t know when to stop talking.”

Merlin winces. “Not much. We can discuss it during dinner, if you want.”

“Say it now,” Arthur says. “You’ll pace in circles until you’ve said it, so out with it.”

Merlin’s smile is a little sheepish. “I went to the druids in the marketplace, and Adelmar asked us to come to their feast at midnight. There is a ceremony that requires powerful magic, and apparently in past times, a King and the most powerful sorcerer in the country would come together and celebrate –”

“It’s important?” Arthur interrupts. “To the druids? To you?”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, biting his lip. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to go.”

Arthur smiles. “And miss the chance to see you stammering every time they call you Lord Emrys, falling over their feet to bow to you? Oh, Merlin, you know it’s my favourite part of the day.”

“They’re just trying to be polite,” Merlin says, sidestepping that bit. Arthur thinks back to when he first heard the druids call Merlin Emrys; how could he ever have considered that anyone else could be destined to be the strongest sorcerer alive? Merlin, his two left feet and his skin that refuses to be anything but creamy pale, is the worthiest man alive of such power.

“Lord Emrys,” Arthur says quietly, and Merlin smiles softly at him.

“You don’t have to call me that,” he says. “I’m still just Merlin, you know.”

Arthur snorts, and slings an arm over Merlin’s shoulder. It feels like it belongs there, like his limbs were made to keep Merlin in place. Merlin follows Arthur’s lead easily, and it should be awkward, to walk side by side when they’re pressed so closely together. Instead, Arthur finds, there’s a comfortable sort of support in being able to lean against Merlin’s wiry frame.

“Don’t be so daft, Merlin,” Arthur says easily. “You can be both.”