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Since he was a child, Arthur has been raised never to bow to false idols. He does not worship the gods of the sun and moon, the god of the wind, the god of life and death. And he certainly does not worship the god of magic.
***
And yet he does know some things about the last of these gods. For this god, more than any of the others, is a danger to the peace Uther Pendragon holds dear. Emrys, the magic-bringer. Emrys, the kingmaker. Emrys, alleged to be the son of a human woman and a dragonlord. And so Uther had all the dragonlords killed, and all their children.
He missed one.
***
So when Gaius says, “Sire, what if…there was indeed, one dragonlord left,” Uther nearly has him killed. But in the end, he relents. Because someone must stop the Great Dragon from destroying everything Uther holds dear.
Arthur knows what this means, the existence of this dragonlord. He knows that there might be, out there, the god who will bring forth the king prophesied to bring magic back to the land.
In the inn on the way to retrieve this dragonlord, Arthur confesses his fears to Merlin. “What if all my father’s work has been for nothing?” he says. “What if this Emrys rises and effaces the Pendragon name from the earth?”
“Why would he do that?” Merlin says in surprise. “His quarrel is with Uther, not with the Pendragons.”
“His quarrel,” Arthur says stiffly, “is with all enemies of magic. Of which, you might remember, I am one.”
That night, he dreams of a shadowy figure calling down lightning from the sky. A hood obscures the figure’s face, and Arthur wakes up just as they begin to pull it back.
***
Then Balinor dies, and there’s no chance to ask him if he had a son. No chance to overturn the world looking for one man.
***
After that, Arthur can’t let the idea of Emrys go. He knows, in his heart of hearts, that Balinor had a son. And he also knows that this son is somewhere out there, biding his time, waiting to bring magic back to Camelot. Even though he hasn’t a clue to go on, he begs his father for the opportunity to seek out Emrys. And Uther, eager to protect his reign, agrees.
So Arthur takes Merlin and ventures out into Albion. Merlin is strangely withdrawn, dark shadows bruising the delicate skin beneath his eyes. But Emrys proves impossible to track down. The country is too big, the god too small.
“It’s impossible,” Arthur says one night, staring into the fire. “We’ll never find him.”
“I’m sorry,” says Merlin.
Arthur’s lip curls. “I don’t want your pity, Merlin.”
They return to Camelot.
***
At night, Arthur sits at the edge of his bed and watches the moonlight play over his stone floor. He wonders what Emrys is thinking right now. He wonders what the sorcerer is doing with his time.
He also wonders what Merlin’s doing, all the way in the physician’s quarters. He knows better than to wish that Merlin were in bed with him.
Mostly.
Sometimes, Arthur finds himself showing off for Merlin on the practice field. He catches himself glancing off to the side to see if Merlin is watching. It’s a terrible habit, a distracting one, but he just wants Merlin to see.
How is he supposed to catch a god when he can’t even catch his own manservant?
***
Then, one day, he does catch Merlin. They’re lying in a clearing with the sun falling down on their faces, and Arthur turns his head to the side and examines Merlin’s profile. His slanting cheekbones, his full lips.
“Merlin,” Arthur whispers, and his mouth is so dry.
Merlin looks at him with those clear blue eyes. “Arthur,” he says. “Arthur.”
Later, that night, they lie in bed in a tangle of limbs. Merlin’s asleep, his cheek pressed to Arthur’s chest. Arthur cards his fingers through Merlin’s hair and, despite himself, thinks of Emrys. Love makes him weak, he knows. It gives more entry points for an enemy to attack. Were Emrys smart, he’d come at Arthur through Merlin. Arthur would do anything for Merlin. Maybe even bring magic back.
No. Not that.
But almost.
***
Camelot prospers and prospers, despite Agravain, despite Morgana. Arthur remains unmarried, and it’s an open secret among his men as to why that is the case. They give him and Merlin knowing looks when they disappear together and return red-lipped and panting.
***
“What do you think of Emrys?” Arthur doesn’t know he’s going to ask the question until he does.
Merlin looks up from his book in surprise. He’s sitting at the dining table, shoulders hunched over his tome. “Me, sire?”
“Do you see anyone else?”
“Why now?” says Merlin. “Why think of him now?”
Arthur kicks the leg of Merlin’s chair. “Come on, Merlin. Tell me. Where do you think he is?”
“I couldn’t tell you, sire,” says Merlin, and that’s the second time he’s said sire in the course of this conversation.
“Come on,” says Arthur. “You must have some opinion. Do you think he’s real?”
His eyes solemn, Merlin says, “I think so, yes.”
***
After Merlin confesses to believing in Emrys, Arthur can’t stop thinking about it. It’s not heresy to proclaim belief in the mere fact of the god’s existence; even Uther, after all, believed, at least enough to have all the dragonlords killed. But there was something in Merlin’s voice as he spoke. A quiet confidence that discomfited Arthur.
***
After meeting with the Disir, after they bring Mordred out of his coma, Arthur finds Merlin sitting in the window seat at the bend in the southern stairs. His knees are pulled up to his chest.
“The gods,” he says, looking out the window. “We’ve angered them.”
Arthur doesn’t know what to say.
***
And then Arthur is dying on the battlefield, stabbed by Mordred and bleeding out. And Merlin comes to him with his eyes on fire and lays his hands on Arthur’s wound. And the wound begins to mend.
“You,” Arthur gasps, here, in the place where his life should have ended.
“Me,” says Emrys.
God and king look at each other as if for the first time.