Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Merlin didn’t realize the weight of his destiny until it was gone. Or, not gone, really. More like, put on hold for an indefinite amount of time. It was replaced for a long time by the weight of grief, the pain of losing his best friend, his King, the other side to his coin. That was both a weight and an emptiness, a lack, a gaping hole in his being that nothing could fill. But slowly, he learned to breathe around it. Slowly, he learned to stand and walk despite the agony of his failure. And then, as he watched the world change, as the days and years and centuries crawled on and everything familiar was forgotten to the heartless march of time, he realized that the constant pressure and urgency that had driven him from the day Uther named him Arthur’s manservant was gone. There was still a determination in the back of his mind/heart to wait for his King, to be there, ready to serve, when Arthur returned. But the drive to change the world was gone.

Without that drive, that pressure, that weight of destiny, that need to protect Arthur and guide him in changing the world for the better, Merlin slipped to the sidelines and watched. He watched Camelot fall. He watched other nations rise and crumble. He watched wars rage from small kingdoms, to neighboring countries, to whole contents, and then the world. Twice. He watched sorcerers band together to create a community that existed beside and within non-magical societies. He watched magical knowledge and practices change and evolve just as surely as technology did. He watched magic users create schools and governments. And he watched magic users selfishly attempt to control the balance. Not all of them. One, every generation or so. Each of them caused chaos, destruction, and death, as much as the wars that raged in the non-magical world. And through it all, Merlin watched.

Sometimes he hated it. He saw so many people suffering, dying, with the knowledge he had the power to step in and stop it and never did. He didn’t need or want to change the world anymore, so he didn’t, and people got hurt because of him. He told himself it wasn’t his fault because it wasn’t his destiny. He was magic incarnate. His destiny was to serve the Once and Future King. But it still hurt sometimes, knowing he had the power to protect people but couldn’t (wouldn’t?).

And then one evening, something shifted, the Balance moved, and in the morning, he woke with a need to visit a cave he hadn’t been to since Arthur’s time. It was nearly as heavy as the pressure he used to carry when he walked beside Arthur, and he found himself dressing and heading out the door before he fully recognized the feeling.

The streets were strange. Magic users met on corners and outside cafes, whispering and chatting excitedly among themselves. It seemed the current upstart wizard (who for some reason no one would mention by name) had been defeated. By a boy. An infant.

The timing seemed significant.

Merlin had questions, concerns. It seemed likely there was a connection between the boy or the supposedly-defeated-wizard and the sudden urge to act for the first time in centuries. But it was also possible that there was something else entirely beginning that he was supposed to prevent or ensure.

Fortunately, patience is a virtue that tends to develop when you’re waiting for your destiny to return from the dead. He made a sort of mental list of the questions he had and then put them aside.

The cave looked much the same. It seemed empty, but the air danced and sung with magic.

“Goddess?” He called softly. “You summoned me?”

There was a shiver in the air around him.

“Yes, Emrys. You are needed.”

He saw/felt an image of a castle, walls cracked and crumbling, the corridors filled with dead. With children.

“The child who would correct the balance has been chosen. But the man chosen to be his mentor has abandoned him. The one who thirsts for power will return, the balance will be destroyed and all my children will suffer.”

“What can I do?”

Another flash across his mind, a young boy stood alone against a ring of dark-cloaked figures.

“Go to the lake. Retrieve the blade that was birthed of magic. Train the child.”

“The boy who defeated Voldemort.” It had to be.

This time it was a nursery, a flash of green light deflected by a shield of red-gold, and a shadow that split in two and vanished.

“He must be trained for the balance to be maintained. Already it teeters. Can you feel it, Emrys? The earth screams in agony. Can you hear her?”

The charged feeling in the air turned sharp. His skin caught fire. Lightning pierced his arms and legs, shot up his back and burst through his head. Every cell in his body was collapsing, burning, freezing. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t even scream.

Chapter Text

Merlin slowly became aware that he was curled into a protective ball. He was lying on his side. Something cold and hard dug into his ribs and another into his thigh. His breathing was ragged as though he’d been running.

For a bit, he didn’t move. His muscles were stiff and crackly-feeling and he suspected moving might hurt. So he stayed how he was and focused on catching his breath and letting go of the tension in his body.

He was outside the cave now, lying in the dirt. The sharp objects digging into his side were probably rocks. His awareness of magic was dulled slightly. It happened sometimes after he died or when he pushed himself too far.

Eventually, Merlin rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. The golden quality of the light told him it was nearly sunset, which meant it had been several hours since he entered the cave. The pain had fortunately faded, but he felt weak and dizzy. And he was pretty sure his brain wasn’t working all the way.

It took him a while to be able to sit up. Longer still to make it to his feet. He didn’t even remember most of the trip home. He didn’t remember eating a frozen burrito or crawling into bed, but the evidence of both were there when he woke up the next morning.

And what a glorious morning it was. For the first time in centuries, he had a purpose. He felt the weight of destiny settling once again around his shoulders, and he welcomed it. He could act again, finally. He could actually do something for the good of people and magic and the creatures of the world.

Merlin decided to begin this new destiny by retrieving the “blade birthed by magic.” He didn’t know when or why he would need it, so it was best to have it from the start. As for which blade she meant, it had to be Excalibur. Even though there were several other magical “blades” in the world—a term that included not just swords but daggers and knives and a lance or two and even a particular guillotine that was carefully locked away somewhere on the Iberian peninsula—the mention of a lake and Merlin’s personal history made him fairly certain the goddess meant him to have Excalibur. Perhaps as his destined ward, the young boy he was meant to train would be allowed to wield it just as Arthur once had.

Whatever the reason, Merlin gathered his courage and returned to Lake Avalon as he’d been instructed. Merlin hated the lake. Losing Arthur was still, after everything else he had experienced and all the things he had lost, the most painful thing he had ever endured. It still hurt. It had been centuries and yet the wound left by Arthur’s death had never healed. Merlin had learned to carry the pain, but it was just as sharp as the day it happened. And the Lake Avalon did nothing but draw that pain to the forefront and taunt him with its still, empty waters, refusing day after day to give back—

But he wasn’t here to look for Arthur. Arthur was safe and would return eventually. In the meantime, Merlin had a different destiny to focus on. He could do that. He could set aside Arthur for a bit and focus on this child he had to prepare to restore the balance.

The lake was the same as it always was. Objectively, he supposed it could be beautiful and even peaceful, if one weren’t deafened by the echoes of his King’s final words or blinded by the ghost of his lifeless body.

Merlin took a grounding breath and called across the water.

“I have been sent to retrieve Excalibur. The goddess wills it. The balance demands it. I, Emrys, call forth the blade birthed in magic. Release it from the depths of Avalon!”

There was a moment of silence and stillness, unnatural, expectant, and then a mist rose slowly from the water. There was no wind or sound, no movement but the gradual expansion of fog, like a curtain being drawn. It stayed over the water. The shore and tree line remained clear and bright, but the water vanished behind the cloud.

A shadow took shape in the vapor, a shape creeping toward the shore. It moved across the water, edges slowly defining themselves as it grew closer. A lone figure sat motionless in a boat that didn’t rock or waver even as it settled at the edge of the water.

The figure jumped out of the boat. It was bigger than Merlin expected. Male. He splashed out of the water, past the edge of the mist. Sunlight glinted off coils of chainmail. His gold hair was dirty, but his blue eyes sparkled. And then his arms were around Merlin.

Merlin felt strong arms wrapped around him, fingers gripping his shoulder. He smelled metal and sweat and mud and a hint of lye from soap.

It didn’t make any sense ... It wasn’t possible ... There was no reason …

But when he hesitantly raised his arms, he felt a solid back, covered in dirty chainmail. But this still couldn’t be real. He was supposed to …

“She sent me for Excalibur…”

The figure in his arms huffed a laugh and pushed Merlin back to catch his face between his hands. “Still an idiot, I see.”

“I…” but he didn’t even have a comeback to that. He could barely form coherent thoughts with Arthur standing there, giving him a familiar smirk that was half mocking and half fond.

Arthur took pity on him. “First off, it’s not uncommon to call a warrior, particularly one who fights with a sword, a ‘blade’. Secondly, the dragon who created Excalibur clearly told you no one else could wield it. What could you possibly do with a sword and no one to wield it?”

Merlin went to answer and choked on a lump in his throat that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Arthur’s smile softened slightly and he wrapped his arms around Merlin again. “Alright, then. Take as long as you need. I won’t even call you a girl’s petticoat this time.”

Merlin sobbed a laugh and buried his face in Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur. His King. His destiny. The other side of his coin. Here. Alive. Whol—

He pushed Arthur back and bent over to check his side. The mail was unbroken, though stained with blood.

“Merlin.” Arthur grabbed his arm and pulled him upright. “Take me home. Then I’ll let you check me over, alright?”

Clear instructions. He could work with that. “Yes, Sire.”

Chapter Text

The wound in Arthur’s side was completely gone. Not just healed. It was as though it had never been there in the first place. No scar, no bruise, nothing but smooth skin. And dried blood. That was a thing. His gambeson was soaked. There was a crust over his skin and between the links of his mail shirt.

“They were going to clean it as well, but you were always so particular about my armor, I didn’t think you’d appreciate it.”

“You may not have noticed it, but it was my job to keep you alive. And you think I would allow anyone else touch your armor? You really are a cabbage-head.”

Instead of taunting back, Arthur’s expression turned serious. “Yes. I was. An ungrateful one at that.”

“It was an honor, Arthur. I don’t regret a minute of it.”

Arthur gave him a considering look. Maybe a bit fond.

Merlin smirked “Except, maybe, you smelling like sweaty armor. Why don’t I draw you a bath and get this cleaned before it rusts and you get stuck in it.”

Arthur’s amused smile said he wasn’t at all fooled. “Of course, Merlin. Wouldn’t want that after all the time you’ve spent keeping it in one piece.”

**

The next few weeks passed calmly if not always peacefully. Merlin woke first every morning. He let Arthur sleep in, but poked his head in to watch him breathe for a while before heading to the kitchen to make breakfast. Arthur would generally stumble out around the time food was ready. He also spent a time standing in the doorway, watching Merlin. The first morning, Merlin was shocked when Arthur pushed away from the doorjamb and crossed the room to pull him into a hug, just as fierce and life-affirming as the one at the lake, but after a few days, it became his favorite part of the morning. That and sitting across from Arthur at the table, eating, sometimes talking. They talked about Camelot, about the things Arthur hadn’t known ‘til his death and after. They talked about their friends and about Merlin’s life over the centuries. It turned out Arthur wasn’t quite as clueless as Merlin expected.

“They let me see glimpses,” he admitted one evening, sitting together in front of the fire. “I was aware of time passing, of general changes in the world. But if it was something related to my destiny, they let me see a little more. I saw you. Every time they called on you to tweak the balance, they let me see it. And things with the magic community. That Grindlewald bloke a few years back. The Riddle boy more recently.”

Neither of them had passed the time in peace. Both had been waiting and both were glad to have a purpose again.

It was also good to have time to heal first. They both had wounds to heal—not physical wounds like the one in Arthur’s side, but hidden wounds. They talked of Merlin’s magic, about what might have been but couldn’t have been. Merlin confessed all his failures. He admitted to being part of the reason Morgana turned. And Modred. He told Arthur about Balinor and Kilgharrah. And, eventually, he admitted his greatest failure: letting Arthur die, being too concerned with protecting his secret to save his king. There was some more hugging after that. And some tears. Merlin insisted that Arthur was worth them. Arthur mercifully refrained from calling him a girl.

It wasn’t long, though, before they both got tired of doing nothing. They both had the weight of destiny pushing them to act, and the wounds they both still carried were relegated to existing only in those first moments of the day when they each reassured himself that the other was still there, still alive. After breakfast, Arthur took to studying the history books that Merlin had carefully collected and annotated (mostly with cross-references between the magical and non-magical communities). When his mind began to rebel after several hours, he got out wooden practice weapons Merlin had crafted for him and practiced his fighting. He alternated between practicing forms and moves and mock-fighting with a dummy (also courtesy of Merlin). Every few days, Arthur dragged Merlin into the back garden and worked with him. Unlike before, though, when he seemed to enjoy handing Merlin a shield and smacking him with his sword, now Arthur actually taught Merlin to fight.

Meanwhile, Merlin was getting nowhere. He was trying to track down this ‘boy who lived,’ but nothing he tried worked.  Whatever was protecting the boy wasn’t modern magic. Modern magic was like a mask, a weave worked over the surface of the world rather than a manipulation of the balance itself. In other words, Merlin could see through or around modern magic if he looked. His scrying and tracking spells searched beyond the surface energies of a being to the spark of magic that gave them life in the first place. To have his vision turn to cemeteries and random houses, his pendulum swing uselessly in a straight line, his maps spark and refuse to burn, meant that there was something much older at work here. 

It meant he had to find a way around the spell. Or a way to break the spell and recast it such that he could see through it. But that would require finding the boy first. There had to be something in one of his books. Somewhere.

**

Arthur was strangely content with the current state of things. He was back in the world of the living, Merlin was at his side, and they had a war to prepare for. Possibly. Merlin was hoping to avoid war, but Arthur suspected the forces at play would not be swept aside so easily. He didn’t particularly want to lead another war, but Merlin had explained the stakes, and the sidhe had helped him see (through rationed glimpses that left him starving for information) that magic was no more evil than a sword. Perhaps even less so because a sword, whatever the intention, could only be used to kill, but magic could protect, defend, maintain, and even create life.

So Arthur planned. He studied everything he could about the histories and politics of both the magical and non-magical communities. He read news from both communities, and came to the realization that there were sub-communities to both. The non-magical factions, despite all the time that passed, were much the same as in Camelot: men vs women, old vs young, laborers vs nobility, the homeless, the orphans, the widows and widowers. The world might be bigger, but he still understood these things. What he didn’t understand was the magical sub-communities. He saw mentions of werewolves and centaurs and merfolk, but every word he read was written by outsiders, wizards who knew of them or had seen them. There were no first-hand accounts.

He would need to ask Merlin about meeting some of these people. The problem was that Merlin was … Merlin was …

He found Merlin one morning well before dawn, arm propped on the table, head in his hand, eyes drifting shut as he tried to read the tiny handwritten words of a book that must have been as old as they were.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Merlin’s head fell off his hand and he smacked his elbow on the table as he straightened. “Sorry, Sire! I was just … I was …” he blinked a few times. “Oh, right. I, um, I can’t find him.”

“Whom? Harry?”

“Harry?”

“The Boy Who Lived? The whole reason I was sent back? Are you feeling alright?”

“How do you know his name?”

“It was in the newspaper. Some woman named Skeeter wrote an article about his parents, Lily and James Potter.”

“Harry Potter. That’s who we’re looking for.” He looked relieved for a moment before his face turned distressed again. “But I still can’t find him. We can’t protect him or train him if I can’t find him and …” He sighed. “Did you need something, Sire? I should really get back to finding a spell that will let me get past whatever is protecting him.”

Arthur pulled out a chair and sat. “If you get past his protection, won’t that leave him vulnerable to Voldemort’s followers?”

“I’m trying to find a way around that.”

“What have you tried?”

Arthur listened to Merlin try to explain different types of locator spells and why they weren’t working. He only got one thing out of it.

“In other words you are hunting and your quarry is invisible. And your solution is to make it visible.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Of course. Do you have a better solution?”

“Obviously. Do you remember nothing I taught you about hunting?”

“Something about silence and patience and intelligence. It was never really my thing.”

“Well, in this case, you need to quit looking for your prey and start looking for tracks.”

Merlin blinked. “Do what now?”

“Did you ever see me looking for deer right outside the castle?”

“Of course not. There was a city there. Deer wouldn’t come into the city.”

“Exactly. I started each hunt by going to areas I knew the deer frequented. Then I looked for clues: leaves that had been nibbled, footprints, droppings. And I followed those.

“Harry is only a year and a bit. So someone must be caring for him. Were he our ward, we’d have brought him here and I’d teach him to wield a sword and lead men whilst you taught him to wield magic and tend the balance. Obviously his intended mentor didn’t do that, so he must have left the infant with someone else to raise. Who would he trust? Who could shield the boy in a way that even the great Emrys can’t find him. If the boy is so well hidden, find the mentor and the guardian. Make sense?”

Merlin closed his eyes and let his head fall onto the open book.

Arthur took that as a sign of understanding.

“Come, now, Merlin. Time for bed.”

“Nooo. I have to keep looking.”

Arthur grabbed his arm and started to pull him upright. “You can look in the morning. You’re always grouchy when you don’t sleep.”

Merlin tried to resist. “No I’m not.”

“Yes. And you refuse to talk to me and forget that you’re no longer trying to save the world behind my back. Now come along.”

He hauled Merlin to his feet and led him to his bedroom. He let Merlin sit on the edge of the bed and crouched to remove his shoes and pull Merlin’s shirt over his head. He had just got Merlin’s trousers open when the half-asleep warlock seemed to realize where he was. The idiot turned and started crawling into bed, so Arthur mostly held his trousers while the other man squired his way out of them, narrowly avoiding getting kicked in the face for his troubles.

“There’s a reason that’s normally your job.”

But Merlin was already face down under the downiest quilt Arthur had ever seen, his arms wrapped around an equally cloud-like pillow. He let out a soft content sigh as he settled.

Arthur smiled warmly at his friend. His fingers moved almost of their own accord to brush through Merlin’s hair. It was thicker and fluffier than his own, softer than Gwen’s and didn’t claim his fingers as hostages the way her curls always did.

“Goodnight, Merlin.”

He turned off the light, blew out the candles on the table,and made his way back to bed.

**

Roughly a fortnight later, Merlin disappeared. Arthur had been in the training ring behind Merlin’s cottage (which was more than twice the size of all the other cottages in the village they lived in), when Merlin popped his head out the door, said he was going to run check something and shouldn’t be too long. Arthur had waved an acknowledgement (because at least he wasn’t disappearing to the pub without warning) and gone back to dismembering the practice dummy with his wooden sword.

Arthur wasn’t too concerned when Merlin didn’t call him in for lunch, but as the afternoon progressed, his distant curiosity shifted to disquiet and then concern. As dinner time approached and there was still no sign of him, Arthur took a quick walk down the main road of the village. Not that he’d ever been able to find Merlin when he disappeared. He had a gift for vanishing. He may have just needed time away from Arthur. 

The cottage felt wrong, empty without Merlin’s presence. Arthur put together a late dinner and sat to eat it, but he couldn’t. They’d been taking their meals together since he returned from Avalon and Arthur had gotten used to it. He picked up the current history he was reading, but he couldn’t focus. His disquiet had grown to irritation. He was too dignified to pace, but he was restless, waiting.

Eventually, well after dark, closer to midnight than sunset, the front door opened.

“Arthur? Are you still up? You’ll never guess what …” Merlin’s voice trailed off as the man in question froze at the entrance to the kitchen. “You made dinner.”

“You said you’d be right back.”

“I …”

“You said you were going to check something quickly and would be back. And then you vanished for the entire day.”

“I didn’t expect it to take so long. We just got to talking.”

“We?”

“This druid I met. Well, she’s not exactly a druid. She’s a descendant of—“

“Merlin!”

The warlock fell silent.

“I thought we were past you disappearing on me, trying to solve everything on your own, but you just left for the entirety of a day without telling me where you were going or why. Anything could have happened and I …,” he cut himself off. “It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Arthur walked past a gaping Merlin and made his way to his room. He closed the door firmly and locked it before collapsing onto his bed.

It shouldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like Merlin hadn’t done this before. He must have had his reasons. And he came back. He always comes back. Just like before. But now … Now. Nothing had changed. Even if … What? Merlin was still Merlin, his idiot manservant … who happened to have magic.

No man is worth your tears.

Not even Merlin.

And yet the ache in his chest disagreed.

Arthur slept fitfully that night. He felt small and vulnerable. He hurt. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop the tears from forming. He was barely aware of time passing, too caught up in the pain of Merlin leaving him, letting him worry, hiding something from him. Alright, he was pretty sure Merlin didn’t mean to hide anything. Had he stayed to listen, the idiot may have told him exactly where he was and what he was doing. But he should have told him beforehand.

**

Arthur woke to soft noises in his bedroom, the familiar sounds of Merlin bringing his breakfast in. Though Merlin hadn’t done that since before his death.

“Are you awake enough I can apologize, Sire?”

Arthur shifted into his back and pushed the quilt away from his face.

Merlin hesitated at the side of the bed before sitting, barely perched on the edge. “I didn’t mean to disappear. I didn’t think it would take that long, and I had every intention of telling you where I went and why. I still do, but I feel I should apologize fully first. If that’s alright?”

An apology sounded reasonable. Arthur grunted and waved a hand for him to continue.

“Alright. I’m sorry. I suppose I’ve gotten used to doing things on my own, and it didn’t occur to me until after you’d gone to bed last night that …” he took a deep breath and blew it out. “I know hiding my magic was a betrayal. I haven’t fully apologized for that, either, but you accepted it so I … I suppose I assumed you were alright with it. But I never thought of all the other, smaller betrayals. All the times I vanished on you and told you I was at the tavern or gathering herbs when I was really off using my magic to keep you safe. I didn’t think my errand yesterday would feel like that to you and I’m sorry. I never meant to worry you. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t …” except he did. Arthur was still hurting. And he didn’t want to lie to him.

“I won’t do it again, Sire. I swear. I always had this fantasy, of if I’d told you, what it would be like to fight side-by-side with you, and I still want that. I’ll tell you everything I’m thinking and planning from now on, and I, um, I made you something. If you’ll accept it.” Merlin dug into his pocket and pulled out … a ring.

Arthur pushed himself upright, shoving aside his first though because there was no way … “A ring?”

“It’s tied to me. Well, to my magic, which is kind of all of me. It should … Put it on?”

Arthur accepted the ring and slid it onto his first finger. It looked like two tiny branches twisted together without beginning or end, one dark, the other yellow.

“Squeeze it?”

Arthur gave Merlin a considering look, but obeyed. Immediately, the ring began to throb rhythmically. It was a familiar pattern.

“Is that your heartbeat?”

Merlin smiled shyly and nodded. “So you can know I’m ok. And if you twist it, it’ll lead you to me. It should work whether I’m in the garden or on the other side of the world.”

And there went the pain, replaced by warmth and hope. He had a way to always find Merlin.

Merlin scratched his head. “Um, I should probably warn you it does the same for me. As long as you’re wearing it. And if you destroy it, I’ll feel it. I was thinking you could save that for emergencies, in case you ever need me quickly. It’s not easy to destroy.”

Arthur considered the ring a second longer before pulling his friend into a hug. It was strange how after dying in this man’s arms and then being separated from him for over a millennium, he sometimes needed this physical assurance of his presence. “Thank you. For everything. I’m sorry if I overreacted.”

“I’d do it all again in a heartbeat, Sire. Except for the lies. I’d do it right this time.” Merlin pushed Arthur away quickly. “Speaking of, can I tell you what happened, now? I think you’ll like this.”

“Alright, Merlin. What happened yesterday?”

The warlock grinned. “I found him.”

“Harry?”

Merlin nodded excitedly. “He’s staying with a young couple, Petunia and Vernon, according to their neighbor, and there's another baby I guess would be their son. None of them have magic, yet there is a powerful protection spell over the house. I couldn’t get close enough to learn more than that without arousing suspicion, but I did meet someone who might be able to help us.”

“Is that the Druid you told me about?”

“Yes. No. I mean, yes that’s who I mean, but no, she’s not actually a Druid. Her ancestors were Druids. She doesn’t have any magic herself, unless you call an affinity for collecting stray cats magic, which it could be.”

“Merlin.”

The warlock stilled. “Shut up?”

“No. Get to the point.”

“Right. So, I was thinking she could help keep an eye on him.”

“Why won’t we be keeping an eye on him?”

“We will be. But I have to figure out what’s going on, what we’re preparing him for. And you’re still getting your head around this century. And I don’t think, from what Agatha said, that Petunia and Vernon would take well to, um … us. Moving in across the street.”

Arthur studied his manservant. It seemed there were layers of information in that one statement.

“Alright. Bring your breakfast up and we’ll discuss what that means while we eat.”

Merlin smiled. “Yes, Sire.”

**

Arthur and Merlin spent the first several months researching, discussing, considering, and planning. They did visit the neighborhood where Harry was staying with his relatives, but never came very close to the infant. Agatha, on the other hand, was able to casually strike up a friendship with the aunt (based mostly on gossip and gardening tips), and suggest that when the boy was older, she might have use for him weeding her garden or repairing things around the house.

Hogwarts, they knew, would be a critical venue. The boy would spend nearly his entire adolescence there and it would be his first exposure to the magical community. It was also where Dumbledore spent most of his time, where the intended mentoring was most likely to take place … or be ignored.

It was also the place they had the least information about. And as Arthur repeatedly pointed out, “it’s a castle, Merlin. A proper fortress. We’ll have no way of knowing what’s going on there unless we have a way inside.”

And in a fit of frustration, Merlin snapped at him, “what do you suggest, then? I turn us into a pair of eleven-year-olds and we go to school with him?”

Chapter Text

With more planning and forethought than Arthur had put into some of his battles, Merlin wrote a letter to Hogwarts, and roughly two months after Harry’s second birthday, the Once and Future King and Magic Incarnate, magically disguised as eleven-year-olds, stepped off the Hogwarts express and joined the other first years climbing into a horde of boats. Their first glimpse of the fortress was not a moment of wonder or awe, but of assessment and caution. As they were led through the corridors to the Great Hall, Merlin leaned in to whisper that the stone walls were as full of magic as the forest in the Valley of Fallen Kings.

The sorting hat spent 15 minutes discussing with “Merlin Aldorman” before declaring him a Slytherin. The hat barely touched “Arthur Mandrake” before sending him to Gryffindor.

It took Merlin about two days to regret telling the hat to sort them into rival houses. They could have both gone to Hufflepuff and been roommates. Or Merlin could have gone to Ravenclaw and whichever house Arthur chose, no one would have been hissing “warnings” at them whenever they were seen talking in the halls. Merlin had thought it would be good for perceptions to have a friendship like theirs between two rival houses. And there was the legend that said Merlin was a Slytherin. But Arthur had been dead for over a thousand years and Merlin missed him, and this was like being his manservant all over again: kept at arm’s distance by the expectations of those around them.

And then Arthur did the most (or least) Gryffindor thing in the history of Gryffindors. He probably wasn’t the first student to bend the unwritten rule that said students could only sit with their own house during meals. But he was absolutely the first Gryffindor to settle in the middle of the Slytherin table as though he owned the place. Arthur, being Arthur, charmed everyone into letting him get away with it. Mostly.

It was coming up on Samhain—Halloween, they called it now—barely a month and a half into their career as Hogwarts students when Merlin found Arthur in the hospital wing (the first time).

He sneezed and a bat flew out of his nose to join several others that were flapping and chattering about the ceiling.

“Madam Pomfrey says it’ll pass on its own soon.” The young king looked quite annoyed and Merlin almost wished they'd known each other when he was this young. “Apparently one’s ‘magical core’ heals magical ailments much like one’s immune system does with non-magical.”

Merlin nodded. “Makes sense. Who hexed you.”

Arthur scowled. “A third year Slytherin. They’re barely two years older than us and already—“ he was cut off by another bat-sneeze. He flopped back on the bed and threw his arm over his eyes. “I hate magic.”

Merlin knew he shouldn’t take it personally. This was just his King being his typical dramatic self. But. But it had been less than a year, and …

Arthur moved his arm enough to roll his eyes at Merlin. “Not your magic, obviously. You’ve never hexed me to sneeze bats. Also. What kind of childish name is ‘bat boogey’?”

Merlin managed a smile and sat on the edge of the bed. “Well, it’s accurate. And I’ve noticed modern magic has a tendency towards rhymes and alliteration. I don’t know if that’s the magic or just a feature of Latin, but it is …”

Arthur … tensed.

“Right. ‘Shut up’?”

Arthur opened his mouth to respond but sneezed again. “Remind me why we’re doing this?”

“Fate of Albion.” Merlin pressed his palm to Arthur’s forehead. “There’s a two year old boy whose intended mentor left him on a doorstep like an unwanted runt.” He slid his hand down to feel the side of Arthur’s neck before moving it to his wrist and counting the pulsing against his fingertips.

“Merlin.”

“Huh?”

“I’m alright.”

“Of course, Sire.”

“Merlin.” Arthur’s small, eleven-year-old fingers close around Merlin’s even smaller and weaker wrist. Arthur was already a competent swordsman at this age, and his body showed the beginnings of the strength that would one day lead men into battle and carry the weight of a crown, but would forever be useless against magic because that was Merlin’s job. Merlin was the warlock born to defend the Once and Future King and here he was in hospital having been hexed by a child.

“Merlin. I have a plan.”

Merlin forced his focus to Arthur’s eyes that still carried the intelligence and wisdom of a man three times his apparent age. He nodded.

**

Arthur’s plan turned out to be making Merlin wake up almost two hours earlier so he could teach him magic. It wasn’t the worst thing Arthur had ever made him do. Merlin was even excited to finally have the chance to share something with Arthur that was so much a part of him. However these morning training sessions quickly led to two concerning discoveries.

The first was that Arthur had been getting up this early all term. While the rest of the school slept, Arthur had been teaching himself to fight in this smaller body, and building up the strength to wield Excalibur (which nearly reached his neck when resting on the ground). And he’d been letting Merlin sleep in.

The other concerning discovery was that Arthur was apparently blind and deaf to magic. He could memorize spells, both for modern and old magic, with the skill of an Heir who had been trained since birth to memorize speeches and ceremonies and proper address for all those he encountered. He could move his wand with the precision and control necessary for a warrior of his skill. He had all the focus and determination to learn. But he couldn’t feel the magic to properly channel it. For Arthur, casting a spell was like shouting a command into a dark room and hoping someone was around to obey. It made his magic unpredictable and less potent than it should have been.

Arthur was living in a castle full of magic users and was just as powerless against them as he’d been in Camelot. Merlin was going to have to do something.

**

Arthur hated bullies.

When he mentioned this to Merlin—over the summer, once again looking like his normal 30-year-old self—Merlin smirked and said it was ironic. It took Arthur a few days to work out that he himself had been a bully once, had been raised by a bully, and maybe turnabout really was fair play. He wasn’t going to say it, but he added “not letting me become a tyrant” to the list of things he was grateful to Merlin (and Gwen. And the knights) for.

Fortunately, by the end of third year, Arthur had managed to coerce all his bullies into submission. A few of them were convinced by a logical explanation of the futility of bullying. Others he managed to form alliances with (which Merlin found amusing for some reason). Most of them, though, required a show of force or five before they finally backed down. For all their ability to make others sneeze bats or vomit slugs, magic users were consistently flabbergasted when you knocked their wand aside and pinned them to the ground with one arm trapped quite painfully behind their back. Merlin had crafted for him a bracer that, at a word, opened a magical shield nearly identical in size and shape to his wooden shield. It was familiar and comfortable to wield, and so far had blocked every spell aimed at him. It allowed him to get close enough to grab their wand hand, twist and pull, one foot between their legs, a palm between their shoulder blades, follow them to the ground and hold until they admitted defeat. And he always let them get a spell off first, let everyone know he was acting defensively.

There was however one particularly determined Slytherin. He was three years above them and had been tormenting both of them since the first time Arthur sat at the Slytherin table. He was the last to get it through his head that Arthur would not be cowed by his ego. Snapping his wand hadn’t been entirely intentional, but it sent a very clear message.

It also landed Arthur in the headmaster’s office.

Apparently breaking another wizard’s wand was not appropriate behavior, and something that was only done when a wizard was exiled from the magical community. “Though I suppose as a muggleborn, no one ever taught you this significance.”

“Clearly. Just as no one taught Anthony that having power does not give you the right to abuse those without it. If he will issue a formal apology—to both myself and Merlin—and swear to no longer bully those with less power than himself, I will replace his wand.”

The headmaster’s eyes sparkled with suppressed amusement. Arthur tried not to rankle at the sight. “I suppose that seems a fair resolution. I will pass the message along. I trust we won’t have this problem again?”

Arthur pulled himself up with every ounce of kingly strength and poise he could muster. “I was trained to wield a blade as soon as I was old enough to hold a practice sword. I was taught how, but more importantly when, to use my strength since birth. You teach children power but not responsibility, and I refuse to be the victim of that ignorance. So, no, I won’t make a habit of breaking wands, but I will not hesitate to defend myself or my friends by whatever means necessary.”

The elderly man actually seemed surprised by this declaration.

Arthur turned to leave. “I will be coming back to this. Once I graduate, I will create lesson plans and petition the board of governors to adjust the curriculum.”

And then he left, not waiting for a dismissal because he was a king. He was the one to dismiss people.

**

The other noteworthy thing about third year was the electives. The only one they both took was ancient runes (which was apparently very similar to much of the magic Merlin learned back in Camelot). Merlin took arithmancy and care of magical creatures, whilst Arthur chose to do muggle studies and divination. He was hoping it might help him understand all the prophecies that popped up around him.

What it did was frustrate him. Most of what they did in class felt like dramatic guesswork. It wasn’t even educated guesswork. They didn’t get examples to study or practice against. There were no previous instances for proof, no actual evidence that ‘this blob is a dog and usually the person dies within a few months.’ How were they supposed to look forward and know how things would happen without looking back to see how they already had?

Merlin gave him a funny look when Arthur asked that. “Remind me to look into that.”

They went back to their work then and Arthur forgot about the exchange until several weeks into summer holidays when he found Merlin lying on the floor of his workshop, a broken mirror beside him.

“Merlin?” Arthur dropped to his knees beside his manserv—friend.

“Merlin? Come on. Wake up.” He grabbed Merlin’s shoulder and shook it.

“Hey. Dolophead.” He slapped Merlin’s cheek lightly. “You need to wake up now.”

Merlin twitched.

“That’s it. Wake up.”

He groaned weakly. His face scrunched. One arm lifted slowly to press a palm into his head.

“Merlin? Are you back?”

Another grunt. Maybe an answer.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

It took a few blinks, but Merlin’s eyes appeared and slowly focused. “Arthur?”

“That’s me. Do you know what happened?”

Merlin scrunched up his face again. “I was trying to see  backwards. I must’ve got overwhelmed. I’ve only felt like this once or twice before.”

Arthur glanced over him. “You’re in pain?”

“I feel like the worst hangover imaginable that got run over by a truck and lit on fire. It’ll pass in a few hours.” He closed his eyes and relaxed.

“Oh no. Up you get. Let’s at least get you on your cot.”

Merlin whined but let Arthur manhandle him upright and over to the small bed that looked a lot like his cot back in Camelot.

“Is there a tonic I can get you?”

Merlin nodded, his palms pressed to his forehead, elbows propped on his knees. “Green bottle. Second shelf.”

Arthur found the appropriate bottle and poured a measure into a wooden tumbler. Merlin accepted the tumbler and downed the tonic in a single gulp, making a face at the flavor.

Arthur returned the tumbler before sitting beside his friend. He lifted one hand and buried his fingers in the bird’s nest Merlin called hair. He wasn’t really sure why. He had vague memories of being extremely sick or badly injured and feeling fingers brush through his hair. It couldn’t hurt to offer the gesture to Merlin.

“I overwhelmed myself.” Merlin said after a few minutes. “I … the past is all recorded.”

“What do you mean?”

“You remember complaining about divination? That they never have you try to predict the past?”

“Of course, but I was just frustrated. I didn’t expect you to do anything about it.”

“I was trying to See what happened to Voldemort.”

“You tried to divine the past?” And it proved how much he had learned about magic that he made the connection. “That’s what the mirror was for?”

Merlin nodded. “Crystal lets you See forward. Water lets you See across. I had to find something that could See backwards.”

Arthur nodded though he didn’t fully understand.

“But there’s too much information going back. It’s like getting hit in the face with a library. I couldn’t sort it all. I … I barely managed to pull myself out of it.”

That … bothered Arthur.

“Is that something you make a habit of?” At Merlin’s look of confusion, he continued. “Throwing yourself at unknown, powerful magic without telling anyone.”

Merlin still looked puzzled. “Of course. How else would I learn new spells?”

Arthur brought his hands together in his lap, forcing himself to stillness so he didn’t smack Merlin while he was already injured. “And if you hadn’t been able to pull yourself out? Or if I hadn’t found you?”

“I … It’s only happened a couple of times.”

“And that makes it …” Arthur took a breath to reign in his temper. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just didn’t think about it.”

“Of course you didn’t.” Arthur stood to put some space between them. “You’re too used to hiding things from me.”

“What? Arthur. No. I tell you everything. Or almost everything. I just didn’t think you’d be interested in this.” Merlin’s voice was oddly high. “I’m not hiding things anymore. I swear. I never wanted …”

Arthur glanced back to see Merlin swallow thickly. He looked near tears.

“I didn’t mean to bring that back up, Merlin. I understand why you never told me about your magic when we were … before.”

“I never meant to betray you.” His voice was raw and broken. “I swear. I wanted to tell you every day, but I …”

“I know.” Arthur sighed and sat back beside the warlock. “I never gave you a reason to trust me with it. I gave you every reason to think I was just like my father.”

Merlin actually snorted. “You have never been anything like Uther.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. You’re still a dollophead, though.”

“And you’re still an idiot.” He ruffled Merlin’s hair.

The younger man gave him a small smile. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Just tell me from now on. And if you can, I’d prefer you do it in the same room so I know if something goes wrong.”

“Yes, Sire.”

They were silent a minute, Arthur still surprised by the emotions of the conversation, not wanting to fight again with Merlin.

“Is this how you did things in Camelot?” He asked softly.

Merlin nodded. “The first spell I ever learned was when you were to fight Knight Valiant in the tournament and he had that enchanted shield that the snakes came to life, but we couldn’t prove it. So I found a spell to force them out and I sat in my room all night with one of the dog statues from the courtyard saying this spell over and over ‘til I could make it work.”

Arthur had figured the snakes were Merlin’s doing. But the other part. “I thought you were born with magic.”

“I was. But before that day, it was … Do you remember when we met in the market and you chased me around with your mace but you kept tripping over baskets and boxes and your mace got stuck so you had to beat me with a broom?”

“That was magic?”

Merlin nodded.

“You mean …” he scoffed. “You really are an idiot.”

“Yes. Gaius made sure to explain that to me regularly.”

Arthur smiled.

Merlin took a slow breath. “I wish I’d told you. I think if I had, … things might have worked out how they were supposed to.”

“What do you mean?”

“We had three … tasks. Or you did. My destiny was to protect you and help you. You were supposed to unite all of Albion under your rule, bring magic back to the land, and rule over an era of peace and prosperity unlike any the land had ever known. And we failed. I was little more than a boy when I came to Camelot, and suddenly I had your life in my hands, I had the future of our—your—kingdom on my shoulders. And I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t realize that Gaius, for all I loved him, was loyal to Uther and cowed by his prejudices. All of his wisdom was tempered with fear. And Kilgharrah was old and bitter and had his own agenda.” Merlin looked at him raw and almost desperate. “You were my destiny, the other side of my coin. I should have gone to you for advice. I should have—“

Arthur gripped Merlin’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Merlin. You know one of the hardest things about being a leader is knowing what to do when you make a mistake. Sometimes you can make it right or try to make amends. But often all you can do is live with it and learn from it.

“So what do you say we learn from this, right? From now on, we trust each other and work together the way we were meant to. No more trying to do everything on your own.”

“I’d like that, Sire. And if I forget, you can smack me.”

“I think I can manage that.” He squeezed Merlin’s shoulder. “My friend.”

Merlin looked up sharply, his eyes lighting up with hope and joy barely tempered with uncertainty.

“I’m not a king now, Merlin. There’s no reason I can’t be your friend like you have always been mine.”

Merlin smiled, a goofy, sappy smile. “I’d like that. But you should know I’ll consider you my king until the day I die.”

And there was that strange gooey feeling that only Gwen and Merlin ever made him feel.

“Yes, well, you’re still a terrible manservant, but I suppose I can’t get rid of you, can I?”

Chapter Text

Merlin and Arthur met Harry Potter shortly before his fifth birthday. It was a Saturday in July, warm, still, a few clouds promising a muggy summer shower. Harry’s guardians (who they learned were his aunt and uncle) had left him with Agatha Greenwood for the full day while they did something for their son’s birthday.

Merlin spent the morning with Harry in the garden, teaching him about different types of plants and bugs. Harry didn’t talk much, but he seemed to absorb every word Merlin spoke.

After lunch, Arthur spent several hours ‘playing’ with the boy. It looked like playing, at least, but it wasn’t. Perhaps it was the order, the careful way Arthur always had a new activity. Perhaps it was Merlin’s decade watching Arthur train his knights. Perhaps it was the last few years being on the receiving end of Arthur’s training. Whatever the reason, it was clear to Merlin that there was more purpose to them racing across the garden, playing catch, and waving sticks at each other than just having fun. Arthur was assessing the boy, testing his skills, and preparing to teach him to fight.

When they returned to Camelot that evening, Arthur seemed concerned.

“What’s wrong, Sire?”

“We have a lot of work to do is all.” He took a deep breath. “That boy should act like a squire, a child of nobility who knows his destiny and to whom he can turn. He acts more like a street urchin, waiting for a beating. There is no way he will defeat a dark wizard how he is now. Not without …” he waved a hand vaguely, “I don’t know, an extremely powerful warlock sneaking around behind him to save his life.”

Merlin smiled. “I appreciate the confidence, but I didn’t do so well last time I tried that approach. Maybe we should try the honesty thing with him. After all, you knew you would be king one day from the day you were born. I knew I had magic, and I learned my destiny was to serve you my first day in Camelot. Obviously he’ll never be ready to fulfill his destiny if he doesn’t even know it.”

Arthur looked thoughtful. “Do you think he’s old enough to keep something like that from his aunt and uncle? They don’t seem the type to take something like that well.”

“My earliest memory is of my mum telling me I had to keep my magic a secret. And I did it, even though using my magic is like breathing to me. This won’t be as hard as that.”

Arthur pulled a strange face at that, but agreed.

The next time they visited Harry, Merlin and Arthur sat down in the back garden with the boy and told him a little about magic, that some people could see bits of the future, and that one day, when he was older, Harry would stop a very bad man from hurting a lot of people.

After considering their words for a minute, the boy asked softly, “Why me?”

“Fate is a strange mistress,” Merlin explained. “Most people spend their whole lives bumbling around, looking for some sort of purpose and never come across one. Some people happen to be in the right place at the right time to fill a need in the balance and thus find a purpose. And a few people, all three of us in this case, are born to achieve something specific.”

Harry looked between them. “All three?”

They both nodded but Arthur spoke. “All three of us. You see, my father was someone very important, so just by being his son, I also had to be important. Merlin here was born because magic was hurting and it needed a way to be strong again, so it helped create him to fix things. We don’t know yet exactly why or how you were chosen, Harry, but we do know you have a very important job to do, and we want to help you be ready.”

The boy drew himself up and with wisdom beyond his years asked, “If I’m not ready, will people get hurt?”

“Yes. But you have years to get ready, and I promise you we won’t let you face whatever’s coming on your own.”

Harry again studied them both for a long minute, but then accepted their promise. And thus began the official training of the Boy Who Lived. Not much changed, to be perfectly honest. They saw Harry a few times a week. Merlin worked with him in the garden and he told him about life and death and magic and the balance. Arthur taught him weaponscraft in the guise of games. And then they went back to their sliver of Camelot and Arthur continued to study modern politics and culture while Merlin tried to figure out Seeing the past.

And then, almost unexpectedly, summer ended, Harry began primary school, and Arthur and Merlin returned to Hogwarts for their fourth year.

**

Fourth year felt different somehow to Merlin, as though the entire dynamic of the school had shifted slightly. When he had a fraction of brain power to consider it, Merlin assumed it was mostly due to their year being suddenly among the older students. They were halfway through their career at Hogwarts, next year they would be taking their OWLs, the students who used to bully them were either graduated or caught up preparing for their NEWTs, and now there were younger students looking up to them and asking them for help.

Most the time, though, Merlin was far too busy to think on the matter. He felt like he was back in Camelot, running after Arthur, fetching for Gaius, trying to learn magic, and, oh yes, save the kingdom in his spare time. Now it was classes and coursework, learning to fight from Arthur, teaching Arthur to wield both old and new magic, exploring secondary focuses for Seeing (by the end of first term, he’d found that a hair or blood drop allowed him to see every significant moment in the owner’s life), and every weekend he could spare, he took Arthur to Surrey to spend time with Harry.

He was so busy, it was almost a relief when Arthur got distracted. Once Merlin discovered he needed a second focus to view the past, Arthur seemed significantly less worried. He started disappearing to the library. Arthur always hated reading, but he was choosing to spend time in the library. It would have worried Merlin … if he had any time or energy left to think about it.

As it was, he noted the peculiarities, and as suddenly as it started, fourth year ended and they were back in their manor in southern Wales.

**

The day after they returned from Hogwarts, Arthur woke early to prepare breakfast. He was still complete rubbish at cooking, but slicing some fruit and cheese and a bit of bread was simple enough even he couldn’t ruin it.

He only got halfway done before Merlin ran into the room looking panicked and froze in surprise.

“Arthur?”

“There you are, Merlin. I have breakfast almost ready.”

“I couldn’t find you.”

Arthur paused and turned to study his friend. They had gotten better over the past few years at not needing each other in sight at all times. Being in different houses at school meant they sometimes went whole days only seeing each other at meals. He knew that Merlin checked in on him most mornings when they were home, and they still started almost every day with a hug, but … Merlin had been alone for a very long time.

Arthur set down his knife and walked over to pull Merlin into a hug. “I’m not going to disappear on you, my friend. I promise.”

Merlin clung to him, confirming Arthur’s suspicion.

Arthur let him. It was different from hugging Gwen. Gwen was tiny and fit in his arms, completely surrounded and safe. Merlin … held him just as much as he held Merlin. It was mutual, as though they were both the shield at the other’s back. The comfort of knowing Merlin was safe and here was balanced by the comfort of knowing Merlin would protect and keep Arthur safe. No one had ever been a shelter for Arthur and he found he treasured that from Merlin.

After a time, he pulled back. “Come eat. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? What kind of surprise?”

“Hopefully a good one. I’d call it a gift, but I used your money for it, so I really only get credit for arranging things.”

Merlin agreed and they ate, chatting about the school year. It was one of Arthur’s favorite things these days, laughing about the drama that happens in a castle full of children. Yes, they talked constantly while at school, but it all looked different when they were home and back in their adult bodies.

This year, though, Arthur was distracted, half his attention on the fold of parchment in the middle of the table, and as soon as they finished eating, he dumped out the scrap of metal and explained it was a portkey.

“A portkey to where?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise. You’ll either love it or hate it, but I’m hoping it’s the former.”

Merlin studied him a moment. “Alright. I trust you. Let’s go see this surprise.”

Arthur smiled and they both touched the scrap. With a tug, the kitchen disappeared to be replaced by a forest. Beside them stood a stone house or cabin, behind which was a large wall worthy of a fortress. They barely had time to take in their new surroundings before a man, about the age of some of the teachers at Hogwarts, came out of the building with a smile.

“Welcome to the Romanian Reptile Reservation. You must be Arthur and Merlin.”

Arthur offered a hand. “Arthur Mandrake. Would you be Atticus?”

“Atticus Ervine, at your service. Please. Come.”

Merlin seemed a bit stunned, so Arthur grabbed his arm and gently tugged him along.

Atticus led them inside, going on about acreage and protective measures and how many dragon species lived within the nature preserve. And then they were led up a long flight of stairs to come out on top of the wall, overlooking a huge swath of forest.

“Of course I can’t let you into the reservation, but from here you can see most of it.”

“Do you ever see any of the dragons from here,” Arthur asked.

“Oh, yes. You should have come a month ago when they were mating. There were dozens of dragons across the sky, sunrise to sunset.”

Arthur nodded, but was distracted by Merlin’s face. He was gazing across the treetops, his expression a complicated mix of joy and anguish.

“Merlin?”

The warlock glanced at him. “I can feel them.”

Arthur turned back to their host. “Could we have a few minutes? We’re happy to surrender our wands if needed.”

“No. It’s no problem. We have enough wards up, you couldn’t do anything stupid even if you wanted. I’ll just be down in my office when you’re finished.”

“Thank you.” Arthur waited ‘til the man had disappeared down the stairs before stepping over to Merlin and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not the same. They don’t … Kilgharrah and Aithusa were my kin. These are … I can’t describe it.”

“Do you think they would obey you?”

“I don’t … I don’t know if I want to find out.”

Arthur nodded. “It would be good to know.”

Merlin looked at him for a long moment. “Do you want me to?”

I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you.

Arthur let his hand fall from Merlin’s shoulder and straightened his stance. “Call me a dragon, Merlin.”

A tiny smile cracked across Merlin’s face. “Yes, Sire.”

Merlin took a deep breath, put his head back, and shouted to the sky. The words didn’t seem to come from his throat but from deep in his chest, his voice a sort of echoing roar.

And then the forest shivered. Fifteen or so winged shapes burst from the trees and turned as one towards them. They flew directly to the wall, and sat in a rough half-circle on the ground at their feet, looking up at Merlin expectantly. It reminded Arthur of his hunting dogs.

Arthur heard a shaky breath beside him and turned to see Merlin, one hand covering his mouth, his eyes wide in shock and damp with tears.

“It looks like they know your voice. Dragonlord.” Arthur acknowledged with a nod, the bow appropriate for a near-equal in status.

“I … I haven’t had the guts to do that in centuries. I didn’t think …” Merlin smiled in wonder. “They came.”

“Yes. They did. Now. We should head back down. There was one more thing I arranged for today.”

Merlin gave one last lingering look to the dragons before they took the stairs back down to the cabin. They found Atticus in a small office near the front of the building. He was writing something, a stack of papers spread across his desk, but he looked up at Arthur’s knock.

“Ah. You’re back. Did you spot any dragons while you were up there?”

Arthur smiled at him. “We may have spotted one or two. They really are magnificent beasts.”

“Yes. Quite remarkable, really. That’s why I’ve dedicated my life to their care.”

“Thank you.” Merlin said softly.

“It is my pleasure. Did you still want to see our room of cast offs and claim a souvenir? We don’t often get donations such as yours, but it seems more than reasonable.”

“Yes. Please.” Arthur gestured for the other man to lead the way.

Atticus stood and led them to a door that opened onto a storage room. There were several dragon skulls, each a little bigger than a horse. There were piles of hide in different colors, pales of horns and claws. A pile of what must have been dragon droppings. And in the corner, carefully set in soft cloth, three dragon eggs.

Merlin made a beeline for the eggs. He seemed oblivious to anything else in the room.

“Ah, yes. The eggs. If you believe the legend, those could be great dragons, a genetic quirk that shows up once a generation. Personally, I think it’s more likely they just didn’t get fertilized so there was no dragon to hatch.”

Merlin wasn’t listening, obviously. He reached carefully for one of the eggs and lifted it reverently to cradle it against his chest, then turned to Arthur with a desperate but hopeful expression on his face.

“I think he’s made his decision.” Arthur informed their host.

Atticus nodded. “A good choice. That egg’s been sitting there for nearly fifty years. It was one of the first things we collected here.”

“It is quite beautiful. And thank you. It is good to see where our money will be going.”

“It was no bother, truthfully. Thank you for helping our cause.”

“Well,” he gestured at Merlin who was looking at the egg almost worshipfully, “As you can see, my friend cares greatly for the work you’re doing.”

After a few more platitudes and formalities, Arthur put an arm around Merlin’s shoulder and led him outside to where they had landed.

“Alright, Merlin. I need you to focus long enough to get us back home. I will let you spend as long as you want with the egg once we get back to Camelot.”

Merlin finally looked up from the egg. His eyes flashed gold and with a different sort of yank, they were back in their kitchen.

“How did you know?” Merlin looks so young standing there with his arms around his treasure.

“I’ve heard the way you speak of Kilgharrah and Aithusa. I’ve seen the way you ache for them.”

“Yes, but …” he pulled the egg tighter to his chest.

Arthur set his fingers over Merlin’s, unwilling to touch the egg directly. “There’s a legend that says when the dragonlords on the continent heard of my father’s purge, they gathered all the eggs they could find—seven in total—and commanded them to change, to become independent and hatch on their own, creating modern dragons. But once a generation, an egg fails to hatch because it remembers that heritage. I would have given all your money to every dragon preserve in the world if it meant finding one of your kin.”

“It would have been worth it.” He smiled down at the egg. “But unnecessary. I can feel her.”

“If you hatch her now, will she be big enough to hide in the forest when we go back to school?”

Merlin looked up sharply. “You … Yes, I think so. Is that alright?”

“Of course, Merlin. That was the whole point.”

Merlin grinned. “You want to watch?”

“I’d love to.”

Merlin carried the egg to his workshop and built a nest for it with his blankets. He gingerly settled the egg in the nest and sat beside it. He glanced back at Arthur and Arthur nodded for him to continue. Merlin placed a hand above the egg and said a word, once again in that echoey growl he’d used to summon the dragons.

The egg jerked, then wobbled, then trembled. A crack formed, then another. Something pushed out from the inside, but disappeared. A chunk of egg was shoved off. And then a small head pushed its way out. It took a few more wiggles for the tiny dragon to work its way out, but then it wobbled over to Merlin, who held out a finger for her to sniff.

“Arthur, she’s incredible. You should come over here.”

Arthur made his way over to sit beside but a little behind Merlin. “What’s her name?”

“Elpisia.”

**

The dragon made Merlin happy. There was no other way to explain the change. Ever since they came back from the reservation, ever since Merlin had hatched Elpisia, he had been smiling more easily. He’d been quicker to banter or sass his king. Arthur hadn’t actually realized how somber Merlin had been until he saw this. Merlin was almost back to the boy he’d been the first few years they’d known each other, before the weight of the world fell on them with Morgana’s betrayal and Uther’s death.

Arthur couldn’t even be jealous of the hatchling for managing what he could not because Merlin seemed determined to share her with him. At least once a day, Arthur heard Merlin calling his name excitedly and then stood to watch as Elpisia showed some new skill. Merlin beamed with pride over even the smallest sign of growth, from the first time he tossed a piece of meat to her and she caught it in midair, to the funny flappy-hop that was probably a precursor to flight.

Merlin loved the tiny creature. She was nearly always perched on his shoulder or the back of his chair. She watched over him while he studied or worked. It was amusing and somehow fitting to see the ancient warlock with a dragon hovering over him. And having a second set of eyes watching over Arthur’s favorite idiot was never a bad idea.

When she came hop-gliding into his chambers on her own one afternoon, Arthur absolutely did not panic. But he did follow Elpisia as fast as her little legs and clumsy wings could carry her.

He found Merlin in his workshop, sat at the table. He was looking into a mirror that lay flat on the table, one hand pinching something Arthur couldn’t make out.

“Oh good, she found you. Come here. I’m not sure how long I can hold this.”

Arthur put his anger on a shelf for the moment and went to lean over Merlin so he could see the mirror. One hand ended up on Merlin’s shoulder, the other on the table near his elbow.

The mirror, rather than reflecting the room, was showing a young man with dark messy hair.

“Alright. What did you want me for?”

Merlin didn’t answer, but the image in the mirror started moving.

The man looked up sharply, surprised. He moved through a doorway, and his face turned suddenly to horror.

“Lily! Get Harry!”

A flash of red hair raced past behind the man. His face settled into an expression Arthur had seen far too many times—that of a man who knows he’s about to die but is determined to make a difference first. He barely got off a single spell before he was hit with a flash of green and fell lifeless.

The redhead, Lilly, begged but stood her ground. She was felled by the same green light, but as she died, a deep red shimmer flowed out of her to wrap around the small boy behind her. When a third flash of green struck the red cocoon, it rebounded, and the third figure in the room collapsed.

The image shifted and blurred. A new figure appeared, one who reminded Arthur a bit of Gwaine. He ran through an open door, calling for ‘James’ and froze.

“No. Nononono.” He ran forward and dropped to his knees beside the messy haired man. He carefully gathered the other man into his arms, and Arthur heard Merlin gasp raggedly.

Arthur squeezed Merlin’s shoulder, not taking his eyes from the mirror. They watched this new man crumble, and then harden.

“Peter.” He growled, just before the mirror blurred again.

“Can you follow him?”

Merlin slumped and rubbed his brow. “No. That was the last moment he directly impacted Harry’s life. I would need something of …” he waved hand vaguely, “whoever that was in order to follow him.”

“Did he look familiar to you?”

“Besides looking a bit like Gwaine?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and went to the library to fetch the book of newspaper articles. It wasn’t a book in the modern sense, just a stack of pages between two pieces of board tied with a string, but it contained everything they knew so far about what had happened to Harry and Voldemort.

“He’s in here somewhere. I’m sure of it.” Arthur dropped the book on Merlin’s table.

Merlin opened his mouth to respond but froze.

Arthur split the book in half and settled in the only other chair in the room. 

Instead of getting to work, Merlin continued to gawp at him.

“What?”

“Nothing, Sire. I just … expected you to make me do all the work, so I was going to make a comment about you being illiterate.”

Arthur gave him his best ‘you’re an idiot, Merlin’ look and went back to scanning through the pages for the face they’d seen in the mirror.

“I found him.” Merlin said after a while. “Sirius Black. He was sent to Azkaban for murdering twelve muggles and betraying the Potters to Voldemort.”

“Let me see.”

Merlin handed over the article. It was a solid 200+ words, but said nothing beyond what Merlin had told him. It didn’t sit right.

They kept looking, but only found one or two sentences in the middle of other articles that said nearly the exact same thing. It was unsatisfying.

“Arthur…”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think … he didn’t look like a man who’d betrayed his best friend.”

“No, he didn't. What do you suggest we do?”

Merlin did his weird shrug that looked more like a squirm. “I want to talk to him.”

“You do realize he’s in Azkaban. Surrounded by dementors. And no one even knows for sure where that is. It isn’t like sneaking down to the dungeons to visit some falsely accused sorcerer.”

“I guess that just makes it more of a challenge then.”

Chapter Text

The cell walls were colorless. They weren’t even grey or black; they were just absent of any kind of color. Even the moss or mould (what was the difference between those, anyway?) that grew in the corners seemed to lack anything that might be called “color.”

The air was always damp and chilly, unless it was cold and wet. And on really bad days, it got frigid and frosty. The tiny cot was always musty, and the thin blanket might as well have been imagined for all the good it did.

It must have been summer, that day, because a tiny sliver of sunlight peeked through a crack in the wall that might have been called a window. In a few more days, the sliver of light would appear long enough to chase across the room and pretend he could feel the warmth.

Because, yes, there was a man in that terrible, dim, chilly, damp cell. His parents had called him Sirius. His friends had given him the name Padfoot. His little brother dubbed him Jerk. His chosen brother called him Arse. Lily—beautiful, kind, Lily that James had either charmed or conned into marrying him—called him Troublemaker. And Harry, his godson, his treasure, called him Paz.

But none of those names mattered now. The only names he could still hear were the ones that echoed in his mind: Fool. Idiot. Traitor. Black. Murderer.

“Excuse me. Are you Sirius Black?”

The man on the cot, who had been previously contemplating a sliver of sunlight, could clearly remember the last time he heard a human voice that wasn’t screaming or babbling mindlessly. It had been on the boat, chained and all but naked. They hadn’t even been talking to him. The last time someone addressed him directly was when the aurors arrested him for killing Peter. He didn’t know, though, how long ago that had been. Probably more than a year. Likely less than a decade.

That was probably why it took him a time to recognize the sounds, to look up and see the speaker—a young man with messy black hair like James had, looking barely old enough to be out of Hogwarts. It took him even longer to remember he should answer, and then figure out how to make his voice work.

“That’s the name my parents gave me.” He attempted his old smirk, but felt certain it fell short.

“Oh good. I wanted to talk to you.” And then, casual as anything, the boy pushed the door open and stepped inside. (Sirius was certain that door had been locked, and he didn’t see the boy cast a spell.) “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Sirius waved as magnanimously as he could manage towards the other end of the cot.

“Thank you. I, erm, well, I hate to do this but I need to know what happened to the Potters. Or, not actually what happened to them. I’ve seen that bit. I need to ask you how and why. There was a prophecy, right? About Harry?”

Sirius turned away from the rambling young man.

The other’s voice softened. “Look. I know how hard this must be to talk about, but it’s important. Please.”

“How could you have any idea what it’s like? I’m sure you’ve read the Prophet. I murdered thm. What else is there to know?”

“I figured out how to scry the past. It’s not great. There’s a lot of information and finding any one moment is like trying to catch a specific drop of water in the ocean. But I saw their deaths. And I saw you find them. And I … I saw your face. I know what it feels like to hold your best friend’s lifeless body and know you failed to save him. That if you’d just been a little faster or more clever, you might have protected him. It wasn’t your hand that plunged the blade into his chest, but it feels that way because you couldn’t stop it. Or you could have but you didn’t.” The boy’s gaze had drifted away, looking slowly more and more ancient as he spoke, but with a deep breath, he turned back to focus on the prisoner. Sirius. “Please. I know you blame yourself, that the magical community blames you, but I don’t think you killed them. And I need to know what really happened.”

There was so much to get his head around. The idea of Seeing the past, the empathy in the other’s face, the way he seemed both ancient and young at the same time.

“Who are you?”

The young ancient ducked his head shyly. “Oh. I’ve had a lot of names over the years. I guess for now you can call me Emrys.”

That name felt familiar, but context escaped him.

“Alright. Can’t hurt to tell someone.” Sirius took a deep breath and for the first time chose to think back on the events that ruined—ended—his life. “Are you familiar with the Fidelius charm?”

The ancient boy nodded. “It’s a way to hide something and only one person knows or can reveal the location of it.”

Sirius nodded. “Like you said, there was a prophecy. One of two boys would be able, somehow, to defeat Voldemort. After everything, we finally had hope. But they were infants. How could an infant save us? We had to protect them.” He took another breath. After feeling mostly empty for so long, the waves of grief were almost overwhelming. “James and Lily eventually decided to use the Fidelius charm to disappear, and I was to be their secret keeper.

“It was a dark time. No one knew for sure who you could trust, but James and I had always been inseparable. Everyone knew I would keep his secret, that I would give my life to keep him and his family safe. And that’s when I messed up.”

“What did you do?” No hostility or accusation, just open curiosity. It was strange.

“I went to see them and told them to use one of our other best friends. There were four of us in school, see? But we had begun to doubt Remus. I realize now it was Wormtail that put those doubts in our minds. But at the time, I thought I was being clever: everyone would know I was James’ secret keeper and would come after me, when really it was Peter who knew where they were. The death eaters could torture me to death and drown me in veritasurem and James and Lily and Harry would still be safe.” His voice cracked and he had to swallow. “Because Peter was the secret keeper.”

“He betrayed them?”

“He was a death eater all along. I should have seen it, I should have … but he’s dead now. He got what he deserved for murdering our best friend.”

Emrys, or whoever he was, contemplated the story for a while. The sliver of sunlight was almost gone from its place on the wall.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Why let them lock you up for something you didn’t do?”

Sirius shrugged. “I was mad with grief. And like you said, I blamed myself. I think maybe I hoped they would kill me.” His head felt heavy and he let it fall back against the cold stone wall. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can talk much longer. This is more excitement than I’ve had in years.”

“I can imagine. Can I ask … ? You said there were four of you. What became of the other two?”

“Peter is dead. He killed himself trying to get away from me. I only regret he beat me to it. Remus could be anywhere.” Oh, Remus. “I can’t imagine what this has been like for him. If you see him, would you tell him the truth for me? I don’t care what the rest of the world thinks, but he deserves to know what happened.”

Emrys got a strange spark in his eye. “I think we can do better than that. Arthur!”

The door opened again, this time to a blond with a sword. “What?”

“He’s innocent.” There was much more to that statement, layers of silent meaning that Sirius could never even guess at. He and James had been like that once.

“Alright. Let’s get out of here. Quickly.”

Emrys smirked. “Of course, Sire.”

A hand wrapped firmly around Sirius’ arm, and magic swirled in the air around them. He felt a tug, more like a portkey than apparition (neither of which should have been possible here). Magic seemed to encase him. It felt like falling into an ocean and turning into Padfoot and flying on a broom all at once. It was too much. After so long of nothing, it overwhelmed him. His head spun. His stomach churned. He saw a glimpse of cream walls and deep blue carpet before his legs gave out and his vision went black.

**

Sirius floated back to awareness slowly … comfortably. He thought he was warm and dry and the cot seemed soft. It was a good dream. These were feelings he’d nearly forgotten. He hadn’t even dreamed of them before. It was nice. He definitely wanted to stay in this dream for a while.

Except … he wasn’t dreaming. As he drifted slowly awake, the bed stayed feather-soft, the blanket remained a warm cloud around him, and there was light, soft and golden through his eyelids. Sunlight.

He opened his eyes with a gasp to discover that he was in a regular bed, his head cradled by a sage-green pillow, his body cocooned by a thick sage and butter-cream duvet, and there was indeed golden sunlight spilling through the cracks in deep green curtains.

“Easy. You’re alright,” a now-familiar voice soothed.

Sirius turned to see the young-ancient man, Emrys, setting a tray on the bedside table.

“Where am I?” He croaked.

“That’s a long, slightly complicated answer. But if you follow the road about 5 miles, you’ll end up in southern Wales. How are you feeling?”

Sirius considered it, beyond being warm and dry for the first time in ages. “Good. Tired. Sort of like I just got through a bad flu.”

Emrys nodded. “That sounds about right. You were severely malnourished and depleted magically. I’ve been keeping you asleep while your body recovered.”

That made sense. How much he was trusting this stranger made less sense. “How long?”

“About two weeks. I let you wake up about three days ago, but you just went back to sleep.”

Now that he thought about it, there was a vague, dreamlike memory of a murmured question and a voice saying,

“Rest. All is well, my friend. You’re safe here.”

“Do you feel up to eating? I’ve been spoonfeeding you broth and healing tonics, but if you’d like to try on your own…”

“Yeah. Please.” He pushed himself up on his elbows. His body felt heavy and sluggish, but his rescuer quickly slid an arm under his shoulder to help him upright.

The bowl he was handed was, expectedly, full of broth, but with tiny bits of chicken and vegetables at the bottom. The first thing he noticed was the warmth. And then the flavor. It was simple, but he couldn’t remember the last time he tasted something so exquisite. He lifted the bowl to drink it down, but only got a mouthful before Emrys pulled it back.

“Woah. You need to eat slowly or you’ll make yourself sick.”

“Right. I know that. It just …”

“Prison food isn’t exactly appetizing. Don’t worry. In a few more days, you’ll be sick of this and begging me for real food.”

Sirius smiled at the boy—because he once again seemed too young. “I’m sure I will.”

Eating pretty well sapped the little energy Sirius had, but Emrys helped him to the bathroom to releive himself. Someone had cleaned him at some point, but the water in the sink was warm and he took the time to splash some on his face just for the pleasure of it. And then he was helped back to his bed and tucked in. It was a strange combination of clinical and compassionate that added another puzzle to the man who had broken him out of an inescapable prison.

“Who are you?”

“That is a very long story and you need to rest. Perhaps when you wake we’ll explain everything.”

It wasn’t an answer, but Sirius didn’t have the energy to argue, so he let himself sink into the soft warmth of his bed and the welcome embrace of sleep.

**

Sirius woke feeling … alive and well-rested. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt anything. Probably the anger that drove him to hunt down Peter. This was nothing that intense, just a subtle, background contentment, like the emptiness of Azkaban had rolled over slightly to something positive.

He basked for a while in the almost-emotion and the state of being physically comfortable again, until it was interrupted by a spark of curiosity.

He pushed himself out of bed and went digging through the chest of drawers and the cupboard in the bathroom. The former yielded a few sets of loose clothes that would likely fit him. The latter held basic toiletries, most of which looked homemade and smelled of herbs. After a moment's hesitation, he locked the bedroom door and shifted to Padfoot. His canine nose revealed two individuals besides himself, whose scents overlapped the way family or long-time housemates tend to.

Having learnt all he could from his rooms, Sirius showered because he could, pulled on a pair of black trousers and a rust-red shirt, and left to explore the house.

The floor he was on seemed to be the first floor and contained a total of six bedrooms, each a different color, and none of which were occupied besides his own. A set of stairs led up to two suites of rooms, one slightly bigger than the other and decorated in red and gold with little blue accents. The smaller suite was green and brown and felt very much like a forest with little flowers of different colors peeking out of the nooks and crannies. They both felt lived-in with papers on the desks, jackets left on chair backs, boots tucked neatly (or tossed) beside the wardrobe. Sirius decided he wasn’t suspicious enough to snoop, and left both sets of rooms untouched.

Two flights of stairs brought him to the ground floor. He landed in a corridor, a pair of double doors on his left stood open to a sitting room. In front of him, a smaller door stood closed, but he didn’t try it because sounds were coming from the door to his right.

He followed the sounds through a cozy dining room into a kitchen. The blond he had seen briefly in his prison cell was standing at the counter, chopping carrots. He looked up as soon as Sirius entered.

“Good evening. It’s good to see you up and about.”

“Thank you. I think … you were there the first time I woke, right?”

“I’m surprised you remember.”

“Barely. Arthur, was it?”

“Arthur … well, we’ll get to the last name. It’s a long story that you probably won’t believe.”

“Emrys said something similar. Where is he?”

“Out in the garden with Elpisia. Just let me add these and we’ll join them.”

Sirius nodded and perched on a bar stool while Arthur finished chopping the carrots and dumped them into a large pot that sat boiling on the cooktop. He worked quietly, not chatting or making excess noise. Every motion was precise and controlled. His entire bearing seemed carefully controlled. It almost reminded Sirius of his upbringing and the types of people his family associated with, but none of them would have been caught dead cooking.

“Alright. Come along.”

Sirius was startled from his contemplation. He quickly stood and followed Arthur through a door at the back of the kitchen. They passed through a greenhouse full of kitchen herbs and out a second door into a … meadow. “Garden” was far too tame a word for the tree-ringed area, full of wild grasses and flowers and berry bushes—some of which Sirius had never seen before.

Across the way, at the base of an ancient and well-tended oak, Emrys was sat with a book in his lap, reading aloud in a language Sirius didn’t recognize. (It could have been Welsh. Or not.)

He seemed to reach a stopping point and looked up with a smile. “Oh good. You’re up. Join us.”

Arthur crossed the meadow to sit beside Emrys with his back to the tree, but Sirius froze about halfway when a narrow, blue-scaled head lifted off Emys’ lap to look at him.

“Is that …?”

Emrys smiled like a proud parent. “Sirius Black, I’d like you to meet Elpisia, the first great dragon to hatch in nearly fifteen hundred years.”

“That’s … great dragons are extinct. They could only hatch if a dragonlord named them and the last dragonlord was killed by King Uther in the Purge.”

“You know your history. Excellent. Elpisia, greet our guest.”

The dragon turned back to Emrys and … made a growl that sounded very much like the language Emrys had been reading to it in.

Emrys gasped. “Elpisia! That’s rude. He is a guest in our home.”

The dragon didn’t roll its eyes. Because dragons don’t do that.

Emrys opened his mouth, but the words that came out sounded unlike anything Sirius had ever heard. And then the dragon stood, stepped away from the two men, and … bowed to Sirius.

“Vehl met, Sirius.”

Sirius’ brain shut off.

The dragon turned and flopped with its back towards the three humans. Sulking. But dragons don’t …

“It spoke.”

“She.” Emrys insisted. “Her name is Elpisia. I’m still teaching her manners.”

“You …”

“Come sit with us. This may take a while and you’re still recovering.”

Sirius numbly moved under the shade of the tree and sat in front of the two men who had broken him out of Azkaban and tended him and now, apparently, had a great dragon living in their back garden.

“You know about the great dragons, so I assume you know that Merlin was the last dragonlord.”

Sirius nodded.

“Do you know how he died?”

“None of the legends say. The closest is the ones that say he’s sleeping in a tree on the edge of the lake where he buried King Arthur. A few people have proposed that he’s still alive, but that’s impossible. Even wizards can’t live that long.”

“Maybe not a normal wizard, but Merlin is magic incarnate. He doesn’t have magic he is magic. And magic is everywhere, in everything. Merlin can only die when the earth passes away. And even then, the stars might bring him back.”

“Are you suggesting Merlin wasn’t actually a person? Like he’s just a manifestation of magic or something?”

“No. He’s real. Maybe not exactly human, but…”

“He is human.” Arthur insisted. “Being born of magic doesn’t change what you are.”

The two men looked at each other for a long moment. Sirius felt he was intruding.

And then Arthur rolled his eyes. “For goodness’ sake, Merlin. I know you like being dramatic, but this is ridiculous.” He turned to Sirius. “Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King reborn. This is my friend and idiot manservant, Merlin, called Emrys by the druids, the last dragonlord. We’ve been enlisted by the Balance to ensure Harry Potter fulfills his destiny because Dumbledore, his intended mentor, decided the best way to prepare Harry was to leave him with his relatives who hate the very idea of magic.”

There were … several facets of that declaration that Sirius couldn’t get his head around.

“Take a minute.” Emrys (Merlin?) said patiently.

Sirius glanced between them, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “I must be more out of it than I thought. I honestly can’t come up with anything, yet I can’t believe it could be true.”

“We’ll, if you think about it it’s either true, we’re lying, or we’re delusional. Obviously we’re not delusional because you’re no longer in Azkaban and you did just talk to a great dragon.” Who was now stalking into the trees like a hunting cat. “If we were lying to you … Why would we be lying to him?”

“I honestly can’t think of a reason,” Arthur answered. “Perhaps for a prank, if we had some friend in common. It sounds like something you and Gwaine might get up to. But to rescue someone we know nothing about from prison and try to convince him we’re people from a legend …”

“Maybe if we wanted to take over the world. Or at least the government. We kidnap people one at a time with a bit of influence, convince them you’re the Once and Future King, then release them to vote you into office as Prime Minister so you can rule all of Albion as prophesied.”

“That sounds extremely convoluted and not very reliable. It also suggests that I intend to become Prime Minister. Which, fortunately, is not part of my destiny. I’m here to protect Merlin and help him train Harry.”

“Train him? I thought he already fulfilled the prophecy when his parents were killed. Voldemort is gone. What else would you need to train him for?”

“Voldemort isn’t gone.” Emrys—Merlin?— said solemnly. “We don’t know what exactly happened that night, but Voldemort wasn’t killed. Harry still has a destiny to fulfill, and Dumbledore was set to be his mentor, but instead he left him with an aunt and uncle who hate magic.”

—No. He wouldn’t—

“I was shown a glimpse of what will happen with the path Dumbledore set him on, and … well, it’s not good.”

“He left Harry with Petunia?”

“You know her?”

“She’s Lily’s sister. She hates everything about Lily and magic. It broke Lily’s heart, but they couldn’t even be in the same town together without getting into it. That’s the worst possible place for Harry. We have to get him out of there.”

“I would if we could.” Arthur interrupted Before Sirius could panic. “But we have no claim on him. She’s his blood. If we try to take him, even to bring him here, it would be seen as kidnapping and he would be hunted down and taken from us..”

“I do. I have a claim on him. I’m his godfather.”

“What’s a godfather?”

Sirius scowled. How could he not know that? “It means his parents decided that if anything happened to them, I would raise Harry in their absence.”

“Ah. He’s your ward.”

Sirius nodded. “He’s my ward. He’s my ward and I want him back.”

**

The rest of summer passed quickly after that. Sirius was folded into Arthur and Merlin’s life like they had planned for it. He told them everything he knew about the war, and they told him about their first life in Camelot as well as what they had figured out about their new destiny. He was invited into their planning and brainstorming sessions.

Sometimes Arthur came looking for him with a question or series of questions about wizarding society and Sirius did his best to answer him. Merlin dragged him out to the greenhouses (it turned out there was a second one for potion ingredients) every few days and made him help tend the plants. The dragon still pretended to ignore him, much like a cat would, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about the miniature dragon either, so that was fine. None of them expected anything from him beyond his trust and honesty, and as the days and weeks progressed, he found both those things progressively easier to give.

He was slightly relieved, though, when he figured out that Arthur could cook nothing beyond simple soup, and that Merlin often got caught up in whatever he was doing and forgot entirely about food. Sirius wasn’t a great cook, but Mrs Potter and Lily had both taught him a few things, and so Sirius took it upon himself to prepare most of their meals.

Perhaps the strangest thing to ever happen to Sirius was the day Arthur woke him at dawn and dragged him out to an area of the back garden he hadn’t seen yet, put a wooden sword in his hand, and started teaching him to fight.

Or perhaps it was the day Merlin led him out past the meadow, deep into a forest, had him hug a tree, and smiled when a twig fell on his head. Except it wasn’t a twig. Sirius picked it up and felt a familiar energy though it. Not the same as his old wand, this was wild and fierce and just a little playful, but it was a wand. Merlin … made him? Convinced a tree to make him? Found him? Whatever, somehow provided him with a wand.

Just because he could now, he started teaching Arthur to duel. The former king struggled with anything beyond first or second year spells, but he quickly grasped the concept of dueling and learned to make the best of what spells he could cast. He also had an annoying habit of stepping in and physically knocking Sirius’ wand aside or tripping him or once even punching him in the face. By the end of summer, dueling with Arthur was almost a challenge. And more than that, it was fun.

In truth, the strangest thing Sirius experienced that summer was sitting in his room the evening after Arthur and Merlin left for Hogwarts and realizing he almost felt like himself again. Yes, there was a gaping hole in his life where James used to be. Yes, there was still uncertainty. But Sirius felt alive again. He could look at the sunset and marvel at its beauty. He was able to joke with Merlin and Arthur, and even found himself laughing once. Most importantly, he had hope.

Chapter Text

Merlin would always remember their fifth year.

First off, everyone their year was obsessing about OWLs. If they weren’t stressing and studying every spare moment, then they were pointedly ignoring them and hoping the world ended before exams came.

The other thing their year obsessed over was kissing. (Honestly, once Merlin noticed it, he realized that was probably part of the weirdness in year four, too.) No one talked about OWLs unless they had too, but kissing? That was fair game in any conversation. Who had kissed whom, who wanted to kiss whom, …

Whether anyone had actually kissed Arthur Mandrake.

At first, it was kind of comical. When Merlin was fifteen, kissing wasn’t this big a deal. Sure, he and Will had talked about it once or twice. Will claimed he kissed Elizabeth, the only girl who was really their age. But the harvest, and that sickness that broke out in northern Essetir, and then Hunith started talking about sending Merlin to her uncle … There were more important things when Merlin was fifteen. And at fifteen-hundred, there were still more important things than kissing. So when Merlin first noticed the kissing obsession, it was amusing. Then it got annoying.

And then Merlin overheard a Hufflepuff suggest that Arthur must be an amazing kisser and Merlin’s heart decided to shut off. Not even a day later, he had to spend all of potions hearing a pair of Ravenclaws discuss how soft Arthur’s lips must be, and how strong his hands were. It made Merlin’s stomach turn. Arthur was so much more than his lips or his hands. None of these girls knew anything about him, not really. They didn’t deserve him.

It wasn’t until Merlin saw Arthur across the Great Hall, smiling at a Gryffindor sixth year that Merlin’s heart broke and he realized his anger was more than just friendly protectiveness. Merlin was jealous. He was the one who waited for Arthur. He was the one who had served him, day and night, every need or whim, for ten years. He was the one Arthur confided in and came to for advice. He was the one who had willingly given his life (albeit temporarily) to save Arthur multiple times. He was the one who held Arthur as he died. And it wasn’t fair, after all this time, that Merlin should have to share him again.

Arthur noticed, of course. It was only a few days after Merlin’s realization that Arthur asked him what was wrong. He said “nothing,” of course, but Arthur was persistent.

After a few days more, Merlin finally found the strength to tell him, “I was just wondering if you would need my help to woo any of these girls who can’t stop talking about you.”

Arthur looked at him like he was mad (a familiar look, but one he hadn’t actually gotten in a while). “Merlin, all these ‘girls’ are children. I’m not going to woo someone half my age.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot that part.”

Arthur clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Look. Just because everyone around us is focused on courting each other doesn’t mean we have to be. This isn’t something you need to worry about, alright?”

Merlin nodded, relieved in spite of himself.

**

The Tuesday before winter holiday was significant for an event that had nothing to do with school. In fact, Arthur and Merlin weren’t even at Hogwarts that day.

They met before dawn as they always did, but rather than training with swords and magic, Merlin teleported them to Camelot. He returned their bodies to their proper age, and they accompanied Sirius Black to the Ministry of Magic offices.

Nearly the moment they learned that Sirius was Harry’s godfather, they had begun researching aurors and wizengamot members. Arthur had spent weeks in the public archive learning everything he could about modern criminal law in the magical community in England. Right before classes started, they had very carefully reached out to a specific auror about arranging a trial for Sirius. It had taken months and a few clandestine meetings, but finally they had everything arranged for a small, private hearing.

Despite their investment in the case, Arthur and Merlin were not permitted to be present for the hearing. The three of them flooed into the auror’s office, had one last meeting, and then the other two left Arthur and Merlin to sit and wait for the outcome. Or in Merlin’s case, to pace restlessly around the office and drive Arthur mad with his constant, useless questioning of “what if.”

“One would think after fifteen hundred years you would at least learn the illusion of patience, Merlin.”

Merlin forced himself to still and glanced at Arthur. “How do you do it? Do you just pretend you’re in a council meeting and Uther or Agravain will throw you disapproving looks if you move?”

“Of course not. I’m a king. Such pointless movement is unbecoming.”

Merlin smiled unexpectedly. “Sire, you’re a warrior. You can barely hold still long enough for me to comb your hair.”

“That’s your fault for always taking so long.”

“It would be faster if you could hold still.”

“I am perfectly capable of holding still. You, however, are terrible at everything, as we have long established.”

“I’m better at magic than you.”

“That doesn’t count. That’s like saying you’re better at breathing.”

“It’s true, though.”

Before Arthur could respond, the door opened and the auror (she had a name. Merlin had just quit bothering remembering people he would only know for five minutes.) entered followed by a very sedate looking Sirius.

“How did it go?”

“Well, it …” she cracked a grin, “I’m sorry Sirius. I’m just really happy for you and pranks were never really my thing.”

Sirius waved her off with his own grin. “It’s fine. I’m sure I’ll have plenty more opportunities to prank my friends here. Why don’t you tell them the news.”

She smiled “Sirius has been exonerated. In layman’s terms, that means he was never even charged and everything related to that night has been removed from his record. For once, things went nearly exactly to plan.”

“That’s excellent!” Merlin threw his arms around the man without thinking about it, but quickly backed off. “Sorry. I’m a bit of a hugger.”

“No worries, mate. I am too. Now what about Harry?” The last was directed at the auror.

“Well, I took the liberty of retrieving James and Lily Potter’s will, and you were right. You are listed as the boy’s guardian should anything happen to them. You’ll need to take this and your letter of exoneration down to the offices of the Department for the Safety of Underage Wizards and Witches and tell them you want custody of your godson and someone there will be able to help. It may take a few days for the paperwork to go through, but unless someone fights your claim, you should be able to take him home by Christmas.”

Sirius beamed at the pronouncement. He was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet to get out of the office.

“Is there anything else we need to take care of?” Arthur asked.

“I would suggest a trip to Gringotts. I’m fairly certain there is a title and some land that needs to be claimed by Lord Black.”

Sirius went still. “My father is dead?”

“I’m sorry. I should have realized you hadn’t heard.”

Sirius jumped and let out a hoot of excitement. “I’m Lord Black! My parents would be appalled! I have land and money! I can give Harry everything he’s ever wanted! Speaking of Harry, we should go. I want my godson away from those horrible muggles as soon as possible.”

Merlin smiled.

Arthur stood and offered a hand to the auror. “Well, thank you Ms Abbot. If there’s ever anything we can do for you, just let us know.”

Of course Arthur would remember her name.

**

When they reached the Department for the Safety of Underage Wizards and Witches, a Ministry employee led them to an office and asked them to wait while he fetched Harry's file.

An hour later, a different Ministry worker, in fancier robes, came in and with much bowing and apologizing and calling Sirius “Lord Black” at least once a sentence explained that Harry’s file was missing.

Sirius, it turned out, had an explosive temper.

Luckily for everyone, Arthur was there. Arthur was, above everything else, good with people. All it took was a firm hand on Sirius’ shoulder and a few carefully controlled questions and pointed comments, and the man was vowing to personally search the Ministry from top to bottom and check every folder and shelf and drawer until he found Harry’s file.

Sirius was still angry as they left the Ministry building. Arthur suggested they head to Gringotts to procure Sirius’ title and then arrange a tutor and nanny for Harry, “make sure they have no reason to question your fitness as his guardian”, and the younger man’s anger turned to purpose. He clearly wasn’t happy there wasn’t more they could do, but Arthur’s calm, practical, action-centered decision seemed to calm him.

So they went to Gringotts. Sirius went to a private room with a goblin and came back wearing a large ring. Arthur looked at him assessingly, but refrained from asking anything. They spent another hour or two in Diagon Alley. Sirius bought a broom, a few books, and a stuffed deer that was enchanted to walk, blink, and pretend to graze. When they got back to Camelot, Sirius thanked them before disappearing up the stairs to his room.

Merlin honestly couldn’t blame him for being upset. They’d all been more anxious about the boy since the last time Arthur and Merlin had been able to visit him. There had been something off in the way Harry held himself. He seemed even smaller, more hesitant than normal. Arthur said he moved as though he were injured. When asked, though, all Harry had said was “Dudley’s a jerk.”

So Merlin got it. He wanted Harry away from that family as soon as possible. But Arthur was also right; they had to do this legally. That meant all they could do was wait, and be ready at a moment’s notice.

**

When winter holidays came, Sirius asked if they could prepare for Christmas as though Harry would be spending it with them. It was a good idea, and the next several days were spent obtaining a tree and decorations and making the manor as festive as possible. Arthur and Merlin even purchased gifts for the boy, though they were small, practical things he would need anyway.

The winter solstice was, in Merlin’s opinion, the best day of his entire life (though the day Arthur came back was a very close second).

It started at sunrise when Arthur appeared in his room without bothering to knock.

“Happy solstice, Merlin! I’ve decided we won’t be training today.”

“Happy solstice. And does that mean I can go back to bed?”

“Of course not. I have something for you.”

“For me? Like a gift?”

“Exactly like a gift.” He pulled a small wooden box from behind his back.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“I don’t need anything, Merlin. You’ve already given me everything.”

Merlin hesitated, still confused, but Arthur offered the box again, and more on reflex than anything, Merlin accepted it. He opened the shallow box to discover a gold disk bearing a familiar dragon surrounded by five tiny rubies. It wasn’t just the Pendragon crest; it was Arthur’s—the five rubies representing the five kingdoms of Albion.

“Arthur, you can’t give me this.”

“I’m pretty sure I can, actually. And you haven’t seen the other side yet.”

Puzzled, Merlin gingerly lifted the medallion from the box and turned it over. The other side was silver, bearing a bird in flight and five tiny sapphires.

“I figured if the Pendragon crest is a dragon, then what would be more fitting for you than a merlin.”

“For me? But I’m not nobility.”

“You weren’t. But you seem to forget that my entire reign has been marked by my knighting peasants and marrying a servant girl. Do you see anyone around to say I can’t make you my equal?”

“Your … But …” At a loss for words, Merlin’s eyes fell back to the medallion that he was absently turning over and over in his palm. Gold on one side, silver on the other. Rubies and sapphires. A dragon and a merlin, back to back. Two sides of the same …

With a gasp, Merlin’s eyes snapped back to Arthur as understanding hit him. He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was closed, his tongue heavy and frozen. He swallowed. Once. Twice. He forced the words out, but his voice still refused to work.

“It’s a coin.”

Arthur smiled. “Yes, it is.”

“A two-sided coin.”

“I overheard your mother describe us as such.”

Merlin nodded.

“I got the impression she wasn’t the first.”

Merlin shook his head. “I heard it from a few people back then.”

“It’s fitting.” Arthur informed their feet. “Bound by destiny, each complete on our own but … stronger, more together. I’m a better man, a better king, because you expected me to be. I’d like to think I could do the same for you, but …” he shrugged, “I never let myself be what you needed.”

“Arthur…”

The king shook his head, and stepped forward. “Merlin. Camelot needed a queen. My council expected an heir. Neither of those are true anymore. This,” he took Merlin’s hand, pressing the coin between their palms, “is my oath to you. To keep you beside me. To trust you and rely on you as I should have from the beginning. To put you before all others, and to be everything to you that you have been to me. My friend, my confidant, my advisor, my protector.” He smiled almost shyly. “The other side of my coin. From now until the end of my days.”

Merlin gasped a sob. All he could do was stare at Arthur, too overwhelmed for words.

Arthur’s free hand came up to pull Merlin into a hug. Merlin buried his face in Arthur’s shoulder and gripped the back of his shirt as tightly as he could. He’d always known Arthur cared, especially since he came back, but he’d never said it. Merlin had long ago resigned himself to his position just behind his king, invisible but invaluable, ignored but essential. And now to be seen, to be acknowledged. To be wanted in return.

Merlin pulled himself together as quickly as he could. He lifted his head enough to see Arthur, but didn’t loosen his grip on his king.

“This is my oath, Arthur Pendragon, to stand beside you, to protect you, advise you, make you laugh when you need it, and let you know when you’re being a clotpole. I will gladly be your friend, the other side of your coin, and happily serve and love you until the stars die and my last breath is stolen from my lungs.”

Arthur was watching him with something like wonder by the time he finished. “Wow. I … I think I knew all that, but to hear you say it …”

Merlin smiled, having just been on the other side. “I know. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

“It’s humbling, Merlin. I’m honored.”

“As am I, my friend.” He lifted their joint hands to kiss Arthur’s knuckles.

He was surprised when Arthur returned the gesture.

He was shocked when he felt something click within him. It was like feeling the balance settle, but infinitely bigger and infinitely more intimate at the same time.

“What was that?” Arthur asked.

“You felt it?”

He nodded. “What was it?”

He scratched his head awkwardly. “Ehm, have I mentioned my magic sometimes has a mind of its own?”

“That was your magic? I thought …”

They were interrupted by the sound of feet running up the stairs, and Sirius calling their names.

They sprang apart, and the coin fell. Time slowed for Merlin, and he grabbed the coin before it could hit the ground.

The door flew open. “They found Harry’s file. I have permission to bring him home. Oh. Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

Merlin glanced at Arthur, met his questioning gaze and shrugged.

“Nothing that can’t wait. Give us a moment and we will go retrieve your ward.”

“Thank you!” As quickly as he had appeared, Sirius was gone, back down the stairs.

For a moment they both stood there in silence.

“It seems we have a quest, Merlin.”

“So it does. Shall I ready the horses?”

“I think we can do without this time. However,” Arthur bent and picked up the box from the floor. Merlin had entirely forgotten its existence, probably around the time Arthur started swearing to spend their life together.

“I didn’t even realize I dropped that.”

“Yes, well.” He handed the box to Merlin. “I’ll see you downstairs as soon as you're ready.”

“Of course, Sire.”

**

The door of number 4 Privet Drive was opened by a petite blonde with a pinched expression. She might have been pretty if she didn’t look as though she’d just smelled something foul.

“Ah! Tunie! I’ve come to collect my godson.”

Petunia looked shocked, then outraged.

“Perhaps we should have this discussion inside.” Arthur looked from Sirius to Petunia. “Away from curious eyes.”

“Fine.” She snapped. “But don’t touch anything.”

They followed Petunia inside. Harry was watching them from around a doorframe. Merlin subtly got Arthur’s attention and glanced towards Harry in question. Arthur nodded and gestured—one of his old hunting signals. While Arthur and Sirius followed Petunia into a sitting room, Merlin slipped away to join Harry.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” The tiny six-year-old whispered.

“You saw the man who came with us?”

Harry nodded.

“That’s your godfather. He and your dad were best friends, and … well, we can tell you the whole story later, but we thought you might be happier if you came to live with us.”

“He knew my dad?”

Merlin nodded. “He can tell you all about him. And we have a whole bedroom for you. Big enough you can stand up, and there are no spiders. And I can promise you you’ll never go hungry again.”

The small boy was quiet a moment, his face scrunched up in thought. “Would I still go to school with Dudley?”

“Never again. You never have to see any of them again if that’s what you want.”

Harry considered the offer a minute longer and glanced towards the door where voices filtered through from the other room before nodding.

Merlin smiled. “Why don’t we get your things packed while they’re talking?”

“My cupboard is across from the sitting room.”

“We’ll just have to be quiet then, right?”

“Right.” Harry put his hunger to his lips in a shushing gesture, and started tiptoeing down the hall.

Merlin followed him, managing to not trip over his feet. The door under the stairs was barely big enough Merlin could have crawled through it, but Arthur would likely get stuck. Harry ducked through it easily. Merlin poked his head through and decided the space was too small for the both of them.

He sat on the floor in the hallway and watched Harry gather two pairs of trousers, a half dozen shirts, and a few sets of socks and underwear from a neat pile where the stairs above met the floor below. He set the clothes in the middle of the bedroll, along with a notebook, a broken pen, and a couple workbooks, and grabbed a worn book bag. He looked between his pile of belongings and the bag with his face scrunched in concentration. It was obvious they wouldn’t all fit.

“Can I show you a trick?”

Harry nodded.

Merlin took one of the shirts and stacked all the other clothes inside before tiring the hem and the sleeves to create an envelope.

“Clever.” Harry said as he carefully stacked his school books inside the book bag. “I don’t know if she’d let me take the blanket. And the bear is actually Dudley’s, I just rescued him.”

The bear in question was tucked into a corner and missing a leg.

“You don’t think your cousin would let you keep him?”

Harry shook his head. “No. He might beat me up if I tried.”

“That’s alright. We’ll just have to get you your own bear.”

Harry looked up quickly. “No. That’s alright. I don’t want to be a hassle.”

“Merlin!” Arthur called from the other room.

“Sounds like it’s time to go. You ready?”

Harry glanced around the cupboard one more time. “Yeah.”

Merlin stood with Harry’s clothes tucked under his arm and offered the boy a hand up, which Harry ignored as he climbed out and to his feet.

Sirius didn’t give him an option as he scooped Harry up into his arms. “Where are your things?”

Harry looked between his bag and Merlin’s bundle. “This is all of it.”

“Not those books, you don’t.” Petunia declared, half behind the sitting room wall. “We paid good money for your school things.”

Harry glared at her a moment. He shrugged out of the book bag and dropped it at their feet. “I’m sure they’ll give you your money back when they see Dudley tore out half the pages.”

“I’m sure your private tutors will have different books for you to study anyways.” Sirius stated without missing a beat.

“Don’t worry,” Merlin told Petunia. “You won’t be seeing or hearing from us again.”

He reached out with his magic and wrapped it around Arthur and Harry and Sirius, opening a doorway home and pulling them through.

Arthur smiled as they appeared in the entry hall. “Welcome to Camelot, Harry.”