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Chapter Text

Disclaimer: Merlin and his friends (and lover) belong to BBC, not to me. More's the pity.

Touch Every Breath I Breathe I

Unsurprisingly, Camelot's citizens did not take well to the news of Arthur's betrothed having magic.

Countless rallied around the guards and knights who stood against Arthur and for Uther's stance against magic. Many took up the cry for his death. While confusion still clamored through the city streets, many seemed to have chosen their path. Many others seemed to suddenly quieten, as usual, as those people spoke of killing Merlin, torturing him, and forcing him to let Arthur go of the enchantments Uther had sworn Merlin had put on him.

But Arthur did not give up hope. He spoke out. While he sent Gwen on to stay with Merlin, he stayed behind and fought against what his father said. He rallied the people wandering lost after the display on the dais, and then the people who watched quietly from the sidelines, likely afraid of the king's or their neighbors' ire. It took weeks. Weeks in which he lay lonely in his room, awake sweating in the night and staring at where Merlin had been, the feel of his still chest somehow no worse than the empty place beside him. But after those many, many weeks of struggle, his people finally seemed to be listening.

When before his proclamations that Merlin hadn't enchanted him had fallen on deaf ears, now his people nodded. Someone had reminded them of the words spoken on the dais – of how Merlin had followed Arthur's commands, and not the other way around. And this news spread through his people as quickly as any other gossip. But this time there was a question attached: why? If not to enchant Arthur and enslave him, why risk his life – why give his life – for Arthur's safety?

And if he saw a familiar figure in the gossiping crowd, hooded and slim and the barest hint of dark curls showering down from a hidden face, he couldn't say if it was real or a figment of his mind. The image came and went in a flash.

Of course wild accusations were thrown. Some said it was to incur Arthur's favor. Others that he'd merely pretended to fall in line with Arthur, that Arthur had been used like a puppet in a show. Still more went so far as to say it hadn't actually been Merlin on the dais, but a doppelganger, sent to die in Merlin's place.

But one thing was for sure: Merlin was gone, far away from Camelot, and there was no sign of him returning. And yet Arthur still stood for him, and for magic. Could enchantments work so far from the sorcerer? Could Arthur be so well-controlled from so far away? Was there no way to break the spell?

His people would not listen to him alone. But there were others. Gaius, carefully watched by the king, having been forced to endure questioning on Merlin's magic in public – forced to denounce the boy he thought of as his own son in order to live, by a king who used Gaius to ensure the silence of Merlin's friends – worked carefully on his patients. When someone came to him, he did not pretend to not be in mourning. "Not for a sorcerer," Gaius would say carefully, "but for a son."

Gwaine was not so careful. He went to the tavern every night, argued loudly and sometimes violently with any who dared impugn Merlin's honor. He started brawls, dragged men out into the street, cursed them until dawn. He shouted of Merlin's goodness, of how he'd helped the villagers, of how he'd saved Arthur's life. Everything that Arthur wished he could do, he did without thought. Arthur did not stop him. And though Uther's knights went to grab him every day, even though Uther called for his exile, he remained. Gwaine stayed ahead of the guards, ran free, fought. Arthur threw every ounce of his station behind the demand that they leave him alone. And when Gwaine was captured, he would break free, his benefactors unknown (Gaius, Kay, a sympathetic guard, and one time, even Leon), only to start again.

The people dithered. They listened, but did not speak. They did nothing for fear of angering one of their royalty. They had no decided victor. There was no easy answer of complacency.

And then it all came to a head. One day, when Arthur went out to speak with his people again, his father had him arrested and taken to the dungeons.

Arthur had been too stunned to speak out. His people had watched, but he hadn't been able to think enough to categorize the looks. Had they been horrified? Furious? Enraptured? Entertained? Curious? Arthur didn't know. All he knew was how he'd felt – betrayed. Enraged. And, beneath all that, panicked.

Trapped in the prison cell, there was nothing he could do for Merlin, or for Camelot. He couldn't speak with Gwaine. He couldn't speak with Leon or strategize with Kay. His limbs were cut off. And worse, it seemed his father knew of their allegiances with him and barred them from him, because not once were even Leon or Kay able to come down to speak with him.

Oddly enough, it was a man Arthur was beginning to recognize – Leopold, one of the men who had sided with Uther and had escorted Merlin from Camelot – who came to speak with him. During the day, as if to check and ensure Arthur had eaten his food and drunk his water, the man leaned in close and said, "we will get you out, sire."

The next few days had gone slowly, but the man had shown up twice more, once to ensure that it was only a bit longer, and then again, seemingly harried, to lean close as he took Arthur's empty food tray and say, "he is using this chance to send some men out to search for your consort. I and Sir Gwaine will ensure they do not reach their destination."

'Send men out to search.' Arthur knew exactly what that meant, and his chest froze up. His father had ordered an assassination. Because Merlin had been gone for long enough, and Arthur still remained loyal to him. This was Uther's last resort. Arthur felt sick. That night, the nightmares of Merlin's still chest brought him screaming toward consciousness.

But true to his word, Arthur was released two days later. Only a week or so had passed, yet Arthur felt like he had lost months. He stretched cramped muscles and moved to his rooms only long enough to bathe and change – he couldn't stand being in them now, knowing Merlin's touch had been swept and scrubbed and straightened away. Before he could do more than put on new clothes, someone was rapping on his door.

He turned, tamping down the ridiculous fury that the person wasn't Merlin and wouldn't come barging in. And then he stilled.

Morgana swept into the room, eyes bright, teeth blindingly white as she smiled. She wore a deep burgundy dress that swished around her as she rushed to Arthur's side. Through pure instinct, he held out his hands as she crushed herself to him. His mind went blank. He wondered if she was going to stab him.

How was she here? Why?

There could be no coincidence that she showed when Merlin was gone, when Morgause had only just recently failed. Could there?

He really had seen her below him. In the crowd. He hardly remembered how to breathe.

"Arthur! Oh, how I've missed you." Arthur didn't know what to do with his hands. His mind nipped around in little circles. What was she doing here? Why had she returned? Did she know about Merlin? Did she know about his magic? Had she come for revenge, or to finish what Merlin had said she'd started? Without Merlin to protect Camelot, whatever she or Morgause had planned would most likely succeed. And it was the very worst time for her to return – when revolution was just a heartbeat away. If she tipped the tenuous scales, Camelot might fall.

She seemed like his sister. She seemed like the same bold, brilliant woman he'd always loved. Was it really true, everything Merlin had said about her? With Merlin's magic and all the other secrets come to life, he'd believed everything Merlin had said. At that point, he'd thought anything possible. But with Morgana here, was he really willing to say she was willing to turn from Camelot? That she'd tried to kill his father, and agreed to help Morgause ruin their kingdom?

But Merlin had sworn it, and Arthur trusted him. Gods help him, he believed Merlin.

"Morgana," he rasped. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What are you – how are you here? What happened?"

"Oh, Arthur, it was horrible. I was taken by bandits. They kept me prisoner for – for so long." He heard her trying to control her tears, and his heart instinctively tore at the sound. Morgana was not a crier. It left him muddled when next she spoke. "I suppose keeping me prisoner for so long, they eventually let down their guard. I stole the keys from a guard when I was supposed to be sleeping and ran. I found a few of Uther's men traveling east. They brought me here."

East? Toward Ealdor? Could he have at least been that lucky, that Uther's wannabe assassins hadn't made it to their target?

But if that was the case, then had Leopold meant for this to happen? He needed to get with his men. He needed to find out just what all he'd missed this last week.

"But to think I return to find Uther having locked you in the dungeons!" And here she pulled back to look up into Arthur's face. Her brows were low, her lips pulled down. Confusion and anger warred on her face. It looked so familiar it hurt. "People are saying Merlin's a sorcerer? And that you've as good as married him?"

By the gods, if she was an enemy, anything she gleaned from returning would be knowledge she could use against Uther, or Arthur, or even the entire kingdom. And who would hide information from her? She was the king's ward. Anything she wanted, anywhere she wanted to go, anything she wanted to say or hear or see – it was all hers to have. And no one could stand against her, because all she had to do was go to Uther and cry foul, and Uther would kill her enemies for her. She always got away with more than most. Uther would hand her even more power, right up until the moment she killed him.

There could be no greater enemy, he thought, and feared what it might mean for his efforts for Camelot. Feared what it might mean for Merlin, if he ever had to choose between Arthur and another he loved again.

"They're both true," he said, only because it was too late to try to hide either of those facts. Morgana looked suitably stunned, even though he could swear he'd seen her in the crowd. Which meant she would have known long before she returned to Uther's side. He clenched her arms, just a bit. It burned to not be able to trust her. She had been one of the few people he'd believed would always give him wise council, who wouldn't pander to him or pretend he knew best. She and Merlin had been the two he regarded highest in such terms, matched only recently by Gwen, who would still cloak her words in niceties for his sake. He wished he could gain her council. He wished he could have her on his side.

Well. Even if he couldn't, he could still learn much from this conversation.

He pulled her to his table, set her down in a chair, and offered her some wine. Unsurprisingly, she refused. She would need a clear head to keep track of her lies.

"I know you've just returned, but Camelot is in upheaval." He hesitated, then said, "I'm in upheaval."

Morgana's brows drew even lower, as if she was really concerned for him. She leaned forward slightly in her seat. "What's going on, Arthur?"

Could he sway her from her path? No doubt Merlin had tried. Poison would not have been his first solution, would it have? But Merlin had said that, while Morgana had agreed to help Morguase, it didn't seem as if she'd known just what she'd agreed to. (A foolish oversight he couldn't believe Morgana capable of, but fear always made people desperate.)

And if he couldn't sway her, was he willing to deal with the consequences? Not just potentially having to kill her, but potentially handing her more information? More weapons she could use to hurt him and those he cared about? If he didn't tell her everything, then he would be keeping secrets that could mean the end of their relationship – the end of the last chance to put things right. But if he did tell her, and things didn't work out?

Suddenly, in a way he'd never quite reached before, he understood just what Merlin had been through. Just what he'd had to choose when he'd decided to keep his magic to himself. If he'd told Arthur of his magic, Arthur could have chosen to turn from him, to banish him. If he had, Arthur likely would have been vulnerable to the next attack. That had been shown to him rather clearly when he'd nearly been killed by Morgause's spell. Merlin had needed to stay by Arthur's side to ensure he stayed alive.

And in ensuring that he remained by Arthur's side, he'd chosen to keep his magic secret. Because what was their relationship if it meant keeping Arthur safe? Merlin would have preferred to be hated by Arthur than to face Arthur dying because he'd feared not being liked by someone he loved.

Arthur found himself making the exact same decision. And because of that, he could no longer hold any blame, any resentment, any bitterness for Merlin's choice. Merlin had spoken the truth. Everything he'd done – everything he hadn't done – had all been for Arthur.

Arthur sighed. "You know Merlin, Morgana. He's an idiot and a useless manservant, but he's a good man." He saw it: the first chink in her armor. For one short instant, her lips pulled back in a snarl. "He may not always be perfect – hardly," he said, letting his old resigned tone slip through. "But he's loyal to Camelot, and to me." He kept from saying he was loyal, too, and more, because speaking of love might make things even worse than admitting he had named Merlin his consort. If that was even possible.

"He drank poison for you," she said, as if pulling the words from some deep, ugly place inside of her.

"Yes," Arthur said, latching on to the words no matter how grudgingly they were given. "And I have no doubt he would do so again, despite Camelot's stance on magic." He took a deep breath. "A stance that is wrong."

Her eyes widened. And here, this – this was the only chance he had. The only thing he could give her. He'd made it clear that he still considered Merlin a friend. No lies on that front, at least. No matter what he'd done to her, Arthur would not turn away from him again. But here, on this one point, he could try to sway her. If she had magic, and had it in a land where having it was an unpardonable sin, then that could easily have tipped her into what she was now. There was still time. The disease was in her, too. There was a chance to save her still. But this was all he could do for her. Anything else would be like simply transferring the disease to another. From her to Merlin. And that couldn't be done, either. "We both know it, Morgana. You're the one who spoke up against Father when I didn't. I should have, but I didn't. And now it might be too late." His lips thinned. "It's cruel of me to only realize it now, when it's someone close to me in danger." Close to me. Words almost too dangerous. But Morgana already knew of his regard – he'd disobeyed Uther's orders to bring the cure back for Merlin when he'd drunk the poison, after all. He'd gone to Ealdor, risking an international incident. She already knew he and Merlin were close. "I should have realized it sooner. Like you did."

Morgana's face twisted through a thousand expressions. She didn't seem to know which to pick. He didn't give her the chance. "I want to do what I can for them. For everyone. This land is unequal." Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. Ran his hand over his face. "Merlin used his magic to save my life. More than jumping out the window. I've been attacked several times now. On the streets. In my very chambers." And Arthur waved his hand out to encompass his room. Morgana's face, still shifting between looks, did not pass into surprise quickly enough to be real. She had to think about the response. His lips thinned. "Merlin's magic is not evil."

She blinked twice in quick succession. "You have that much faith in him?"

"It's not a question of faith, Morgana." He looked to her. "Merlin faced execution every single time he performed magic to save me. He even returned from exile simply to save my life, even knowing the consequences. He's stupidly, blindly loyal to me." And it was too much of a weight to keep his shoulders from slumping at the fact. "He would do anything. Has done anything. He tells me he has committed great sins in order to keep me alive. He says I would never forgive them all." It was all true, and his face contorted with it. Not just because he had to lie by omission to someone he loved, but because the words were the truth. He still remembered Merlin's face, the fear as he'd waited for Arthur to turn from him. The legitimate shock when he hadn't. "But how couldn't I? When I know he put away everything he wanted, everything he loved, for my sake?"

Morgana shifted where she sat. "Perhaps it was just a ploy. A trap."

Arthur shook his head. "And what? He relied on me jumping through the window in order to save him?"

Her lips thinned. "I... don't know." Then, a moment later, as if remembering, "wait – you jumped out a window?"

"The one here in my room," he said, waving it away as if it was nothing. Morgana didn't seem ready to respond to his flippancy. "And why did he bother saving my father, then? That's how this all started – how Merlin's secret came out. He saved Uther."

This time she didn't hide her scowl very well at all. "Really? And yet he says he's committed sins?"

"He says he's let loose monsters and harmed those he loves." Arthur kept everything else to himself. He kept the way Merlin had held Arthur's gaze, even as his eyes filled with girlish tears, and how he'd refused to let them fall – all that, and more, he kept to himself. He feared already what his information might be doing for Morgana. But if he tried anything less, then he wouldn't have tried at all. "All to protect me." Arthur just barely kept himself from shivering. "How many knights can boast the same, Morgana? How many knights would always and deliberately put their prince first? Even at the cost of their own happiness. More than their lives, Morgana. Their happiness." Arthur covered his mouth for a moment. He needed a shave; the bristles of his beard were getting long. "He said he put his own mother in harm's way for me."

Morgana seemed genuinely surprised at that one. And she should be. She'd likely thought Merlin heartless; that he would attack her because he didn't consider her important. He was counting on her – or Morgause, whoever – vilifying Merlin. Vilifying him the same way Merlin vilified himself. "His mother?" she asked. He could hear the skepticism. The need to think of Merlin as the villain.

"Yes. He'd hurt her to keep me safe. I'm sure he's done more. Worse. Because he can't act in the open. He can't simply help. Why? All those times we sentenced farmers to death for healing their livestock or helping their crops. How much of their magic could have helped the land? We assumed it would only take from their neighbors' crops. But do we have any evidence of this?"

"No," Morgana said, her face still scrunched in a contortion so muddled no expression stood out from the chaos. Still, her voice was quiet. "We don't. But Arthur, are you certain about this? You – Uther is very strict on this."

"Yes. He is. And I have no doubt that if I kept my silence as I have every other time, Merlin would be added to the bodies of the damned. Not to mention all others who have magic."

Morgana's lips pressed so tight they paled even beneath her lipstick. "Arthur."

But she still didn't seem to know how to respond. He quirked her a small smile. "I know it's a lot to return to. I'm sorry if you hoped to return to peace. But this isn't something that can be put off. Not for Merlin's sake, and not for the sake of all other magic-users in Camelot."

She shook her head. "No. That's not... I mean, of course. You know this is what I've always wanted." Morgana shuffled in her seat. "It's just... I suppose I'm surprised. That's all."

Surprise certainly was there, but her brows were pulled too low for just that. "I don't want you risking your neck again, Morgana," he said, his words once more calling her from her attempt to compose her features. "You've done that enough times, and you've been gone for so long..." So long. Arthur wondered, as Merlin did, if Morgana had been gone too long. If Morgause had used what Merlin had done to twist her even further from the right path. "So leave the rest to me."

Please. Please leave this alone. Don't help Morgause tear Camelot apart. Just... don't.

Morgana's face still twisted back and forth – wide eyes, a slight grimace, brows pulled so low they hooded her face. When she stood, she did so on slightly shaky knees. "You trust Merlin?"

And this might be the one thing that destroyed any chance of reconciliation. "I do, Morgana. You did too, once." He pulled his brows low, though he was not surprised by her reaction. He hated the lies. He wondered how Merlin had felt, if the weight had been just as much. No. It had likely been more. "Do you have a problem with him having magic?"

"No," she said, but she glared down at the floor for a second before turning her gaze up to him. "But he said he's hurt others. Friends? His own mother? What kind of person does that?"

Arthur shook his head. "People who are scared. Desperate. Imagine you had magic, Morgana." He nearly winced. Morgana almost did, too. "Even as the king's ward, you wouldn't be safe. You would have to look over your shoulder in fear all the time. Merlin was nearly as close to the king as you. Yet he stayed. Willingly. In order to protect me. But how can someone protect another without being caught doing so? And lately, the things he's needed to protect me from..." He snorted. "Dragons, gryphons, the walking dead. I can't say what he needed to do these things for. I haven't been able to get all the stories from him. Not before..." He waved his hand, this time to encompass the whole of Camelot. Or perhaps merely his father. "But I know who he is. You do, too. He did what he could."

"What he could?" she asked, and this time, her mask faltered. She started picking it back up, then let it drop. "And if he attacked me?"

Arthur frowned. "Why would he have to?"

Her mouth opened. Closed. "Why would he have to harm his mother?" she asked. Her chin lifted.

"Morgana. What aren't you telling me?"

She shook her head. Scowled. Waved her hand. "I just... so many secrets."

Yes. Well, that was one that Arthur couldn't immediately dismiss. It had been, after all, his own largest problem. He cleared his throat. "Yes. But after this year away – no, even before that, with such tensions between you and Father – can you tell me you have no secrets?"

Her eyes widened still more. For a moment, he saw it: suspicion. And where there was suspicion, there was treachery. Merlin was right. She likely had already turned from Camelot entirely. To Morgause, and to whatever Morgause had planned. Merlin had said Morgause had sent out the Knights of Medir. Those knights hadn't been concerned with only taking down Uther, or even in causing random pandemonium and chaos that would have meant the potential fall of Camelot. Morgause had planned on Arthur's death. Those knights had singled him out for combat time and again. Morgause had not differentiated. Did Morgana, anymore? Or was Arthur as much her enemy now as Merlin and Uther? Was there no level at which she would stop?

How had Merlin handled so many lies and secrets?

She lifted her chin a bit further, but her eyes had clouded over. "You..." She seemed to catch herself; she should have been afraid, perhaps, or maybe confused. Stunned. But instead she was showing her anger. She visibly quailed. "This... is a bit much to take in. I'm afraid I'll have to leave you for a bit." She smiled brittlely at him. "Do get some rest. This is a large enough task without having been thrown in jail by our dear king."

A fool wouldn't have missed the bitterness in her tone. But perhaps that was the point. Arthur nodded. "Of course. You must be tired, as well. Welcome back, Morgana. For what it's worth."

She tried on a smile. It failed. But then again, there was no reason for it to succeed. Even without any secrets of her own, she'd been thrown into a situation none would envy.

She turned a bit unsteadily and left, carefully closing his door behind her. He hoped she turned away from Morgause's path. There were better ways to change the world than through force.

Arthur hardly made it down the hallway before Leon and Kay caught up with him. Gwaine was out on the town at the moment, arguing with a few farmers who had come into the city and chosen to air out their thoughts on the matter of magic. It was Leon who told him of how his father had found favor turning from him due to rumors circling around the city, and Kay who told him that the rumors had come from an unknown source. A soldier. One who, the people said, "was more Uther's than Arthur's." Arthur nodded. It had to be Leopold.

"But it's perfect," Leon said, even as he glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one lingered nearby. "He talked about what happened when the carriage Merlin was exiled in was attacked. Said Merlin told him to tie him up, stab him, whatever he had to do to leave to get to you. Said how he came back even though he could have run off to safety. But instead he came back. For you, Arthur. No one could come up with an excuse for him to return, except to save your life."

Tie him up? Stab him? If only Merlin were there; Arthur could have wrung his scrawny neck.

But why? Was that all that was needed for Leopold to change his tune so thoroughly? He'd been one of the men hand-picked by Uther to take Merlin into exile. He'd been knocked unconscious by Merlin when he'd gone to heal Arthur from Morgause's spell. Would the man truly turn right around and defend Merlin simply for that? Turn away from Uther?

Arthur needed to find him. And he needed to speak with his people. He ran a hand through his hair. It was still slightly wet, but that was fine. His people needed to see that Arthur wasn't in a perfect state. He'd just gotten out of jail. He already looked better than he probably should.

Of course only a few people were actually ready to look when he stepped outside the castle. Though they may have all heard about his release, they were still workers, and it was still the middle of the day. That said, every person on the street, whether clearly on their way to somewhere else or in the middle of some work, stopped what they were doing to turn and stare. Arthur held his head high.

Someone cheered. Someone else shushed her. No one spoke.

Arthur could give a speech. He could rage about his ordeal, or speak on his convictions. He could remind people that those with magic had suffered worse, or that they themselves had lost loved ones to Uther's ire. But none of it would matter. If he spoke, it would only take attention away from the deed. Uther's actions had to stand for themselves. They needed to fall under their own weight.

So he merely walked amongst the people, searching for Gwaine. It didn't take long; all he had to do was listen for the loudest voices and any accompanying crash of broken ceramics. Gwaine happened to be standing just outside the merchant district, in an alleyway heading toward the residential housing of the lower town. He stood with his back to the main road, hemming three farmers in. Arthur sighed at the sight. "Gwaine. What are you doing?"

The tall man turned at the sound of Arthur's voice, and his scowling face split into a sudden grin. "Princess!" Arthur frowned at that one. The farmers froze where they stood. And Gwaine, incorrigible at even the best of times, actually moved as if to throw a hand over his shoulder. He glared a dark warning. Surprisingly, Gwaine actually submitted. Arthur was certain he would be made to pay up for Gwaine's attempt at discretion. "These chumps were sayin' shit 'bout your consort," Gwaine said then, playing up his country bumpkin accent.

Arthur looked to them. They were all older men, likely old enough to remember the residual fear of magic brought on by the chaotic times preceding his father's usurpation of the crown. They all seemed to quail under a single glance. Arthur thinned his lips and turned away. "They blame him for the actions of others, I suppose. Not everyone can judge a man on his own individual merits."

Each man's face pulled into a grimace. One, more grizzled than the rest and chewing tobacco likely grown on his own farm, growled. "And you're not blinded by your..." And then the man realized who he was speaking to, and he paled slightly.

Arthur lifted his chin. "I'm not the one ready to pick a fight for Merlin's honor with perfect strangers."

Gwaine seemed confused as to whether Arthur was complimenting or insulting him. Good. Arthur thought it was a bit of both. Honestly, what did the man expect to gain by breaking pots off of windowsills?

Of course, Arthur's intervention meant not only more surviving plants, but also a swift defeat. The men, unable to argue with Arthur, scowled and swept away. Gwaine had to cover his mouth to keep his barking laughs from carrying all the way down the castle street. "That was brilliant," he said, and finally guffawed.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You'll make more enemies than friends, the way you're acting."

"The hell I will," Gwaine said, as loose-tongued as ever. "These people need a hard kick in the pants. Nothing instigates change faster than anger." He stopped. "Well, and hope. Anger and hope."

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. Because those were the exact emotions fueling him. He sighed. "Carry on, then. But do try to not start any more fistfights, hm?"

Gwaine waved away Arthur's patronizing tone. He really had spent too much time with Merlin. "It didn't come to that," he said.

"Throwing one another around only leads down one path," Arthur said, feeling the first stir of a rather extravagant headache. "We're trying to win these people's hearts, not their fear. I will not make the same mistake..." His voice drifted off before he could finish the sentence. Still, it took hold. For all the things his father managed to do, all his achievements and advancements, all the prosperity he'd brought to a kingdom facing nothing but destruction – despite all that, his father was still a man, and he had made a grievous mistake. Through anger, and fear, he had sentenced magic, in all its forms, to death.

And how did that leave the country? Its people frozen silent, watching each other with wide eyes. Its land destitute of magical creatures. Famine and drought when one magical creature is killed by its unknowing prince's hands. (And Merlin had warned him, hadn't he? And when Arthur had failed, Merlin had disappeared, and the guardian of the unicorns had come to give him another chance, and Merlin...) His chest actually constricted for a moment as he realized this again had to be another of Merlin's interventions; Merlin had known Arthur had messed up, but he'd been willing to take the fall for Arthur, had been willing to give his life... he needed to speak to Merlin about that. Needed to make it known that Merlin's life wasn't simply a card in Arthur's hand, but an integral piece of Camelot, of... of him.

He didn't know how long he stood foolishly by the alleyway, listing the losses of their kingdom – people who'd used their magic to heal, entire races of creatures, a dragon that had been locked up beneath Camelot for twenty years... but finally Gwaine shuffled his feet and said, "uh, may I go now? There's a pretty brunette waiting for me at the tavern."

Arthur threw the man a sour look, but he stepped out of his way. "It's the middle of the day."

"She has to work at night," Gwaine said as explanation, and Arthur's look soured still more. Gwaine just laughed.

Well. That mental image needed to be shooed away. Arthur left Gwaine to his... devices... and went out in search of anything else. Maybe he needed a good fight, too. Since he didn't have Merlin to turn a long-suffering look toward.

The next few days were... awful. Arthur couldn't dare speak out, lest he take attention away from Uther's actions. And while the treatment of his father granted him sympathy, it only granted him a modicum of support. Many accepted Uther's words, that it had merely been a test. A test of what – well, none could answer. Gwaine had actually managed to start an all-out brawl between himself and several men later found to be friends of the farmers he'd nearly assaulted. The only surprising part of the event was how many people came to his defense – his and Merlin's. The farmer's friends had actually been cowed rather thoroughly before Uther's knights arrived. Kay managed to rally a fair amount of allies himself, through seemingly little more than a silent rebuff of any man or woman who spoke ill of Merlin. Even Leon started circling the outer edges of the nobility, learning who Arthur could speak privately to before the evening meal or before they retired to their chambers or private homes at dusk.

But the absolute best was Leopold. His first-hand account of Merlin's blind loyalty was what finally inspired the first act against Uther by the people – a boycott. A wonderful, brilliant boycott, in which farmers stopped farming and shepherds refused to sell their livestock or wool and merchants and traders refused to trade. The tailor stopped tailoring. The shoemaker stopped mending shoes. The smith stopped his metalworking. And then – oh, and then – Merlin's friends, the servants, the guards, the knights – merely two days after the start of the boycott, they stopped working, too.

The castle was deathly quiet when Arthur walked through its halls the first day of the fourth week in the battle for sorcerers' rights. The servant staff had been cut nearly to the quick, and while Uther had been quick to hire new faces to the castle's staff, he also found himself in the difficult position of having too few people for too much work and the dangerous and vulnerable position of letting unknown, potentially untrustworthy people roam the castle's halls. Its military might, as well, was cut, as knights went to protect the merchants from their own desperate push for either power or items or opportunity, and to ensure those who stood down didn't get mobbed by those they inconvenienced. And then, of course, were the knights and guards who refused to remain on retainer. Kay, Leopold, Moll, Borom, Garrett. Countless men who had listened to Arthur's warning on the practice field and nodded, or looked abashed, now stood either by the merchants or by Arthur. Those who remained clustered around Uther, desperate to protect him from any unsavories who might get too close.

Morgana chuckled a lot.

Arthur ran a hand along the tapestries. Merlin had left over three weeks ago, and he still didn't know if he was even still alive. He wasn't in conference with Uther – indeed, his father was rarely in conference at all anymore, even with his council – and Leon had been kicked out from them, as well. Merlin could very well have been executed by now, and Arthur may be fighting this for nothing.

No. Not for nothing. He wasn't selfish enough to destroy this entire country simply for love. But he couldn't argue with the fact that it would feel horribly empty to have the one person who had opened his eyes to magic and its existence as merely potential killed before he could see the days Arthur would bring.

And he would bring them. Even if Merlin was killed, murdered by his own father (please let him still be alive, please, please, please), he would bring Camelot forward. Hopefully before Morgause or one of the other kingdoms collapsed it around his ears.

The throne room sat empty, scarce of anyone since the boycott started. This part he knew, because Leon had heard it as he'd been thrown out of the council room – "If they don't want to give to the country," Uther had spat, "then the country will not give to them."

Fighting fury with fury. Uther was only fanning the flames. And while that might help Arthur in the long run, it wouldn't help the country now. The people weren't demanding equal rights for sorcerers. They merely wanted Merlin to have a fair trial; they wanted him to be judged based on merit. Many spoke of amnesty.

It seemed like such a small thing. It likely was to the people. But Arthur – and his father, certainly – knew what it really meant. If Uther gave special treatment to one, he could easily be called a king of special pleas. He would have to follow up with similar judgments. If, say, another sorcerer stepped forward and offered medical treatment to the royal family, that sorcerer would have to be pardoned – his use of magic was to save the royalty, after all. And that, of course, would have to spread to the people – if another sorcerer, say, came to use magic to help the people, well, why shouldn't the people be healed? Like when Gwen's father had been healed (and here Arthur's mind stuttered, and he once again had to rearrange his memories as he realized Merlin really had healed Gwen's father), magic would be used to help another. And if Merlin could use magic to help Arthur, then why couldn't another use their magic to help others? And that, finally, would lead to where Arthur needed it to lead – people not being judged on whether they had magic or not, but on how they used it.

Uther knew how it would all end, and so he fought it. Fought against his people, even as they halted Camelot in its tracks in order to get what they wanted.

Arthur didn't need to go out on the streets anymore. If anything, his presence actually pulled people away now. He'd gotten it all started, but it could no longer be about him. At this point, the struggle had altered to between Uther and the people more than it was a power struggle between king and prince. And so Arthur was trapped in his own castle, trapped in empty chambers. He wished he could hear what Merlin had to say about it all. Doubtless he would say something stupid, something that might get his head on the chopping block even without the whole 'sorcerer consort' bit. He would entertain Arthur with something ridiculous, or – and here Arthur could tell he had gone without for too long – they could simply stay in his room and wile away the time there. Yes. He wouldn't have had a single problem with that.

Ugh. This was ridiculous. He had just wanked himself off an hour ago.

He entered the throne room, and sure enough, no one was inside. The room looked ten times larger than usual. His every step echoed like a thousand footfalls. For a moment his mind even waxed poetic, mixing ideas of roads not taken and paths already laid out ahead of him, of destiny and choice and which step was real, and his, and true. He let it all go before his mind could form full shapes and sentences out of the ideas and just... looked.

The floor was alabaster, rising in pillars to the vaulted ceiling. White swirls in ivory stone, balustrades so intricately carved, with dragons in the corners, as to make a man weep for the beauty. A line of red inked the path to the throne, the velvet soft through repeated replacement. And the throne itself, gilded on its edges in pure gold, the plating welded into shapes that formed into claw and fang, rubies that sat as eyes and lines of silver for the swords in the knights' vanquishing hands. A reminder, his father had said, of the battles fought to win this seat, and the vanquishing of the beasts that once roamed the lands freely. Beasts that he and his father had brought to extinction.

It all made Arthur think no longer of the weight of responsibility, but the weight he himself placed on those below him. His riches, his power, his history. All of it weighed him down, chained him, and suffocated those he wielded it all over. He wondered if his father understood this second message; if he knew his throne acted as salvation and desertion both.

He took a deep breath. He was not there to ruminate on the path of his future, or the corpses of his past. He couldn't take away all that had been done. He could only move forward.

But when he was king, he knew he would always sit very carefully in that chair.

He heard footsteps behind him, and turned. Leopold entered the room first, with Leon just behind him. Percival searched outside the room for a moment before closing the door behind them, just in case. Percival stayed at the door while Leon led Leopold closer. The man stood tall, his scruffy hair so wild it was clear he'd run his hand through it several times already in the course of the day. Arthur lifted his chin. Leon bit back a smile and backed away.

"Sir Leopold de Grance." The man didn't so much as flinch. He hadn't even during training, Arthur remembered. Though the man had been older than Arthur, and had been a knight longer than he, he had given due respect to Arthur's title, and had never once complained about being beneath a child. If he flinched now, Arthur would think there was something wrong with him. "You've been helping us."

Leopold looked him straight in the eye and said, "I still follow the vows of Knighthood, my lord. I am loyal still to my liege. I merely fight still for the well being of all, and eschew unfairness." And he bowed.

Here. Here was a knight.

Arthur clapped the man on his shoulder and nodded. "That is the most any knight can offer, and I thank you for it."

Arthur bade Leopold stand. When he did, he looked around the room, eyes furrowed. "If I may inquire, my lord... the reason you had us meet here is...?"

"Because it would be empty," Arthur said, knowing where he was going and wanting to cut off that line of thinking before it went any further. "And because it is still a room of influence, though it has remained unused these past few days. I wish to convey my thanks, and to let you know your work has not gone unnoticed. There is little I can grant you, as my father still remains king, something I hope continues for yet some time." Though the chances were looking slimmer and slimmer with each passing day; Arthur had had no idea just how deeply the hatred of magic was rooted in his father's heart. "But here, I can at least promise you my support, and my word to do what I can to honor your efforts."

Leopold looked quite more relaxed by Arthur's words, but still he kept his eyes cast down, in deference to Arthur's position, as if nothing in him had changed. "I merely hold to my vows," he said again. "I swore to speak the truth, and let nothing but pass my lips. I have only spoken on my own experiences. The people have merely listened."

It was more than that, even though it was as simple as that. "Still," Arthur said, his voice grave, "I thank you."

The man bowed his head still more.

They all dispersed slowly, Leopold first, then Leon and Kay, and finally Arthur, Percival taking his place behind Arthur the moment he left the throne room. They made it perhaps three steps before Morgana intercepted him.

Arthur didn't know how to feel about her appearance. It almost seemed too perfect; he wondered if she was measuring his support, or trying to find a weakness in his group. He was the only one who knew to be wary; even as he stopped to turn to her, Percival fell back slightly, giving them the illusion of privacy. If Morgana wanted to attack, Percival would now be too far to stop it in time.

Then again, was he himself ready to see her as an enemy? Merlin had said she had been waffling back and forth on her stance. And she had magic. His all-but-sister, a woman trapped by Uther's side, had that which merely possessing constituted treason. Merlin had said he was magic, that he'd been born with it. Was that the same for Morgana? How many sorcerers had merely been born with the ability of magic, and only refined it, as one might a knowledge in writing or astronomy? If that was the case, then how terrified had Morgana been? How desperate?

And what, Arthur wondered, because he could never go a whole morning without thinking of him, had Merlin felt, coming to Camelot and finding himself in the same position? What had it been like to be assigned Arthur's manservant, faced with Uther's presence so close to him?

"Arthur," Morgana said, stepping into his space, and he pulled his gaze down to her hands. Open, both of them, and clearly without weapons. Though, if she had magic, that meant very little. "There's..." She looked over to Percival and frowned. "There's something I need to speak with you about." Her lips twitched. "Also, you might be happy to hear the people are finally listening."

Arthur tilted his head, not certain which piece should be followed first. Should he ask about the people? See for himself? But anything she needed to say could alter the relationship between them irrevocably. Was it a trap, or was she about to speak on what they'd discussed earlier? He dithered for a few seconds more before finally asking, "which is more pertinent?" and letting her choose for herself.

Thankfully, her smile widened. She said nothing.

Well. Arthur huffed a breath. "What are the people doing, then?" he asked, and motioned for her to precede him to wherever she would consider a good enough place to speak privately. Percival followed for a few steps, until Arthur held a hand to stop him. He motioned vaguely toward the castle gates. Percival barely nodded before heading out, hopefully to get his own answer to the question Arthur asked Morgana.

She didn't seem oblivious to his move, but Morgana held her tongue on it. Instead she led him down the wide halls from the throne room to the thinner halls leading to the private quarters. They passed the guards standing outside the first halls, but even then, she said nothing. The halls were always filled, even when they seemed empty. Arthur looked around and found two servants, both looking askance at them as they passed. He maintained his silence until he found Morgana leading him, not to her own quarters, which he'd expected, but to his own. She turned at his surprised grunt and smiled. "You would be more comfortable there, correct?"

"Since when was this conversation – or any conversation with you – about my comfort?"

She actually chuckled. But Arthur – the warrior in him – recognized a sound strategy when he saw one. If he died in his room, there would be little to point his death on Morgana. They may have walked together, but who would think they would head to Arthur's room? Or that Morgana would be to blame for his death? Especially after the attack he'd just suffered. Morgana could kill him and walk away clean. He wondered if Merlin would figure it out.

But that wasn't a path he could allow himself to follow. Because if Merlin ever learned Arthur had died when he'd been safely ensconced in Ealdor, he would blame himself. He would hate himself for allowing Arthur to fight for his freedom. He would break.

It was ridiculous. He shouldn't have known that. He shouldn't have had such faith in Merlin's affections. Yet he had no doubt that Merlin would exist as a shell, would go after Arthur's killers with everything in him and then just... drift. Or worse. What would Merlin be willing to risk to try to bring him back?

So he couldn't afford to be killed. Not just because he didn't want to die, or even because he was the only heir to the throne, and the man who was to lead Camelot forward. Though it shouldn't have been as important, he found it vital to live because his consort would grieve. So he stopped and nodded over to the hall they were about to pass. "Your room is best, I believe," he said. Before she could do more than turn around, he continued. "Whatever this is about, it's clear you would prefer a haven. I would have you comfortable. And, truth be told, I don't find much comfort myself in my chambers anymore."

There wasn't much Morgana could say to that, and she just nodded and led him left. Her room was empty, though it was clear whoever had replaced Gwen was in the middle of cleaning Morgana's sheets; the bed was empty of cloths, the blankets folded neatly atop the hope chest at the foot of Morgana's bed. Morgana took care to lock the door. The servant would take the hint and stay clear for the time being.

Arthur sat at the small table in Morgana's room, though he wanted to remain standing. It wouldn't help, however, to foster feelings of camaraderie. So he sat, and he steepled his fingers before him on the table, and Morgana stood across from him and leaned her arms on the chair. She did not sit down.

"You say you trust Merlin."

Arthur nodded. He felt the frown on his face deepen, and let it. "Yes. And you kept something from me – something about Merlin having harmed you."

She jolted, just a bit. He supposed it would be surprising, having someone so plainly oblivious to the world around him suddenly see things so much more clearly. But he supposed he had to grow up at some point. Before Merlin did all the growing up for him. "Yes," she said slowly.

This was good. She was opening up to him. But if she was trying to get him to pull away from Merlin... he hoped that wasn't her plan. He took a deep breath. If nothing else, he wanted to hear more about what had happened. He couldn't just hear Merlin's side of the story, no matter how much he trusted the idiot to tell him the worst of his deeds.

She waited a few moments longer, then when Arthur provided nothing, finally said, "he did. Hurt me."

Arthur leaned forward. "Tell me what happened, Morgana."

"That day. When the Knights of Medir came?" Arthur nodded. He didn't hold out hope. And he was right not to. "When they were attacking, and we were almost out of time. Merlin poisoned me."

He grimaced. The sting of betrayal shouldn't have been so sharp. He had been ready to hear accusations, insults. Lies. He'd expected a continuation of secrets. He'd thought himself ready for the worst. Yet he still couldn't believe Morgana could be so bold as to accuse Merlin so readily and take none of the blame for herself.

He shook his head. "That... Merlin had told me," and here he skimmed through the full truth for the part-truth he could give, "that he'd been forced to sever a bond. That one had been formed between the knights and someone he cared about." He shook his head again. "You? A bond with the knights?"

He watched carefully, even as he appeared addled. He wasn't brilliant at manipulating – that was Morgana; she could twist Uther around her little finger – but even he saw the clench of her fingers around the back of the chair and the soft gritting of her teeth. "Absolutely not!" she said. "Arthur, how could you think that? You saw how scared I was! And then after! I was taken away!"

Arthur could only hope that, even without Merlin's confession echoing in his mind, he still would have caught that blatant hole in Morgana's story. He held up one hand. "If that's the case – I'm not saying it isn't, Morgana – but if it is, then how are you here? Don't misunderstand, I'm glad you are – but how? Shouldn't you be dead?"

Morgana's mouth opened. Closed. She worked her jaw for a short moment before finally saying, "I don't know." Arthur couldn't hide his frown then; he only hoped his skepticism was better maintained. "Luck, I suppose. Or perhaps Merlin doesn't know enough about poisons to do it right." Highly unlikely; Merlin was Gaius' apprentice. And he likely wouldn't have left it to chance if he hadn't been certain. "But it still stands, Arthur. I saw him. He offered me a flask of water. I should have known he was being too pushy, but I'd trusted him. Just as you're trusting him now, Arthur. I don't want to turn you from your cause – I think it's just. I think you're right; magic is not evil. Innocent people are being killed simply for having an ability others do not. But Merlin – Merlin isn't who you think he is."

Arthur closed his eyes. He'd expected this, really. He'd expected her to try to turn him from Merlin. And if Merlin hadn't told him about his own position when the knights of Medir had attacked? How simple it would have been to return to his old anger, his old feelings of betrayal. He was glad Merlin had told him. Glad that he was seeing both sides of the story. It made it so much easier to make a decision.

After all, Merlin had admitted to his guilt. He'd admitted to poisoning Morgana, even though she hadn't known her part in the wickedness she'd helped unleash. He'd branded himself a criminal. He'd awaited Arthur's judgment. And here Morgana was, branding Merlin the sole manipulator, the only villain. How better to judge than watch how the guilty judge themselves? The ridiculous excuse of 'luck' that Morgana threw at him only made it clearer: she was wrong. There had been no luck to it. Merlin had bargained for her life, despite of what she'd unwittingly been part. And she either did not know – or she did not care.

He honestly didn't know how to go about saying what he thought without ostracizing Morgana. Which wasn't what he wanted to do. If Morgana left, it would be on her. Her own choice. And Arthur would... he would just have to deal with the outcome. "I won't pretend to have all the answers," Arthur said. Morgana wasn't stupid. She tensed. "I won't pretend Merlin is faultless, either. But he's also not the type to poison you randomly, Morgana!" He raised his voice as she made a disgusted noise and turned from him. "You can't tell me you think him the type to do such a thing for fun or sport."

"Then why? He tried to kill me, Arthur!" She rounded on him.

There was no way he could argue properly. Not without giving up Merlin's own admissions, and admitting he'd been lying to her this whole time. Merlin must have faced this problem every day. How many times had Merlin's warnings actually been more, and he'd had to remain vague or else give up his own secrets? Arthur wished Merlin was there with him. He wanted so much to understand just what it was he'd missed.

But it was for the best that he wasn't there. This would be hard enough without Arthur and Merlin looking like a united front. "Morgana." His very tone sent her nearly flinging furniture. "If he'd wanted you dead, why are you still alive?"

Her mouth flapped open.

Arthur shook his head once again and sat back. "I've seen his power, Morgana. I've felt it. He froze me in place, and when he did, I could not even feel my heart beat. I was... suspended. I have seen him turn knives back on attackers and spout fire from his hand. If he'd wanted you dead, there would have been nothing in the world to stop him."

Morgana couldn't protest, not without giving away the fact that she had magic, as well. And even if she did, who was to say it would have stopped Merlin? She scowled. "You're taking his side. I should have known."

"Morgana," he said, "I'm not saying I don't believe you. Or even that Merlin was right in what he did. But when I remember that day, I remember panic, and desperation, and the knowledge that we were all going to die." His fingers clenched against one another. "I remember feeling helpless. Is it so impossible to think Merlin had felt the same?"

She shook her head, but she didn't answer him. He didn't know what the look on her face meant. He didn't know if even she knew.

He could say no more. This was Morgana's choice to make. Would she see Merlin as human, like her? Would she see Camelot as full of people, actual people afraid of change, scared of what they might lose? Would she see Arthur as a man made more than merely the son of his father or the lover of his servant? He couldn't say.

He stood, slowly enough to give Morgana more than enough time to stop him. She didn't. She merely turned half away from him and glared at the floor. Her hands were fists at her side.

"You're still the Morgana I know," he said, trying for something a bit lighter. She raised her head, but he saw something defiant in her eye. She disagreed with his words. "You still see a cause before you. And you're still slow to forgive." He gave her a small grin. He wasn't certain it reached his eyes. "Though I think you and I have that in common."

She didn't say anything. He left.

The hall was still practically empty, but he could hear a fair amount of noise. He turned his head to the windows. They were thin, and thick; made for sieges more than for a view. But still, if he stepped to the wall and peered down, he thought he could see a crowd of people. He could certainly hear them. Their shouts echoed up the stone walls.

His brows furrowed. He headed down the stairs and through the halls. He was near the castle gates when Percival nearly bumped into him. "Sire," he said, his quiet voice resonating with something.

"What is it?"

But Percival just motioned to the front doors of the castle. Arthur hurried forward.

The voices were louder now, swinging through the open doors and windows and crashing through the castle. Guards stood sentry before the door, more than usual. Arthur quickly saw why. People nearly plastered themselves against the poor guards, pushing slightly against those in front of them, a small wave-like surge from the back – which seemed to be near the water pump far behind the closest noble estates – to the front, where the people stood in a long line, each demanding the king set a fair trial for Arthur's consort. For Merlin. Each one of them demanding the sanction of amnesty.

Arthur looked back and forth, up and down, his eyes widening at the sheer number of people. How had all of this happened? Who had been the one to instigate it? An assembly of so many of Camelot's people didn't just happen.

Percival leaned down. "It's said the lady Morgana opined the lack of acceptance of magic in extreme situations. She was apparently overheard speaking to someone about how close she'd come to never seeing you again."

Arthur's gut clenched and twisted. Morgana had begun this? The woman he'd just spoken down to, the one he'd just played with and manipulated? He felt equally hot flashes of shame and pride, and didn't know which was less acceptable. He covered his mouth until his face conformed to his will once again. "Thank you, Percival," he said, the words slightly muffled until he lowered his hand once more. Several of his people made eye contact with him, and they started calling to him, as well. The guards sent him a short look, carefully impassive. He stepped slowly out of the castle. Oddly enough – surprisingly enough – the people gave way to him. So not a mob yet. A riot? He looked out amongst the crowd. There were men and women he himself had spoken to, people who had come to him with questions, fears. He remembered a woman in the third row who had come to him and spoken of how Merlin had stayed with her one time when she'd been very sick, and that she'd gotten better under his care. He remembered her fear that he'd used magic to save her – he remembered asking her why that scared her. And there, a young man, no older than fourteen summers, who had once played with Merlin, and his steadfast belief that Merlin was evil now. And he thought of how he'd sat down and spoken with the boy, asking him if he'd ever seen Merlin do something evil. He'd hurt that entire conversation, hearing the young man recite nearly verbatim Uther's proclamations. He'd thought of how he'd stood beside his father all those times he'd spouted such hatred, and he'd doubted his ability, even right, to fight against what the boy said. He remembered losing an entire afternoon to the conversation and feeling like he'd gotten nowhere. Yet there he was, in the fourth row, shouting as loudly as the rest, demanding Merlin get a fair trial.

What could he say to all these people that could begin to express what their actions meant? How could he say that they were the hope of Camelot, that this was more than he'd dared dream? His throat actually closed up at the sight of still more people abandoning their jobs to join the group, creating more a jumbled mass at the end than any actual lines. If there were others left going about their business, they were a horrible minority.

This was not something his father could ignore anymore.

And just as he thought that – just as he opened his mouth to speak – a revenue of clanking, shuffling noises came from behind him. He turned to find a contingency of knights – all the ones still loyal to Uther alone – marching out of the castle in formation. Behind them all strode his father.

No. His eyes widened. His head shook mutely. He couldn't. He couldn't do this.

As soon as Uther stood prominent before his men, smoothly moving around Arthur to stand in front of him, blocking him from his people, Uther held out his hand. "Arrest these dissenters."

The knights moved. Arthur rushed forward, shoving through the knights surrounding him to stand before his father. He held one hand in front of him as if to hold his father off. His other itched to reach for his blade. "Father, you can't. These people have gathered in peaceful protest."

Uther glared down at him. He did not look human. "The protest is the problem."

Unbelievable. No, not unbelievable – unacceptable. His father may have been king, but no kingdom could exist without its people. To not only disregard them, but threaten them... it was... Arthur couldn't find the words, even in his own, panicked mind. This was his father. This was the man he'd wished to someday embody. "You can't," he said again, but his voice was weak. He already knew Uther would.

"Starting now, this country will exist under a military regime. You have shown that you cannot be trusted with your own lives."

The people started turning to one another, chattering. But when the knights finally moved again, it began: the screams. The shouts. The running. Now it as a mob; a panicked, desperate, fearful conglomerate of people, all of them pushing and shoving to escape. Arthur watched in horror as knights grabbed his people by their arms and dragged them back, toward the castle they'd just been entreating. A woman, hair loosened from its knot at the top of her head as she struggled against Sir Doffrey's hold. A man falling to the pommel of Sir Garner's sword. Sirs Pellinor and Tunney as they shoved through the crowd, lips pressed thin as they answered their king's call to arms against the very citizens they'd sworn an oath to defend. Then there was Leopold, who looked on it all with open disgust and did not move.

Uther gestured to the unmoving knight. "Arrest him, as well."

Arthur let out a wordless sound of protest. Staffordson and Trynt were the ones to grab Leopold and escort him out. He went with his chin high and did not fight. Arthur's heart nearly wrenched out of his chest. At the sight of a knight being taken with dignity, many of the people froze where they stood. Many were dragged unceremoniously back to the castle and wrenched down the far side to the dungeon keep. Uther watched it all with an almost impassive gaze; the only time it faltered was when someone shouted, "this is unjust!" And then his face hardened. His eyes flashed. Arthur feared what his father might order next. He stepped closer to the king, taking Uther's attention once more onto himself.

"You must stop this!" he said. "These are your people. What you're doing won't solve anything!"

"Silence yourself, or you'll be removed, as well." Uther's gaze was flint. It sparked something foolish and rebellious inside of him.

But before he could do anything, Percival placed a careful hand at his elbow. Arthur turned wide eyes on the man. He wanted to fight, to scream, to pull out his sword and demand his father fight in single combat. But would he? How could he trust his father to agree to honorable terms when he acted like this? He shook his head and let Percival lead him one step, two, three, away, until he no longer stood blocking his father. He had to remember what it was all for. He couldn't let himself be caught up in righteous fury. His people needed him now more than ever. Merlin – Merlin needed him. He needed to keep his wits. What would Merlin be doing if he were there, standing beside Arthur now? He would be whispering for Arthur to calm down, to keep his head. He would be outright tugging on Arthur's arm, carefully keeping his gaze from Uther (and now Arthur knew why he did so, oh, yes), mumbling so quickly Arthur would hardly be able to piecemeal the words – stay low, calm down, we'll figure this out, I promise you, Arthur, just don't be your usual reckless, stupid, honorable self – and the only reason he wasn't there to act was because Arthur had to take care of this on his own. He had to be seen as standing for himself, not as a puppet.

If there was even a reason to act such a way now. There was no longer a question over who was being controlled or who was right or wrong. He looked out over Camelot, over his people, over women screaming and children crying and men shouting, and everything turning into hell. His throat locked tight at the sight. His kingdom. His people. His precious Camelot – this was what it was being reduced to. By a man he loved. How... how could his father be so broken? How could Camelot not fall, when pieced together by one such as he?

This was not something he could heal. This was not something he could fix.

Tears burned in his eyes, and he turned away before they could fall. His father's knights surrounded him. Percival eyed them all, but did not go for his sword. There would be no point.

Merlin had given up his secret for this man. Given up his life for this country. And Arthur had put everything into the hope that it could be healed.

He was escorted from the castle gates, back into the building. The knights didn't stop when he was out of view of the people, however, and continued to escort him down the halls toward his room. Kay and Leon quickly joined him, ignoring the looks of the men leading Arthur. "What do we do?" Leon asked.

Arthur didn't know. He didn't know that there was anything they could do. "Do what you can for the people. But keep yourselves safe and free. If you're locked up, as well, there will be no one to give relief after this..." He didn't know what word to use to describe what was happening. Disaster wasn't strong enough. Chaos took away blame. Finally he settled with, "situation," and felt like he should have gone with disaster, after all.

Kay and Leon nodded and left. No doubt they would do what they could, but Arthur doubted there would be any progress. What could they do when inaction alone brought a knight to the dungeons? They couldn't possibly stop Uther, and they couldn't prevent the march of the other knights. While Percival at least remained by Arthur's side, he couldn't help but feel that Gwaine was already either in the thick of it or being escorted by several armed knights down to the deepest cells in the prison. Really, it depended on how many makeshift weapons the man could find on a busy city street.

He indeed was led all the way to his room, but at least he wasn't locked inside or guarded. Just left there. A warning, then. He started pacing the instant his door was closed. Percival stood just before the entrance, watching Arthur solemnly. They both said nothing. There was nothing to be said. The echoes of the screams and shrieks of his people burned through his room. Helpless, all he could do was move to his window.

But unfortunately, it was worse than he'd feared. Some of the knights – Pellinor, Tunney, Cador, Pierce, Erec, Maris, Sagramore – stood against the waves of knights, protecting the citizens as they fled. And Arthur could only watch as his father ordered these very men to the prisons – his own men – to await exile or execution for treason. Tunney, Pierce, and Maris pulled out their swords. It became a battlefield, in which those three stood their ground as the others rounded the people together and sent them away. Arthur had no doubt the knights were ordering them all to flee Camelot altogether, and he hoped they did. Pierce was the first cut down by their own comrades, and Tunney and Maris were hard pressed to fill his spot. One knight got around them, then two. Three. Tunney fell to Limman's blade. Maris was quickly surrounded, and more knights surged from around the fallen barrier. The knights around Maris spoke. Arthur couldn't hope to hear anything above the sounds of the panicked crowd, but he could see Maris shouting at the men. He recognized righteous fury when he saw it, especially now, as it burned within his own breast. But then Maris dropped his sword, and the men surrounded him. They surrounded the others, as well, and after more conversations, these men untied their swords from their belts and allowed themselves to be taken in, as well. Arthur thought, for a moment, he saw Leon in the ring of knights.

His father watched it all. He did not move. He did not speak. He watched the chaos he'd created and showed nothing more than impassiveness. Arthur's hands clenched around the frame of his window. His father could not, would not, be healed. And if that was to be the case, then Camelot would fall.

It already was.

Arthur supposed it was because his father was too busy terrorizing the people that it took until past sundown for the man to get around to coming to speak with him, waving Percival out of the room. And though Arthur thought it a dangerous act, still he was warmed when Percival turned to him first, and waited until Arthur nodded before actually leaving. Honestly Arthur was mostly relieved Uther had decided to come see him before the next morning. He had nearly worn grooves into the wooden flooring, had stalked back and forth from his fireplace to his window and back, over and over, for hours. His food had gone cold at the table where one knight had dropped it off. Save the crackle of the fire in the hearth, no light shone in his room when his father pushed open the door and strode in. Arthur turned on him in an instant. "Father–"

"Silence."

Arthur was stunned into doing as ordered. His father would use such authority over him? So much authority that he stood as if to guard the door behind him, barring Arthur from freedom. And Arthur had let it happen. He'd let it happen all his life. He'd allowed himself to be silenced, to be used, to be manipulated by the man before him. The man whose life Merlin, a sorcerer, had saved at least once. A man who had so little honor that he would return such kindness with death, would block Merlin in with bricks in a tomb and leave him to slowly suffocate. A man who, when Arthur released Merlin, hunted and haunted him down, until he was forced from Arthur's side, from the very kingdom, in order to keep his life. A man who, when faced with opposition from his country's people, would sooner kill and imprison than allow anyone to disagree.

This was the man he'd followed. Emulated. Loved. The man he'd done anything for. Had led armies of child murderers for. Why? What had it all been for? For this one moment, where everything Arthur had trusted was lost to him? When everything he'd tried to save had fallen?

Merlin. What would Merlin say?

He would ramble on about destiny. About Arthur being a great king. That's what he would say.

Arthur straightened his shoulders. "I will not. Not until you set aside your pride and listen to reason."

"My pride?" Uther hissed, charging up to Arthur, until he nearly stood on Arthur's feet. Arthur lifted his chin and held his ground. "You do this all for the sake of some – some sorcerous harlot! You don't even try to fight his control, do you?"

"It's about time you accepted that you're wrong, father. Not just about me, or about Merlin. You're wrong about magic. Look at you!" he said, cutting his father off for once. His face twisted into something Arthur had only seen before when Morgana had confronted him. And it was here that he realized it was being confronted that Uther hated, more than Morgana overstepping her bounds or someone questioning his authority. She had dared to confront him over his bigotry, and his father hated being reminded of his own hypocrisy. "Look at what you've done! This is about Camelot, not us! The people have spoken. They demand a fair trial. All you're doing, you're doing to salvage nothing but your foolish pride!"

"Magic is evil!" Uther said, his voice rising in that same tone Arthur recognized from every day of his entire life. But Arthur knew Uther was wrong. Merlin did not deserve to be branded in such a way. No. He was seeing evil, and it was not of Merlin's making. No. Merlin, the loyal, stupid sod, had saved it. "You've fallen for such a – a man! Is it any surprise the people fall, as well?" He sliced the air with his hand, nearly hitting Arthur in the face. The slap would have brought more of shame than pain, but Arthur avoided it, nonetheless. "This has nothing to do with my pride! This little boy has begun the destruction of the entire nation, and you attempt to defend him!"

Suddenly, Arthur could see the signs of wear he'd missed on Uther's face before. The slight bags under his eyes, the new lines around his mouth. It stopped him when he would have continued forward. His father wasn't saying these things out of pride or fury. He said them because he believed them to be true. Merlin, in Uther's eyes, had corrupted his son, and through his son, his country. Just a couple of months ago, Arthur might have agreed. He would have doubted. But now the very thought of doubting Merlin shamed him.

"I understand your concerns, father," Arthur said, his voice calmer now. His father feared just as much for this country as Arthur did. But though his heart was in the right place, his mind was not. "Do you think I didn't share your concerns? Merlin has saved my life, and oftentimes, even more than that." Arthur did not try to touch his father. There was no room in him for such comfort. Not while his people quailed beneath their monarch. "Not once has he spoken in magic's defense. Or even his own. Father. I know you hate magic. I would be lying if I said I had felt differently. I saw it as evil, same as you. But it's not. It simply is, no more and no less. It's the man wielding it who makes the difference." Uther glared at Arthur, the words bouncing harmlessly off his ears. "So many men use the sword. How many of them use it for good? How many men are knighted compared to the number of brigands?"

Still, Uther, did not falter. Instead he turned his back on Arthur, as if dismissing him. As if Arthur had shown himself a disappointment. Too sentimental. Too weak.

Arthur clenched his fists. "You should have heard him, father. No," he said, taking it back. Remembering the day Merlin knelt on the dais brought back the rage, the feeling of betrayal. It made looking at his father's back difficult. He wanted to grab the man and force him to turn around, to make him face what his rage had brought him. "You did hear him. He stays for me. He could have killed you a thousand times over. How many opportunities has he had? How many times was he able to enter your rooms, or find you alone? Hell, if this was what he'd wanted, he could have simply let you die that day in the dining hall. The day you found out about him while he was saving your life." He didn't understand why his father couldn't see it. "He could have let you die, and all of this never would have happened. He could have me exactly where he wanted me. Why bother saving you?"

"To get exactly what he has right now!" Uther said, whirling on Arthur. He was as purple now as he'd been on the dais, and for a split second, Arthur feared for his health. "You, defending him!"

"He wouldn't need me to defend him if you were dead! I still wouldn't know about his magic, and he could have me on the throne, the both of us still lovers! I would have made him prince consort nonetheless, even without any magical enchantment! If he could have all that, why would he risk it all to save the man who wants him dead, who stands in the way of his supposed goals? You treat him like an enemy when he has been nothing but a friend to me!"

"And that!" Uther said, pointing imperiously at Arthur's nose. "He is a servant! Not a friend!"

"He is my fiancé!"

Perhaps it had been the exact wrong thing to say. Arthur couldn't tell. Uther certainly went silent at the pronouncement – a very bad sign. But all Arthur could think was that, though he'd hoped to try to reason with his father, the topic had once more degenerated to an argument about Merlin. Finally, Arthur stood back, scraping a hand through his hair. His people were even now tired, worn, hungry, cold, trapped in dungeons or in their own homes, terrified of their leader, and their country, and their futures. And Arthur was afraid, as well. Because he didn't know what to do anymore. Or if there was anything he could do. "I know this causes problems with the security of this nation's future. Not because of his skills, but because he is a man. I know this alone would be enough to keep him in shadow. I and he were both prepared for this." A small lie; Arthur had only kept it quiet only because he knew how his father would respond. In truth, he'd never considered being with anyone else. And every time he'd thought on his duties, he'd turned his mind from them, because to acknowledge them would mean to acknowledge that what he had with Merlin was, in the eyes of the country his father had founded, a sin. And even now, he had no intention of continuing that part of his father's regime, any more than he did the ideas on magic. When he turned king, Merlin would be by his side. Anything else, Arthur would not stand. He'd attempted to picture it, had attempted to think on a future where Merlin was his lover and Gwen his wife. He'd abused the name consort, acted as if it meant little more than concubine. He'd told himself it was necessary.

He'd nearly been sick.

"Merlin had prepared to hide his magic forever, as well. It was your actions that tore this charade into the light." Uther opened his mouth to protest. "Things were tense, but workable. You were the one who chose to tell the knights about his magic." Amazing, that he know longer tripped over the word. But he couldn't afford to trip on it here, in front of his father, who would take full advantage. And Merlin's abilities were not to be feared. "You were the one who sent him into danger, attempting to get him killed."

"How dare you blame me?!"

"Who else should I blame? Merlin? For loving me? For protecting you, and starting this whole mess in the act? Or myself, for growing into the kind of man who judges another's worth on their actions, and not on their circumstances? Or you again, for teaching me that a knight fights for honor?"

Uther's teeth ground together. "There is nothing honorable in what you're doing. You're destroying this city. This country. I hope you're happy."

Through habit alone, Arthur flinched. But still, he stood firm. "I stand by a man who has been nothing but loyal to me, and by the people who have chosen their path. They want Merlin's freedom. The people are what make this country, father, far more than you or I. You would ignore their wishes?"

"I have told you before. The people cannot always be trusted with their own lives. They do not know their best interests. They know only what they want. Not what they need."

This was the tone Uther used when he calmly gave orders. When he spoke slightly down to Arthur, as if Arthur was still a child. As if there was still so much Arthur needed to learn before he became king. The tone always made Arthur feel small, and foolish, and unlearned. His father had fought this land free from sorcerers and sorceresses, and the fields of battle he'd stood on had been so enormous compared to those Arthur had faced. What did he know of decisions that would affect the entire world?

He closed his eyes. Of course, as always, as every waking hour, even more so as he went days, weeks, without him there, his nights cold and lonely, only his hand to keep him company, the first image that came to him was one of Merlin. The constant ache at his right side grew more pronounced, as if the memory of him rented the rift of his loss a bit wider. The idiot would let himself be killed if he thought it best for Arthur. For Camelot. And if Arthur stopped, if he fell silent, that was exactly what would happen. Even if Merlin kept his promise to stay alive as best he could, even he had his limits. Arthur had seen just how defenseless a sorcerer – especially Merlin – could be. Even discounting who Merlin was, just how many sorcerers had been put to the pyre? How many sorcerer's heads had rolled from the dais? They were not immortal or all-powerful.

If Arthur hesitated, Merlin would die. His heart thundered in his chest at the very thought. How had his country become so torn with hate? Yes, sorcerers had once ruled this land, but there had been despots before. Not every man was to blame for the sins of the few, or even the many.

But this wasn't even about just Merlin. Not anymore. It wasn't even solely about those with magic. It was about all his people. His father had shown just what he'd been willing to do to keep the country as he desired. He cared for the people, but he thought of them all as toddlers, children, without minds of their own. He thought them incapable of making their own decisions. So he decided for them. And when they fought back, he treated it as a temper tantrum, and acted as if a beating would teach the child to fall in line.

They were not children. They were not mindless. And Uther was wrong.

Arthur straightened his shoulders and faced down his father. "Nonetheless, they have spoken. They recognize that the cycle of hate must end. And if you won't end it, father, I will." He took a deep breath. "The only one stopping this from coming to a swift, peaceful end is you."

"You." Uther jutted his finger in Arthur's face. "You will not leave this room. You will stay here until I can find some way to unchain you from this..." Uther looked him up and down and curled his lip. "Mess you've gotten yourself into."

Arthur didn't bother to respond. Not anymore. It was over. Everything he'd done, everything he'd tried to accomplish. It was all over. His father could not be saved.

He had to focus now on what he could save. He returned to the window.

Arthur did not go to sleep that night. He looked down on Camelot to see all lights were out. Even the knights were on a skeleton crew, with many of its members chained below. The lights by which the guards stood were low, and there was absolutely no movement within the city. No doubt by now the king had ordered proclamations, demands for the people to return to work or face... well, at the very least, imprisonment. When the dawn arrived, the people would come to the castle cowed, heads down, lips sealed. Uther would have won.

But no. Not for long. Or not for forever, at least. Though it would be quiet, the people would rise up. They would riot and rebel. But they would react violently next time. They would wait, and they would strike. Uther had shown himself not just an enemy to sorcerers, but an enemy to the people. While some might lie to themselves and think he'd done it to protect them – might choose to believe him rather than face the danger they lived in every minute of every day – many more would not forget.

But what would happen in the meantime? What would become of Camelot? How many other countries would see the weakness in the people and strike? How many would insert members of their armies, their spies, their own networks, into the fabric of the rebellion? Where would they lead the desperate, fearful, angry masses? For certain, Arthur would be killed along with his father. Camelot would be divided, or perhaps integrated into another country. Perhaps that wouldn't be so bad, but if it was Cenred's country – Cenred, who stole from his people and cared not at all for the welfare of his border towns? Or Lot, who was known to take and take until his people were destitute? Arthur could not let his people suffer from the hands of other leaders any more than he could allow them to continue suffering under the hands of his father.

But what could he do? He was one man, and he was trapped. He may have been in his room, but it was just a prettier cell than the others.

Somehow he was unsurprised to find someone talking outside his chambers in the middle of the night. He moved to his door and opened it before the building argument could cause enough of a commotion for Uther to find out. "Morgana."

She huffed at the guard standing watch outside Arthur's rooms and swung inside. Arthur closed the door behind her. "Arthur, just what is going on? Uther's gone mad, and you're up here – tell me you have a plan."

He just stared at her. Even then, he didn't know if she was his enemy or not. What had she come for? What did she want?

She took his silence for an answer to her question and gave a noisy gust of exasperation. "Really, Arthur! All this, taking everything this far, and you didn't make a single contingency plan? You must have suspected Uther wouldn't change his mind."

Arthur watched as she walked further into his room, glancing upon Arthur's table, his clothes – strewn about the room in a ridiculous attempt to get the feeling of Merlin back into the room – and his bed, the sheets untouched, unrumpled. Then she finally turned back to him. With her hair like a dark curtain around her face, her face fell into deep shadows, even with the fire flickering against her hair. He wondered if she was there to kill him, to manipulate him, to enchant him. Or had she come – and he couldn't help but hope for this, even after the revelations he'd received about Uther that day, or perhaps specifically because of them – to help?

"Arthur, listen to me." And Morgana came to stand before him, just as Uther had. And once more, Arthur stood his ground. "I know you think you can make everything better. You're an idealist, and most times, it's only slightly annoying." Arthur managed a short quirk of his lips at that. But Morgana's smile was a bit too wide, a bit too fake, and he knew where this was going. He didn't want to hear it. "But even you have to admit that this is how it's going to end. Uther is too full of hate. He won't back down. And look what's happened to Camelot because of it." She made a sweeping gesture toward his windows, past them. To the ground below, and the people huddled in their homes. "You have to understand."

"I do." Morgana's grin widened. "But I can't do as you hope, Morgana." It fell immediately into a scowl. "If I kill him, what then? It will only continue the cycle of fear." Another epiphany, and he wished he wasn't having it just then. He thought of when he'd been willing to kill his father, when he'd first seen the hypocrisy and hate and festering arrogance in his father, and had been willing to wipe it all out. And Merlin – Merlin alone – had stopped him. "Merlin had understood it then. Or, well, that may be giving him too much credit. But–"

"Merlin again!" And Morgana twisted away from him and stomped to the fireplace. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor as she did. "You keep blathering on about him – do you really care about Camelot, Arthur? Or are you really just interested in him?"

It should have been a fair question. Honestly, it was. He'd worried about that himself. But somehow her tone, her look, all spoke of how she'd already come to a decision, and she'd decided what his reasons were. And worse, she'd decided he was merely acting selfishly. He didn't know if he would have ever acted this way if he'd never found out about Merlin's magic. He couldn't say how he would have reacted to magic when he'd become king. He didn't know. All he knew was how he was acting now, how he thought now. And yes, it was Merlin who had instigated the change. But when did someone ever change in a vacuum? And yes, so he changed mostly for and because of Merlin. But didn't everyone always change when with someone they loved? It wasn't as if this was the first time Merlin had altered him so completely. From the moment they'd met, Arthur had been pulled into Merlin's orbit. Not because of magic, but because of who Merlin was. Who out there had met Merlin and not undergone some personal transformation?

But simply because Merlin had instigated this change in him, and simply because Merlin was the man he loved, didn't mean that he was throwing his entire country into chaos simply for him. Arthur loved Merlin. It was a heady, terrifying, nearly painful thing, but it was true. But just because he loved Merlin didn't mean he didn't love his country. And Arthur truly believed that, though Merlin loved Arthur, the idiot also loved Camelot, too.

It wasn't just Merlin Arthur was trying to save. As always, Merlin was just the start. Merlin was the one who saw the honor in Arthur, who saw his goodness. Arthur was merely acting on all those things Merlin had seen in him, the parts of him that existed beneath the cruelty his father had taught him. (And how horrible was it, how painful, to realize that who he'd been had been as spiteful and needlessly vindictive as his father was now – he remembered sharply how he and Merlin had met, and he saw within that old him something that could have given rise to the next Uther Pendragon.) It may have been started by Merlin, but this would end for everyone. Arthur was not a perfect man. But he could strive to get close.

"Camelot is more than me. It's more than Merlin, or father, or you. My people have been huddled up, waiting, starving, seething in place. They are dead while they live. They hate without cause, because it's easier to think there's something wrong with sorcery than it is to think they are being ruled by... by such hate. And now, as they try to break free..." Arthur covered his mouth. Morgana was not merely his friend, his near-sister. She was also his enemy, and he couldn't let himself forget it. "You know very well that, no matter how much I may love, I will put Camelot first."

"Then let Merlin go." Morgana turned and strode back to him. She grasped his hands. "He's not what you think. I told you, Arthur – he even admitted it to you. He's darkness. I know you want to think the best of him. So would I. But there's no best left in him. He lied to you. Poisoned me. It's for his sake that this has gone so fast. Too fast, maybe. It's his fault Uther even found out about him, isn't it? It's his fault Uther thinks you're a victim of enchantment, and that you're actually considering marrying him – it's his fault Uther's alive to cause all this chaos–"

"That's enough, Morgana." And despite himself, he pulled his hands away and clamped them on her shoulders. Her eyes went wide, but he thought he saw something flicker in them. Something golden. "Right there. Stop. He's king, Morgana. And killing him will only make things worse." She wrenched herself from his grip and moved to the door. "If you kill him, all you'll be doing is replacing one tyrant with another. The people will still be afraid. They'll only agree to keep themselves safe."

She grabbed the door and glared at him. "But they would agree, and the fighting would be over. I should have known, Arthur. You've never had a mind of your own."

She slammed the door on her way out, and Arthur collapsed into his chair. He'd done what he could. He knew that. And yet he still felt like a failure. He looked over all the conversations he'd had with her since she returned – looked over all the times he perhaps should have spoken with her, and hadn't. Was there anything he could have done differently? Would telling her the truth about what he knew, the extent of it, changed anything? Or would this ending have arrived even faster?

"Oh, Merlin," he sighed, letting his head fall into his hands, "how did you do it?"

While his meals were brought to him by a meek serving woman, she and he were both watched by the guard at his door, and not once did she try to speak to him. While he was guarded and watched by many of his father's men, not once was he allowed a visit from Leopold, or Leon, or Kay. Two days after the riot, word finally reached him – not through anyone trying, but through Arthur leaning against his door for hours and listening in to the muted voices beyond its thick frame – that the knights who had helped his people, along with the leaders of the "rebels," had all been exiled. Arthur took it as a small mercy that none had been killed.

He could do nothing but pace, and seethe, and rage. Neither Uther nor Morgana sought him out, and all he could do was wonder what they both planned. His father would be attempting to get the country reasserted under his control. He would send more men, if the first hadn't taken care of Merlin already. He wondered if his father would demand merely an assassination or if he would want something more. Something worse. Torture? Arthur shuddered. A tiny part of him hoped that, if it all came to that, Merlin had already been killed. The larger – far, far larger – part of him hoped Merlin stayed safe.

And Morgana? What would she have planned, now that she'd chosen to turn away from him? What would she do? He couldn't think this all was happening through her alone. No. She'd nearly listened to him before. In the hours and hours he'd had to do nothing but pace and think, he'd come to realize Morgana had doubted. He'd gotten close. But she'd turned to someone else, and that someone else had pulled her doubt from her, had twisted things back until Arthur was just as much an enemy as Merlin. And who else would she be close to but the person Merlin had warned Arthur about? The person who had taken her away after Merlin had poisoned her, the one who had come after Merlin and himself just days before Morgana's fortuitous return. Morgause.

Morgana would have something planned, likely concocted either by Morgause or by the two of them together. It would not be something that aligned with Arthur's wants, nor with Merlin's sense of honor. It would not align with what was beneficial for Camelot. No. He already knew what one part of it would be – the destruction of Camelot. The murder of King Uther. She'd as much as admitted to it.

It wouldn't solve anything. The people would still fear. They would see nothing more than a replacement for the old regime. Arthur wanted people to see sorcerers as equal to everyone, not as usurpers or favorites of the throne. He didn't want the people to see him as a tyrant, the kind who took over a kingdom just to change it to what he wanted. The people would see that as no better. They needed to think they were changing it themselves, that their choices affected the kingdom more so than even the king. They were the ones who decided what was right for Camelot. If Morgana killed Uther, no matter how she went about it, everything would have been for nothing.

He could, if he so desired, slip out of his room. He'd been left enough opportunities since he'd been locked away. The guards may watch him whenever a servant entered, but otherwise they left him alone within. But he knew why. Even if he managed to slip out of his window without Merlin's magic, what then? Where would he go? What would he do? He had to stay for his people, for them to know they weren't alone. Of course, his situation was only making them cower even more. If their very prince was being treated so poorly, what did that say for them?

He covered his face, even as he continued to pace. If Merlin was with him, he would be sitting in the corner, polishing Arthur's armor for the millionth time, watching Arthur go back and forth with a look that said he was getting dizzy but wouldn't tell Arthur to stop. The tension in Arthur would bleed into Merlin. They would be silent now, but soon, Arthur would start ranting and raving to Merlin, and in doing so could bounce ideas off a soundless, critique-less sounding board, and maybe, just maybe, he would be able to come up with something that didn't sound... treasonous.

He could go to his father. Talking did nothing anymore; all he would be able to do was... demand the right for the throne through combat. It would be far too much like what Morgana had planned, and would show Arthur violent in his dealings with those who disagreed with him.

He could go to Morgana. Throw his knowledge of her crimes and secrets into her face. She would turn fully from him, if she hadn't already. She would likely attack him, or have him escorted away. She would escape. If she didn't escape – did he have it in him to kill her? He shied away from the very thought. She was his sister, even without blood to link them together. She had been his closest confidante before Merlin; he'd relied on her to give him good advice, to be righteous and strong and just. How could he kill her, knowing she had felt even more trapped than he at this moment? Knowing that she had felt the terror Merlin had, waiting for the moment when Uther would find out? Knowing how Uther had reacted, was reacting, to Merlin's magic – there was little doubt in Arthur's mind that Uther would not have been more forgiving merely because Morgana was Uther's favorite. His ward.

He stopped in front of the fireplace and gripped the mantle until his knuckles turned white. At the very least, she would have faced exile. How terrifying to be sentenced to death merely for existing. And he hadn't even been aware of it. He'd let himself be blind. How many innocents had he himself...

He took a deep breath. Too often he'd let his mind slip down such paths. It wouldn't do him any good to fear what he'd done, or what he'd become. The only thing he could control from this moment forward was what he did now.

If he tried to leave, his people would think he was abandoning them. That wasn't an option. But he wished he could head toward the people, tell them to stay strong, that there was hope... but he couldn't give such false sentiments without a plan. But what could he do? Demanding his father step down wouldn't work. He already feared his father's responses. He no longer thought he was immune to the worst of his father's rage. And even if he didn't get worse than, say, another stay in the prisons below, what about Merlin?

The itch to act grew. Merlin was doubtless under attack, even as he stood uselessly in his room, trying to come up with a way to save his father and his kingdom both.

What if it wasn't possible? What if, like Merlin, he had to choose between two things he dearly loved? Could he do it? Could he take his father out of the picture? But how? Any mysterious death or disappearance would be looked on as his fault, and he would be even more feared by his people. A king who didn't do open battle, but instead slunk around poisoning people? Capturing them? Taking them away like spirits? He hung his head. The heat from the hearth's fire burned against his skin.

What, then? He couldn't abandon his people. Especially not now – not to this.

There had to be a way to get his father from the throne and not destroy his country at the same time. He just needed to think.

The problem was that the king's word was final. He was the ruler, the judge, the executioner. He was Law and Providence. Any attempt to take him from his throne – even the very thought of doing so – was considered treason. Arthur rubbed his face. He hadn't wanted to take the kingdom from his father. He'd wanted his father to acquiesce to the people, to do what was right.

He couldn't help but remember what he'd been shown by Morgause. Yes, the woman was an enemy, and had tried to kill him. That didn't mean that what she'd shown him had been a lie. Merlin had admitted to doing horrible things. Wasn't it possible that he'd lied about Arthur's mother, as well? Perhaps what he'd been shown – who he'd seen, and spoken with – had truly been his mother. If Merlin were there, he'd have words with him over it. But he wasn't, and all Arthur could do was wonder why. Why would Merlin lie about it, when Arthur killing Uther would have taken care of all his problems? But it was a stupid question. Look at him now. Even with his people in danger – even with Merlin in danger – he still couldn't bring himself to do it. His father was against magic, but he was still king. He was still his father. And he was still the man who had saved Camelot.

He didn't want to kill his father. Camelot would crumble to it. And so would he. And doubtless, Merlin had seen that, all of it, far before Arthur had.

Of course, there was the chance that Merlin had been telling the truth. (It wasn't much of a chance, however.) It likely was; what else could explain the level of hate Uther directed to those with magic? To magic of all kinds. Even when it was used to save Arthur, to save Uther himself, it could be nothing but evil. If Uther blamed magic for Igraine's death instead of taking responsibility for his own decisions, then of course he could never afford to allow doubt to spread. Not in others, and certainly not in himself. He would stamp out any hint of such ideas, because anything else would mean to face up to what he'd done – kill his wife. Arthur's mother.

He took a deep breath. Yes, he was going to have several words with Merlin over that one.

Merlin, of all people, had chosen to keep Uther alive. He'd chosen a dangerous life in order to save Arthur's heart. The stones of the mantle scraped slightly against his fingertips. The fire was too hot against his skin now, but he didn't yet move. What would Merlin say now?

"Don't, Arthur. He's your father."

But Merlin's first and, frighteningly, only concern was Arthur. Everything came second to him. And Arthur felt terrified of it, and guilty, because Camelot would always be his first love.

He couldn't listen to what Merlin would say. Not in this instance.

But he couldn't kill Uther. Not and have any chance of keeping Camelot cohesive and secure.

Someone knocked on the door, and he jumped as he realized he'd been pacing and brainstorming the entire day. He lifted his head as the door opened to admit the serving woman. He nearly jumped when Gwen walked in. "Sire," she said, curtseying before him. He quickly closed his mouth before the guards realized he was gaping and waved her in. The guards kept the door open as she made her way to the table and dropped the tray of food she carried.

How was this possible? She was supposed to be with Merlin. When had she come back? How? Why? He wanted desperately to ask after Merlin's well-being, but with the guards listening in, he didn't dare.

But how had she gotten access to his chambers? Surely his father would recognize her, after Arthur's... announcement about her. But of course, his father likely wasn't scanning all the returning servants. So long as the guards watching Arthur ensured that none of the servants were showing too much loyalty to Arthur, or attempting to rescue him, or plan with him, what had Uther to fear? And to the guards, just as they had once been to Arthur himself, the servants were all the same. Formless, nameless.

Arthur attempted aplomb, though he wasn't certain how well he succeeded in the act. He stared at Gwenivere as she tidied the table slightly, then as she moved to make the bed. One of the guards cleared his throat, and Gwen sent him a short half-frightened, half defiant look. Apparently the sound had only been a warning, because the guard let Gwen continue her work. Arthur moved only slightly as she pulled the sheets loose, then moved to stoke the fire. He leaned against the edge of the mantle, eying the food, then the guards, until finally he heard her murmur, "Merlin sends his regards."

He had to fight to keep himself from slumping in relief. However long it had been since she'd left Merlin's side, the last she'd known, he was still safe. Arthur doubted that would continue to be true, but for now, at least he knew the first men Uther had sent had failed.

Of course he still had a million questions, but Gwen stood and picked up the sheets as if to leave. Arthur was forced to move to the table or else risk raising the guards' suspicions.

Gwen stopped just in front of him and bowed her head slightly. "Is there anything else, sire?"

Arthur wanted to try to send her to Leon, or to Kay, to have her report to them; he could then find them all later. It would keep her out of danger, and he would obtain whatever information had driven her to return to Camelot and seek him out. But he didn't even know if Leon or Kay were still in Camelot, or if they'd been exiled with the rest. And he couldn't ask her any questions without getting Gwen in trouble, as well. His lips thinned. "No, thank you. That will be all."

A farce of a command, seeing as he had no control over who entered his room and who didn't, but Gwen still curtseyed as well as she could with the sheets in her hands and left. The only solace he had was knowing that someone would have to return to put new sheets on, and that Gwen would likely be the one to do it.

He was unsurprised when, shortly after he finished his meal, Gwen returned, fresh linens in hand, and proceeded to do up the bedding. He wondered how long it would take for them to be able to have a conversation, and if they had that kind of time.

Then Gwen came to the table, picked up the tray, moved to the door – and slammed it in the guards' faces.

Arthur shoved his chair back and stood. He hurried to the door, as well, and shoved back on it before the guards could open it. "Gwen?"

"He's coming back," Gwen said. She stared at him with wide eyes, as if surprised by her own actions. "He's coming back. We heard about the riot, and the martial regime. Merlin got furious. He's coming back. He said he was sure something would have happened to you, because you would have tried to stop all this–" he feared what 'all this' might entail "–and he's coming back. He wouldn't listen to us, no matter what we said. I came here early to try to warn you."

That idiot!

If Arthur hadn't been busy keeping the pounding knights from barging into his room, he would have grabbed Gwen up and yelled impotently. As it was, he had to settle with gritting his teeth and using his anger to keep the guards at bay. "What else?" he managed. Because there always had to be something more.

Gwen chewed on her bottom lip. The knights shouted for others to come help with the door. "I saw Morgana again, on my way in. It was late, and I was going to say hello, but she... she seemed off. And she headed into the forest. She's back?"

"Yes and no," Arthur said, his suspicions officially confirmed. And if she was heading off late at night, that meant she was planning something, if she hadn't already begun it. Camelot was going to crumble, and he would just be standing like a fool in his room as it crashed around him. "Get out of here, Gwen. Find Merlin. Tell him to stay out. If he got involved now – if he showed up now, of all times – whatever happens, whatever I must do, I must do it alone."

Gwen frowned. "Arthur, that's not even acceptable to me. I can tell you exactly how Merlin would respond to that."

Yes. He knew. "Then say whatever you have to. Things are going to – to get bad soon. Very bad. Very soon. He can't be here. The people know him as a sorcerer. If he..."

"Arthur." And despite the guards shoving against the door and shouting back and forth along the hall, despite Arthur pressed tight against their push, she strode forward and cupped his cheek. "You're going about this all wrong. You know that, right? You and Merlin are an entity together. You have always fought all your enemies with him by your side. Why should you separate yourself from him now, simply because he wears another label? The two of you need to show a united front. Now, of all times, Merlin needs to be seen standing by your side. And you know he will. Whatever your decision."

"That's what worries me," he said before he could stop himself. Gwen always managed to wriggle those little gems from his lips. At Gwen's little furrowed frown, he said, "Merlin always puts me first."

Understanding lit those dark chocolate eyes, and she smiled. She backed away and opened the window, though she made no move to commit suicide by trying to escape through it. "Then just make sure he's standing by a good man."

Arthur clenched his eyes shut. The door thrummed and shook beneath his hands and shoulder. "Hide!" he hissed, but Gwen was already squeezing herself into his cupboard.

Arthur let the door go after she'd managed to settle herself. It slammed open under the weight of several guards, who almost fell one on top of the other into his room. Those who managed to maintain their balance held their swords aloft.

Arthur turned his head just slightly to the window, as if wanting to check on something but not wanting the men to see. Of course three of them hurried to its edge and peered beyond. "Where is she?" another asked, daring to stand before Arthur as if to intimidate him.

Arthur raised his head and glared down at the man. He remembered when the bearded fool had been little more than a washed-up soldier warming up recruits. Arthur had been the one to hammer Corterie back into physical shape. Too bad he hadn't managed to hammer out those antiquated beliefs of unearned self-importance. Sometimes Arthur wondered where the nobility's nobility had gone. "You will stand down," he said, using all of his authority. The man at least looked cowed for a short instant; he recognized Arthur's position as his commander instinctively, even with things as they were. But his back hardened an instant later.

"We're not to take orders from you. Your words are not your own."

For the love of... Arthur turned, barely keeping his temper long enough to continue playing the game. He scowled at the men by the window. "Get away from that!"

It was enough. The rest of the guards, who had been inching slowly behind Corterie, turned almost as one to the window. Arthur pulled his lips back to conceal the grin. He moved to stop them, only to have Corterie grab his arm. "Stand down, highness. We are authorized to attack you if we feel it necessary."

Arthur restrained himself, barely, from punching the man in the face. Once again, he was thankful Merlin wasn't there. Corterie and his men would have already attacked him. But then Arthur remembered that Merlin was on his way, and the fury beat against his skin, shivering and sparking as he feared what Merlin's return would mean. Uther. The remaining knights. Morgana. Merlin would be surrounded by enemies on all sides. And while those same enemies at least hesitated at the thought of attacking Arthur, they all nearly chomped at the bit for a chance to hurt Merlin.

"The sorceress has escaped," one of the men by the window said. "We can't see her."

"Send out patrols," Corterie ordered. Arthur wondered if he was the one in charge now that the rest of Arthur's loyal knights had been chased out of Camelot. Or had he merely taken such a position because he'd been with Uther the longest, and was assuredly loyal? "Don't let her escape. You three," and he pointed to those by the window. "Guard the prince. Do not let him out of your sight."

Arthur frowned. With Gwen still in the room, that could cause several problems rather quickly.

He bristled as the guards stood beside him, obviously attempting to look him over for weapons without actually touching or getting close enough to cause the prince offense. He glared one of them away, but the other two stood their ground. Corterie and the rest left, leaving the door open behind them. Arthur strode to it and slammed it shut. He left one hand on the smooth wood and considered his options.

In making it look as if she'd jumped, Gwen had made herself seem to be a sorceress. As such, she would be hunted down, to the ends of the country, and brought in for execution. Her life was now just as much in the balance as Merlin's. And she was trapped in his cupboard, squeezed into such a tiny space in order to hide from the men who by all accounts should have been the country's protectors. And unlike Merlin, she did not actually have magic to protect her.

He glared at the men behind him. One – the one who had quailed under Arthur's stare – was making a pass around the room. He barely kept himself from tensing and giving Gwen away. The other two stood looking either at Arthur, their eyes narrowed as if expecting him to suddenly go mad and attack them (and while he intended to do one, he certainly didn't intend the other), or at the window, as if Gwen was about to leap over the edge and start throwing fireballs at the lot of them.

He flicked a quick, wide-eyed glace at the window, and both men turned on cue. He grabbed the sword from Corterie and smashed it on the back of his skull. The other – Caradoc – turned to Arthur with a gaping jaw. Arthur swung the blade, twisting it to its flat side before slamming it into Caradoc's side. With a grunt, Caradoc absorbed the attack. Arthur leaned forward and pushed the man to the ground.

Paol gaped at Arthur as if he'd... well, as if he'd gone mad. Arthur drew himself to his full stature.. Paol was young, only a year or so older than Arthur, and had needed his hero worship beaten out of him at the start of training. Arthur still remembered the look of adoration on the young man's face. He bent down and punched Caradoc once, hard, in the face. Once he was certain the man was unconscious, he turned to Paol.

The blond lifted his sword. "Stop," he said, but there was no heat in his voice. When Arthur stepped forward, Paol stiffened. "Stop. I'm authorized to attack you. Sir! Stop! Don't you understand what that means?"

"It means you have a very difficult decision to make now, Paol," Arthur said. He saw, from the corner of his eye, the cupboard door slip slightly open. What in the world was Gwenivere doing? "You have to decide what you do. Attack me? Fight?" He didn't list 'call for help,' afraid the man might actually take his advice. "Perhaps you'll get lucky and take me down. And then what? Tell Uther how you've vanquished his son? Tell the country how you saved it from its prince?" The cupboard door opened completely, and one thin leg stretched out.

Paol opened his mouth to respond, but Arthur just got into his space. With barely a flick, he batted Paol's sword away. It clattered to the floor.

Somehow, the noise seemed to mobilize Paol. He jerked back as if stabbed, then reared his fist back for a punch. Arthur dodged it, then its cousin. He carefully kept his sword arm to his side; his instinct in battle was to use his weapon. But he had no intention of doing permanent harm to these men. Not if he could help it.

He grimaced at the knowledge that he likely wouldn't be able to prevent it. Not for long.

Paol's face contorted. "Just stop fighting, sire. I don't want to hurt you!"

Damn his father for this! Arthur clenched his free hand and jammed it into Paol's solar plexus. The man bowled over with a wheezed huff, clutching his stomach. Before Arthur could do more, the tray Gwen had brought in banged against the back of Paol's head. He crumpled to the floor, perpendicular to Caradoc and Corterie. Her eyes were, if possible, even wider than before. She stared at Arthur wordlessly.

"Come on," he said, hardly thinking it all through, but knowing Gwen needed to be taken to safety. The door was already opening when he led Gwen back to it, and he once more slammed the pommel of his stolen sword into a knight's face. One unfortunate knight toppled back beneath the man. The remaining three knights guarding his door shouted in surprise.

He bared his teeth at them all. Yes, he could perchance take them all, but with Gwen to protect and reinforcements only a shout away, it would be foolish to try. "Run!" he said, and Gwen raced through the door, shoving past the knight struggling beneath his unconscious friend. Arthur brandished his sword at the knights. They hesitated, and it was enough to get Arthur past his room and into the corridor. He ran, and this time the men shouted in anger. He heard their footsteps pound up behind them.

He managed to lead Gwen about ten steps before they ran into Uther.

He halted in his tracks, Gwen right behind him. He heard her gasp in a breath at the sight of the king. Uther didn't so much as glare down at him as if he were a misbehaving child, nor did he stare at him in any sort of surprise. His eyes were those of a beast's, wild and untamed, his lips pulled back in a snarl. In his hands was his own sword, but while Arthur's still sat dormant at his side, Uther's was raised to strike.

"I knew it," Uther said. His voice was even more guttural than usual, almost hoarse. His irises were milky. The sight of them gave Arthur pause. "I knew you would fall. Weak, trusting, foolish, stupid son of mine, taken in by that... that..." Uther's voice wobbled, then rose. "Letting him take you!"

The clearly dirty meaning made Arthur blanch. In fact, he never had let Merlin take him, because it would look bad – a million times worse even than being caught with one's male servant in the bed. But it was true that he'd imagined it, that he would likely love it, and it was Merlin, and his private sex life, and his father, and they were in public. The knights' running stopped nearly in a collision behind Arthur, and he grabbed Gwen's wrist and pulled her slightly closer.

His father watched, eyes narrowed, the pupils stark against the unnatural lightness of his irises.

"Another." Lower, an even deeper pitch than before. His voice cracked on it. "You cannot be saved. You're lost to me." That gaze pulled down at the edges, as if weighted by something heavier than the world. Those thin lips firmed. "I will not let magic have you, too." He brandished his sword. Arthur took a short step back.

"Father, don't." But he brought his own sword up, because it was clear Uther would not back down. He wondered if this was how Uther had felt when Arthur had attacked him in a rage. The very rage he'd been questioning recently. The rage that might have been justified. But this rage – his father's – didn't feel justified at all. It felt wrong. Both because his father seemed ready to attack him for something he was not, in a rage toward something intangible – magic – and not for anything Arthur may or may not have done, and because his eyes were off. Uther swung, hard and from the right, and Arthur was forced to block the strike. The power of it rang up his arm. His father was not holding back.

"You trail after that man's flesh like you're called to a siren!" Another hard swing, and Arthur had to back up a half-step. Gwen hustled out from behind him, even though it left her vulnerable to the knights. Surprisingly, they did not move to her. They did not move at all. "He speaks to you, and you lay your kingdom to waste!"

Arthur blocked another strike, more prepared this time. He saw an opening in Uther's right flank, but didn't strike. "You're the one silencing your own people! Putting them under a tyrannical rule! And for what? For the fear that Merlin might once more save your life with his magic?"

"Listen to you!" And now Uther fought in earnest, sweeping the length of his sword along Arthur's until the sound of the metal resembled hissing. When he suddenly pushed, Arthur was ready for it. Uther snarled. "A demon has taken you from me." And actual tears burned Uther's eyes. Arthur had never seen him so weak, especially in the middle of a battle. It made him hesitate when Uther once more thrust his sword. He barely managed to dodge the strike, and Uther pressed the advantage, shoving Arthur back with one shoulder and swiping across as if to eviscerate his own son with his sword. Arthur had to twist his arm, elbow nearly to the ceiling, to block the strike in time. "Your blood is just as tainted now, isn't it? Filled with his seed as you are."

Arthur blushed, horrified that his father would actually say such a thing. He had to back away completely in order to get himself under control. Uther watched his retreat with glittering eyes. A fury he hadn't thought he could possess rose up within him. Not only did his father speak such things in public, not only did he imply his own son incapable, monstrous, whorish, but he did it all while treating Merlin like an incubus. A demon of lust, tempting Arthur away from his duty. The very idea filled him with a deep, warm anger. The instant after his cheeks flushed from shame, they filled again with outrage.

"How dare you." He stepped forward, sword out, prepared to parry. To counterstrike. "How dare you speak of me, of my consort, of your kingdom this way. The only one unable to see the truth, to bend to reason, is you." He swung hard. He barely heard Gwen's gasp before his sword clanged against his father's. From the downward arc he swung quickly once more, this time aiming at Uther's shoulder. Uther blocked again, but he had to give ground to Arthur's strength. "Your people want a fair trial. They want a man to be judged by his own actions, not the actions of others. You're the one finding fault with a man for no other reason but that he exists!"

"Exists?!" The roar nearly sounded inhuman; the irises of Uther's gaze could hardly be discerned from the sclera. "He is a monster, a beast who chose a human form. And he devoured you. I blame myself," Uther said, even as he beat against Arthur's sword, forcing him to give ground or else fall to the hammer blows that ricocheted up his arm, "for putting you in his path. I gave him access to you. I let what I thought was your frivolity continue. And for that, I am sorry." Arthur barely managed to block the next attack; it was so rare for Uther to offer apologies; even rarer for him to give them to his son, or in public. He believed a king had to be seen as strong, as perfect, at all times. Arthur winced as he blocked the next strike. He has to end this soon, or else he wouldn't be able to keep his father from harming him. But to strike the man – his father, his king – something shivered inside him at the thought. A foreshadowing of the weight his sword would take if he carried his father's corpse on it.

Yes, he decided in that instant before his father swung once more. Everything his mother had said that day had been true, and Merlin, in order to save Arthur from this weight, had lied.

So many lies. And yet, in this instant, he could not hate them. Because in lying, Merlin had been right.

"Don't be sorry," Arthur gritted. "If not for Merlin, you and I would both be dead. And I would never have seen this infection in Camelot." And they might never have made it past their initial disharmony. They might never have become what they were. Arthur deliberately struck so that Uther could block, then shoved with all his strength. While his father had managed little in his own attempt, Arthur forced Uther back. His father barely kept his feet, and Arthur pressed the advantage; he rushed forward and swung again, slowing slightly when his father nearly didn't block in time. Still, the blow was enough to make Uther's balance fail. He fell to the ground.

The anger in Arthur did not abate, but he held his sword back. Merlin had told Arthur that the vision of his mother had been a trick, used by Morgause to force Arthur to kill. The shame, the horror, was still a visceral memory, even now that he knew his mother had said nothing but the truth. And Arthur remembered, in the privacy of his rooms, telling Merlin that he'd learned magic to be nothing but evil. He remembered the tears he'd thought Merlin had nearly shed were for relief or fear of what he'd nearly done. He remembered hating Merlin for not telling him of his magic. All of it brought shame, and guilt, and an impotent fury that had nowhere to go inside him. His mind was blank of thoughts, save the desire to know the truth, all of it, and to find within himself the selflessness Merlin had, and to set things right. "You know nothing of honor," Arthur said, watching his father scramble to his feet. "You act for yourself. You demand the world conform to you. Those who save you, you toss aside. Those who are loyal to you, you test until they break. You demand Camelot be like a map to be drawn, and ignore the people who live within its borders. You kill. You control. You destroy." His father stood straight again, and pulled up his sword. His arm trembled slightly under the strain. "And now you try to kill me? Your own son? Just how far into this mire of hate will you fall?"

But this time Uther did not respond at all. There was nothing to his eyes but the deep pinpoints of black amongst the white. A monochrome, nearly monstrous in its lack. When Uther pulled back his lips, something inhuman growled out behind his teeth.

Morgana, Arthur thought, and sucked in a breath. Hadn't Gwenivere told him she'd gone out in the middle of the night? She might have had plenty of time to get to Uther. And if she had, and this was her doing? Was there any way to prove his father not of sound mind, or to stop him? Was there a way to fix it?

If only, Arthur thought with a furious pounding in his chest, Merlin were with him. Merlin would know. And he would stop at nothing to save Uther. Arthur knew it better than he knew his own name. But Merlin was not there, had not returned, and even if he did, what would it solve? Using magic to save the king again – for what? If done in secret, no one would know of Merlin's deed, and it would be the same as it had been before. As it was now. And if Merlin did it in public, to show what he was capable of, then the entire kingdom would find Uther unfit for leadership, and it would bring on the rebellion Arthur wanted – needed – so much to avoid.

Had Morgana – or someone else; he didn't have definitive proof, after all – done this merely to get them to kill one another, or had she known the corner this would paint the two of them in? Arthur now had the choice to kill his father, let his father kill him, or allow this endless battle to continue. Any – all – could be catastrophic for the country.

If Merlin was with him, he could do something – make Uther fall asleep, or freeze him like he had Arthur when he'd jumped out of the window, or something.

Gwenivere was right, of course, as she always was. He shouldn't have sent Merlin away. At least not for this long.

When Uther charged this time, Arthur dodged to the left and tripped the man up. He sprawled disgracefully on the floor. The knights, whom Arthur had nearly forgotten about in the heat of his temper, watched with wide eyes, their gazes following their king as he rose once more to his feet. His hair was mussed, his crown crooked, his eyes unnaturally wide. Spittle bubbled in his mouth.

He looked like a rabid dog.

"You!" Arthur said, glaring up at the knights. "What are you doing? Your king is sick!"

Surprisingly, none of the knights argued against his word. Uther once more ran toward him, his sword only half ready for a thrust. Arthur didn't bother to parry, he just crashed his sword against the base of his father's. It flipped out of Uther's grasp and clanged to the floor. Two of the knights came and grabbed Uther up, ready to escort him to Gaius', perhaps, or to his quarters. But Uther twisted and yanked in their grip until one of them lost their hold, and then he turned on them like an animal. The one who still held him Uther grabbed by his neck, dragging him down to the floor. The other knight went after Uther, instinctively trying to save his fellow knight, but hesitated at the sight of Uther's crown. Arthur ran forward.

Uther looked half-mad as Arthur grabbed his arm and wrenched it from the knight's neck. Uther turned on him as if the knight wasn't even there. This time, however, an entire contingency of knights came forward and grabbed Uther up, holding his arms back and yanking him away with tight hands on his shoulders. Uther actually screamed. There was nothing human in the sound.

"Magic," one of the knights hissed, and they finally turned to Gwen.

"Don't be stupid!" Arthur said. "She came to me, not to him. She was never near him." But none of the knights would know for certain, because none of them bothered to look at the servants. They were nothing more than moving furniture to them, just as they'd once been to Arthur. Before Merlin. He sucked in a breath. "The very fact that she stands before you shows that she never left through the window. She has no magic. Now take your king to his quarters before more see what has become of him." The knights still looked ready to attack. Gwen huddled against the wall, eyes round as dinner plates. "Go!"

One of the knights jerked at the sound of Arthur's ire, and as he pulled (dragged) Uther a short inch across the floor, the other knights moved. Those with hands on Uther did as Arthur bade, at least recognizing the truth in Arthur's statement. If anyone saw their king like this... but the rest moved to intercept Gwenivere, and that Arthur would not have. He thrust his sword in between Gwen and his knights. She sent a startled glance his way. "Sire," one man said, but Arthur had had enough.

"I will not allow any of you to harm an innocent. If you have forgotten the knight's code, then I shall beat it back into you." And he moved to stand before Gwenivere, his sword out at his own men. The dishonor he found in the heart of Camelot made him realize the infection had been deeper than he'd ever dreamed. There had been little hope from the start. Gangrene had set in long ago, and though he'd done everything he could, he'd left himself blind to the clear knowledge that nothing would be enough.

Had Merlin known? Had Merlin guessed? Or had Merlin never spared a thought for it all, and had only assumed this to be inevitable? For magic to be hated – for him to be hated. If Uther hadn't seen, would Merlin ever have told Arthur? Would Arthur ever have changed his mind concerning magic? When his father had died, either of natural causes or to another's machinations, and Arthur had taken the throne, would Arthur have eventually come to his senses? Or would he, too, have been infected by then? Would Merlin ever have had a chance to be free with him?

He gripped his sword so tightly his skin stretched white over his knuckles. The small ridges of the hilt dug into his palm. "Sire..." One of the guards had at least moved to help Caradoc, but the rest stood against Arthur. His lips thinned as one dared speak to him.

"Enough. Cowards." He steadied his thoughts. Queltin, the closest to him, was strong in frontline battle, and had the muscles to show for it. If Arthur let him charge first, he might find himself surrounded in the front before he could find a way to take the man down. If Roderick or Tracey, two men further to the back, took one of those positions, he would be taken down. They were quick, lithe, strong, and known for their cutting blows and skills with the dagger. So Queltin would have to be knocked out first, and Roderick and Tracey held back long enough to get a small hole through the front, which would necessitate at least one of them to fill the position.

But before he could go any further in mental tactics than that, Zarek, one of the youngest in Arthur's old squad, stepped forward. If he came from the front, then Queltin would be forced to take Arthur's side. It would be a much easier battle. Arthur let Zarek get much closer than he would have Quentin for that very reason.

The young man didn't seem to have any words. He didn't seem to have much of anything. But he stood tall before Arthur, sword lowered to his side, and quoted, "act in loyalty, forbearance, hardihood, largesse, honor, and in the ethics of the church." He hesitated, and then, no longer quoting,"we follow our king, with a true love of our country, in deference to his will."

"You are never meant to follow," Arthur snapped. "You are to act. Your loyalty is in your ability, and in your discernment. What is your sword for?"

"To protect," Zarek answered immediately, by rote, and grimaced. "To protect my country and its king, my fellow knights, and..." He hesitated, looking at Gwen. And then he backed away. "To protect the weak, the widows and orphans, the women. To oppose the unjust and wicked."

"And," Arthur said, teeth gritted, "where are you standing?"

Zarek was not the only one to hesitate. The rest of the men stood as if to strike, but did not move. As if frozen. Arthur reached out behind him. Gwen grabbed his hand. "We fight for our king," Queltin said. "Our loyalty goes to him."

"Then you do not understand the code," Arthur snapped. "Your loyalty goes first to god and country, and then to the king."

"They are one..." But Arthur didn't give the man a chance to finish; he tugged Gwen forward and ran down the hall. Queltin's argument changed to a spluttered grunt as the knights clattered in their armor. A few managed to jerk out a, "wait!" or a "stop!" but most merely made inarticulate noises of frustration or surprise. Gwen's footsteps were a bit unpatterned behind him as they made their way to the first set of stairs, but she managed to get herself moving soon enough, and when they descended, her steps were right behind his.

This time they were left uninterrupted, and Arthur made for the gates of the castle. A few guards jolted at the sight of him and Gwen, but though they made to give chase, they quickly fell behind, one after another, forced to remain at their posts or leave the castle – and its king – vulnerable to attack.

Shouts, however, went up along the halls, and servants ducked wide-eyed into rooms or behind furniture. The men at the gates had turned inward, ready to fight. Arthur's lips thinned.

"Merlin," Gwen gasped, and Arthur looked out. As did the guards.

Arthur did not see Merlin. There was no crowd, just as there hadn't been outside Arthur's window for days. Ever since Uther had forced his kingdom into compliance. Arthur thought he would have picked Merlin out even if his people had all congregated on the steps of his castle (a ridiculously romantic notion that he immediately cast aside), but he needn't test the theory.

It was Gwen this time who took control; as the knights turned to stop a nonexistent Merlin, Gwen pulled Arthur forward. They were at the knights' sides before the men realized they'd been had, and through the gates before they'd turned themselves back to their escaping prince.

Out on the streets, a few more guards stood post, and a couple citizens, hurrying from one place to another as if trying to disappear, turned to watch Arthur and Gwen run from the shouts of the guards. The guards jerked as Arthur passed them; with a few nonsensical bellows, they made to follow. Arthur turned, more to ensure the men weren't near Gwen, who had fallen to his side and slightly behind as they'd continued on. But when he looked back, he saw one of the village women jumping out in front of the knights. They stumbled to a halt, at least aware enough of their duties to know not to harm an innocent. She screamed and pointed to her right, clutching at one of the knights' arms. And when they turned, the woman looked at Arthur. He remembered her; she was the one Merlin had gotten a job. Arthur nodded his thanks and hurried ahead.

His people had spoken. They'd decided. They'd chosen him.

The immensity of it might have bowled him over, were it not for the warmth of Gwen's hand in his. Finally the outer gates of Camelot stood before him. "Go!" he shouted, finally letting go of Gwen's hand so he could turn on the knights. Gwen did not pause. Arthur raised his sword on his men when he heard Gwen gasp.

"Merlin!"

Arthur grimaced as his knights hesitated in front of him. They pulled their swords out, as well, but they moved slowly, their hands hesitating over their hilts before they pulled their weapons from their sheaths. "Gwen," he hissed, "I don't think that's going to work any more."

"Arthur!"

Arthur sucked in a breath. And of course, the knights looked away. Toward the voice. And they were shoved back an instant later, as they moved to attack. Arthur winced. "Merlin!" He turned on the man, only to find his hand still outstretched, his eyes burning gold. He ran to Merlin's side. Thankfully, Gwen was not far behind him. Though, Arthur noted, her eyes caught on Merlin only for an instant, and lingered on Lancelot, only a step behind Merlin. It seemed they'd both gotten used to Merlin's magic – no. It seemed Gwen had gotten used to his magic. Lancelot had already known, of course.

"Merlin." He looked behind him. Neither man moved. "Are they...?"

But Merlin shook his head. His eyes changed back to blue, and Arthur felt a horrible urge to kiss him. To feel him. It had been so long. "No. They're just unconscious. Why were they chasing you? Is what we've been hearing true?"

Arthur's lips thinned. He didn't know how to answer that without making things seem... well, seem exactly as they were. "My father attacked me."

Merlin's eyes widened. Lancelot gasped. An instant later, Merlin's face morphed into grief, as if he was directly linked to Arthur's own emotions. "I'm so sorry, Arthur."

"We have to get out of here," Lancelot said. He was the one to scan the edges of the town, hand on hilt, prepared to strike. Arthur was so very glad to see him; Arthur had no one he could trust more.

And Lancelot may very well be correct. The idea of running away from his country, from his home, burned. He was supposed to defend Camelot with his life. "If I run, it will seem as if I am abandoning my people," he said.

Merlin grabbed his hand. Arthur turned to him. His hair was in disarray; there seemed almost to be something wrong with him. He noticed it only when Merlin started talking. He wasn't moving his left arm. "Arthur, it will all be for nothing if you die. Your people will never be free."

"Morgana's here," Arthur murmured. Merlin froze for an instant. Guilt, and fear, and something else burned in those eyes. That last one Arthur knew just as well as the first two, but could only fully call it what it was now that he recognized Merlin for who he was. Protectiveness. He'd seen it before, whenever they'd gotten themselves into another mess. But when he might have dismissed it before as Merlin being foolish, he knew it now as something much more. "I can't leave her in the castle. My father – his eyes were unnatural."

"Well, we need to go somewhere other than here," Lancelot said. He was right; footsteps were approaching.

"Merlin." Arthur put his hand over Merlin's, still linked with his own. "I understand if you don't want to, but – please. I need you – your magic. Help me save my kingdom."

Arthur had expected hurt, or perhaps anger. But he should have known better. Merlin's eyes shone with near tears – the girl – as his lips trembled into a beaming smile. Merlin acted not as if Arthur might be using him, but as if Arthur was honoring him. Or, no. Arthur could feel it creeping upon him as a sort of horror; Merlin looked happy to be used. He... he needed to speak with Merlin about this. "Arthur." And Merlin squeezed Arthur's hand. "I told you before. My magic is yours. Always." A little giggle escaped him, and the look finally pulled back enough for Arthur to breathe. "Of course I'll use it for you again."

Arthur's heart thundered in his chest. He turned to Lancelot and Gwen. "I do not know where my men are. Gwaine may have escaped, but if he didn't, he will be in the dungeon. I must go there first, in any case, to free my people. I need you to find the men who were loyal to me and to my people, and were exiled in the attempt. Do not go far; search the nearby villages. See if any remain. Take a horse. A new one," he said when Lancelot moved to point behind him. "Any horse you brought will be tired. Take no more than an hour or so. Less if you can. Spread the message that we fight and return. Even if none come, they must know that I did not abandon them."

Lancelot nodded. "Do we split up, then?"

Arthur looked around, then pointed left. They hurried back into Camelot, into the shadows by the first building – the butcher's. It smelled, now that Arthur let his senses work again, but the man was a cleanly sort, and always cleared away his carcasses at the end of the day. Within another hour or so, the smell of rot would dissipate, and only the enticing scent of meat would remain. He pointed Lancelot over further to the left. "Yes, I think we'll have to..." He silenced himself and cocked his head. Men ran toward the entrance, and Merlin hunkered down even lower. This time, Arthur saw him hold his arm closer to his body. He hurt at the thought of using Merlin when he was obviously injured. Had it happened because of Uther's assassins? What else could it have been? Would it have happened if Merlin had been with him? If he'd been by Merlin's side, protecting him? Or would it have been worse?

Arthur watched as a small contingent of guards raced past them, some branching away from the group and turning through the side streets, most hurrying through the gates as if to give chase to a fleeing prince. Arthur was glad he hadn't tried to run.

Merlin watched it all with wide eyes, his fingers clenched into his arm. Arthur nodded Lancelot forward. "Try not to kill them, but do what you must. Your safety comes first." Lancelot nodded. He put a hand to Gwenivere's shoulder. Oddly enough, a feeling of jealousy rose up in Arthur. Not for Gwenivere, bur for the camaraderie he and Gwenivere had once had. The relationship that seemed to have already cooled off a bit. But he could not hold it against them, even if Gwenivere smiled softly and easily followed Lancelot's lead.

Merlin watched, as well, but of course, his eyes were on Arthur as he turned back. "They'd had feelings before," Merlin admitted, as if speaking of some great sin. "But Lancelot saw how you felt, and he left."

Arthur grimaced. "Another bit of ignorance I must atone for, then." He turned again. "We must hurry."

But oddly enough, Merlin seemed prepared for all of this. He kept himself low, and looked out from behind the house. A quick look from the corner of his eye, keeping himself under cover. He slid back. "Two men, one heading around the other side of this building. Let's hope he misses Lancelot and Gwen."

He'd done this before. Arthur didn't know why he was surprised; Merlin must have sneaked around for months, ever since arriving in Camelot. He'd already learned of a scant few of Merlin's secrets. They'd all hinted at him coming and going without Arthur or any other the wiser; he'd admitted to never actually going to the tavern, after all. Yet somehow, Arthur had failed to think about the practical outcomes of such deceptions. It was Merlin who waved him forward, wincing as he let go of his arm to run, but moving silently nonetheless. They hurried to the other side of the street, then through the dark alleyways of Camelot's lower town. While Camelot was much safer than any other town in the kingdom, there were still the occasional ruffians. But of course they'd all been scared inside with the rest, terrified of the knights and the king. Arthur wondered if Merlin had ever met such men in the alleys as he had the sorcerous blacksmith. He wondered if such fighting had happened before, right under his nose, without him ever knowing it.

Otherwise, his thoughts were silent. He took in the scuffled slick of shoes on the lower town's dirt side roads, the shift of leather, the soft clink of armor. Each time Merlin pressed against the side of a building, or slid behind a barrel or bench or stack of firewood. There was no hesitation in his movements. He held his arm a bit longer, however, until, by the time they reached the upper town and had left most of the knights behind, he held his arm even when running. Arthur's lips pressed tight together. He was forcing Merlin to fight injured.

Something flickered in his peripheral vision; Arthur turned his head to find a curtain in a window twitch. Merlin, when Arthur turned to him, was watching it, too. "The people have been helping me," Arthur said, barely breathing loudly. Merlin heard him – of course he did, with those ears – and nodded. But still Merlin watched, ready for an attack.

There was still so much Arthur didn't know.

They reached the upper town, and they both silently decided to hurry their pace. It was still light enough for them to be seen, which was bad enough. But they were also working against time. Arthur had no idea how bad things were in the castle, in the city, in the kingdom. But they couldn't be good. Uther was sick, Morgana was planning something, the knights had turned against the people, and the rumors of Camelot's troubles had spread into other kingdoms.

Merlin hurried out once more, and Arthur watched as that little body curled around another building. The roads had turned to cobblestone. Not for the first time, Arthur thought to erase the differences in the upper and lower towns; half the city's people didn't deserve to be in lesser settings when they worked just as hard for Camelot's well-being. And then footsteps crunched softly behind them, and Merlin turned. Arthur, when he looked behind him, saw Zarek. The knight was frozen in place.

Zarek yanked his sword out. Merlin stood, hand out, eyes flaring. Arthur jumped up, as well, and grabbed Merlin's shoulders. Merlin's eyes broke out of their golden fire as he stared back. Minutely, Arthur shook his head. He turned to Zarek. "Do you wish to fight us?"

Zarek's gaze, however, was caught on Merlin. "You're here," he said. And he held out his sword. "You usurper." Zarek's lips curled back. Merlin's hand dropped like a rock.

Arthur pulled out his own stolen sword. "Stand down, knight," Arthur ordered. But of course he was ignored now. Arthur was standing to protect a sorcerer. He stood in front of Merlin, blocking Zarek's sight. "Stand down or face me. Merlin. Stay out of this."

"But," Merlin started. Of course.

"No! Stay back."

And Merlin did. If he hadn't been in the middle of a battle, Arthur might have turned and kissed the man.

"Sire." Zarek sounded as if he was being hurt. His sword wobbled in his hand.

The man was young, and foolish enough to believe in heroes. How badly he'd wanted to serve. How badly he'd loved his country, and his king, and his prince. "I know you want to think Merlin is controlling me. Because you don't understand why I do what I do."

Zarek's grip firmed on his sword. But he did not strike.

"It would be easier to believe I've simply lost myself to an enchantment. To believe there is some outside force, some enemy to strike out against. I'd wanted to believe the same." Merlin didn't so much as shift behind him, letting him keep Zarek's focus completely on him. On his words. "I wanted to believe magic was the enemy, that it should be destroyed, and those who used it cut down." Arthur didn't have to look back to know Merlin had flinched. "But I cannot. I cannot condemn a man for such a reason. Merlin is not our enemy. Is he the one who brought our kingdom to this? Is he the one who attacked me in the hall?" Zarek flinched. His sword lowered. "Is it wrong to do whatever you can to protect your prince? Your to-be-wed? Merlin outed himself to the kingdom by saving my life. He outed himself to my father when he saved his life. The king would have him cut down for such a heroic act. An act that would get you risen to captain, Merlin is to condemned for. Merely because he used magic and not a sword."

Zarek's sword arm fell to his side.

"We are not your enemy, Zarek. I'm returning to the castle to try to save this city, before it's too late. I want to reason with my father. But if I can't – no matter what, I cannot allow this to continue. Do you really think this worthy of Camelot?"

"Sire." Zarek looked back, toward the lower town. And Arthur realized he likely should have been down there, as well, and had already hesitated. "Sire, you mean to kill the king?"

Arthur shook his head instinctively, but he had to hesitate, as well. What else could be done? He wanted to save his father, and his kingdom, and Merlin. But he could not have it all. "My father is sick," he said finally. He felt Merlin's gaze on him. And he knew Merlin would not judge Arthur, no matter his decision. He'd already chosen Arthur over his own safety, had already saved Uther from what he deserved in order to protect Arthur's heart. If Arthur said he intended to kill Uther, Merlin would not allow him to do it. And Arthur couldn't let Merlin, the known sorcerer, do it, either.

Gwen had told him to make sure Merlin followed an honorable man. He would. He would, even if it meant killing his father.

"He is sick," he said again. "His eyes, when we fought, were odd. I hope it is merely an illness, or an enchantment." Zarek's gaze turned to Merlin. "There are more sorcerers than Merlin," Arthur said harshly. Zarek actually flinched. "He would have no reason to protect me if he'd ordered the king to have me killed."

Zarek looked down toward the lower towns again. He shifted on his feet. When he turned back to Arthur, his eyes were closed. "I cannot turn against the king," Zarek said.

It was enough. "Then we never met."

And he took Merlin's good hand and ran.

Chapter Text

Merlin's arm throbbed.

Arthur tugged on his right arm, leaving his left to hang by his side, slap against his own waist. Merlin swallowed a groan at the feel of it. Of course they had bigger things to worry about than the jagged slice running from his shoulder to his elbow, or the gallant, if amateur, attempt by Gwenivere to sew it closed.

Camelot was eerily deserted, even though it was still early enough for people to be going back and forth through the markets or to their homes, others working late or getting an early start on their later shifts. Instead each street was empty of life, save for the guards roaming like bees along the paths of the city. Arthur was making a quick line through the upper city streets, unchecked by any guards who would normally stand ready along the route. Perhaps the guard Arthur had spoken to had given away some sort of clue that Merlin had missed.

Once again, Merlin could only stand in awe of the loyalty and deference Arthur commanded. The soldier who Merlin had been prepared to fight, Arthur had talked down. And now they climbed their way to the castle gates. There was some small commotion at the stables. Merlin could only hope Lancelot had managed to arrive without incident. And, of course, that was when they saw the man leading a horse away, garbed in what they could only assume to be the stableman's clothes. Arthur acted as if he didn't see it, but Merlin had to suppress a grin. It was well played, leaving the stableman to seem like the defeated attacker, but the clothes did not suit the man at all. A dark brown, ragged, and a size too small in the leg, with what looked like rope holding the waist up – the stable master was known for his distinct paunch, like a pregnant woman's – and Lancelot looked more a homeless wretch than a warrior. Which, Merlin supposed, was the point.

Arthur took point this time, even though Merlin could still lead them through the layout of the place blindfolded. But there were guards here, and perhaps it would be better if the first person they saw wasn't the evil sorcerer leading Arthur back to the castle like some vengeful demon. They'd at least left two guards at the entrance to the castle, and Arthur held up his hand for Merlin to stay back. He nodded, but kept his eyes on the guards as Arthur approached, ready to lend a magical hand. He needn't have worried, however; the men visibly startled at the sight of their prince, but while they held up their weapons, they seemed to hesitate afterward. “What are your orders?” Arthur asked, taking in their stances. “What did my father demand? Was it my death?” The men winced violently enough for Merlin to see it. Obviously Uther had commanded just that. Merlin hurt for Arthur. But Arthur moved right through it. “And do you believe my father would order such a thing in his right mind?” The men exchanged a quick glance. “My father is sick. You have a choice. Fight me, or let me through.”

If they let Arthur through, they wouldn't want Merlin to come along. Arthur would end up having to fight them, anyway. Maybe he could slip inside? Through the passageway they'd used to get Mordred to freedom, perhaps? It would make noise, him destroying the metal gate again, but it would keep Arthur from–

“Merlin!”

Merlin jerked and stumbled to his feet. The guards looked startled, then angry, but Arthur just jutted his chin, ordering Merlin forward. He watched the knights carefully as he obeyed. They did not move. They seemed nearly frozen. “This is your decision,” Arthur said. “Do you side with me, a man you believe is being controlled by magic, or do you side with the king, who is most certainly being controlled by the same?” Merlin came abreast of Arthur. The knights looked like they'd just been led onto some plank, and the only options were either a sword in the back or a dive into deep water. “Either let us pass, or fight us. I have no time for anything else.”

Merlin held his breath. Though his magic was fine, was actually roiling in him, demanding he use it to protect Arthur, he knew better than to think he could fight a bunch of men with swords. His arm throbbed enough as it was. Any more strain, and he might just rip the seams open. And then pain would be much less of a concern than, say, bleeding out. Infection.

The knights still hesitated, and finally Arthur shoved them out of his way. Merlin scurried after him. Neither of the knights moved.

The castle was just as quiet as the city. It was eerie, and disconcerting. Merlin looked up and down each hall, trying to find even a sign of life. There was none. Arthur, on the other hand, moved straight toward the dungeons, his steps quick and sure, as if he either didn't notice the silence or didn't care. He was in that place he entered whenever he had something he had to complete, that warrior's focus that blocked out anything else. Merlin bit his lip to keep quiet as his arm pounded.

It was the exact opposite of what had happened in Ealdor. The first attack had been small; one man coming to try to take Merlin's life. Lancelot had been the one to meet the man in battle, and he'd been defeated easily enough. But the second, following the rumors of Camelot's weakness and disunity as if building some sort of storm, had been a whole group of men. Seven in all, and it had been far too many for Lancelot to stand a chance. They'd made past him, heading for Merlin and Gwen and his mother, moving to take them all out in their home. Merlin had pushed them back. It had been like watching a riptide. The people of Ealdor had stared at him with wide eyes. There had been panic, shouting. People running through the dirt streets of their tiny town. Old Gregor actually ran straight through the middle of the fighting. Merlin had ended up needing to shield the man – and that had been when two of his attackers had come up beside him and managed the deep gash in his arm. Merlin had screamed in pain. His magic had roared. All he'd wanted was the assassins gone.

He didn't even remember what had happened after that, only that there had only been two of the seven left, and that they'd been badly burned, and even his mother, cloistered safely within their home, had peeked out at him with wide eyes. There had been nothing but eyes then. Faces, gaping, furrowed. Terrified and condemning. Even if they hadn't planned on returning, they would have been forced to. There had been no acceptance left for him there.

He had nowhere to go. Nowhere but Arthur's side.

Which really meant nothing at all, since that was where he wanted to be.

The dungeons weren't well manned, though there were enough guards that Arthur had to hold his sword at the ready at all times, prepared to fight any who thought it best to follow the king's insane orders to murder his own son. Merlin watched each and every guard with wide eyes, waiting for one of them to rush forward, to raise their swords and... but none did. They stared at him with little less than bloodlust, but each seemed to falter at the idea of harming their prince. And, it seemed, the closer they got to the cells, the more lenient the guards became, until they didn't even catch Arthur's eye as he strode down.

When they arrived, Merlin could see why. Civilians sat hunched six or more to a cell, their clothes ripped and dirty, their eyes turned from their footsteps. There were bruises on their arms where they'd been dragged, or on the men where they'd obviously been cowed by the knights' greater force. Merlin covered his mouth at the sight. “By the gods,” he whispered, and wished with everything he was that none of this had ever happened. He turned to Arthur to see his lips pressed thin to one another. Deep lines bent around his eyes, showing the strain in him as he fought to hide his reaction to the sight.

He turned to the guards, who stared shamefaced at the walls. “Give me the keys,” Arthur said quietly, and Merlin had never heard more command in that voice. One of the guards did as bade. Arthur took the keys as they jangled in the guard's hold. Merlin saw a couple of the people turn to Arthur, gazes wide and hopeful. A sharp slap of flesh made him turn back to Arthur. The guard who had handed over the keys had his head hanging to the side, his cheek red. Arthur glared at the man, then the other two standing like statues by the guard table. They did not meet his gaze.

Arthur hurried to his people and unlocked the first cell door. “Merlin, can you get the others open?” he asked.

“Of course.” Merlin hurried to the next cell. Knights and civilians had been mixed in this one, the civilians wearing more of the knights' garments than the men themselves. They'd obviously attempted to mend these people's wounds as best they could. Here were the true knights of Camelot. Merlin held out his hand. The knights slowly got to their feet. Merlin saw Leon amongst them. He knew exactly when his eyes began to glow; as one, every single person in the cell gasped and leaned away. “Oncluce þe!” The door snapped open.

He turned to see Arthur staring at him with a gaping jaw. Outstretched behind him, still pointed to where Merlin had stood moments before, was his arm, and in his hand were the keys.

“Are you telling me,” Arthur said, “that every single time I sent you to these cells, you could have gotten out?”

Merlin shrugged. “Not at first, but I made sure to learn.” He gave Arthur his dorky grin. It may have come out cheekier than he'd expected.

He thought maybe Arthur wanted to smack him, too.

“Hey, Merlin!”

Merlin jumped at the voice and raced down the cells, past one filled to the brim with knights, down to the next. Gwaine sat inside, surrounded by others not in knight's garb but sporting even more wounds than they. Gwaine held up his arms to show even more chains attached to his wrists and, when Merlin checked, his ankles. “Help us, too, yeah?” And he shook the things until the sound made the men around him scowl.

Merlin chuckled. “Sure. But you have to wait your turn.”

Gwaine groaned. “Come on, Merlin! Be a friend!”

Merlin couldn't help but grin. It was certainly a better reaction than anyone else. It was nice for someone to actually joke about his magic. It was something he'd never thought to experience. Beside him, Leon was leading the civilians out of the cell he'd just opened and ordering the other knights to round up the civilians Arthur had helped. Arthur came up to Leon and clasped his arm in greeting.

Merlin turned to the next cell. Each knight stared at him with wariness – which made Kay stand out amongst them all. Merlin held out his good hand once more. “Oncluce þe!”

“Many others of us have been sent from the country,” Leon said, even as Kay hurried to the door, ignoring the fish-eyed looks his fellow knights were giving both Merlin and the door. “We were to be sent out tomorrow morning.”

“I already have someone working on that,” Arthur said. “For now, it's more than enough to have all of you with me. Merlin!”

“Only one door left,” Merlin said, and moved to Gwaine.

“Any sign of Percival or Leopold?”

Merlin's brow furrowed. “Leopold?” He thought he knew who Arthur was talking about – one of the men who had dragged him from Arthur's side, who'd manned the carriage that had tried to take him from Camelot. That had been set up to get him killed. Who, in the end, had gone after Arthur when Merlin had begged him to do so. He looked at Kay. The man shook his head. One quick glance through Gwaine's cell showed neither within. “Nothing,” he said, voice dropping. “You're certain they were merely exiled?”

Gwaine nodded. “Yeah. Worse was threatened, but never actually enacted. Lucky us, huh?” And Gwaine shook his chains again.

Merlin grimaced and once more said the spell. Just as before, his magic spilled out, so eager to act it nearly sprang from him. The door nearly jumped open. The men within seemed far less willing to accept Merlin's magic, and none of them so much as moved, even though only a few of them were chained up like Gwaine. Nonetheless, Merlin moved inside the cell. The men moved back like he was a leper, even scooting their legs in. Gwaine glared at them and kicked the nearest one. The man winced at the blow and snarled back. So maybe not all of the bruises on these men were from the king and his knights, after all.

Merlin maneuvered his way through the tangle of bodies and legs before finally kneeling beside Gwaine. “Hold on,” he murmured. Gwaine all but thrust his wrists under Merlin's nose. It made him laugh all over again. He held out his good hand.

Someone kicked him.

It wouldn't have been anything more than annoying, or inconvenient, or just a little hurtful, if not for the lucky aim of hitting his injured arm. He gave a strangled scream and collapsed in on himself. Gwaine roared. Merlin heard his chains rattle and finally clank as he reared forward, curling over Merlin's body. And something like a sudden movement, and a thunk. Gwaine was taking a hit for him.

Footsteps pounded up, of course, and Arthur shouted something completely inarticulate. The thunking sound stopped, and something was dragged.

Merlin thought to open his eyes. Maybe it would lessen the pounding feeling that matched with every heartbeat. He could feel blood gushing sluggishly from his wound. He bit his lip, but he still winced when he made to move. There wasn't a lot of room, and the need to figure out why finally made him look around.

The first thing he noticed was that it was even darker in the cell than it had been moments before. And that, obviously, was because of Gwaine. He tilted his back around itself to see Gwaine's face staring down at him from very, very close, his face gritted. Not in pain, Merlin realized, but in something akin to animalistic rage. His hair hung down like vines around his face, clumped together due to the inability to get it cleaned. Like a willow tree, it hid Merlin within its strands.

And then he noticed that Gwaine's shoulders were pulled back, and he looked out enough to see Gwaine's arms pulled taut against the length of the chains around his wrists, and he gasped. “Oncluce þe,” he said, and thankfully, it actually worked. Gwaine's hands yanked free from the manacles the instant Merlin said the spell, as if he'd been pulling against them the entire time. They moved immediately, wrapping around Merlin and pulling him close.

“Anyone who touches him faces me!” Gwaine snarled.

Merlin didn't know how to pull free, or even if he could. Gwaine's arms were like steel bands around him. Why had he been kicked? Weren't the people locked up in these cells Arthur's allies? Those who were willing to at least consider magic, or at least Arthur's stance on it? Was he wrong to assume that?

He still couldn't see much past Gwaine's hair, but he managed to get a look out of the corner of his eye. He saw Arthur staring down on them, his face twisting between something that could only be jealousy – and that alone was enough to make Merlin pause; it was something else he'd never expected to experience, and if it weren't for the other thing plastered all over that face, he might have teased Arthur mercilessly for it – and something that widened his eyes and squinted them, all at once, as if he was close to tears. Merlin didn't even know what to name it. Anguish? Not quite, but more like a deep, internal pain. Like seeing someone he loved die. “They have fallen to fear, then,” Arthur said, his voice quiet.

Gwaine glared up at Arthur, then out the cell doors. Merlin couldn't see much through Gwaine carefully pulling him into his arms. He could only assume there were enough people, armed or otherwise, who might still pose a threat to him. Even though he could just throw them away from him (though doing so would mean harming Arthur, too, so maybe he should let Gwaine and Arthur handle it, after all). “Call it what you want,” Gwaine snapped, and he actually, literally spat on the floor. “They're cowards. They blame Merlin for being in here. As if he had anything to do with the king's madness!”

Merlin jerked a look at Arthur at that, but it didn't seem as if Arthur had so much as flinched. He seemed... resigned to it. He agreed?

Arthur turned to his people, waiting outside the cell, then looked back to Merlin. He held out his hand.

Merlin, though the pain from his arm throbbed up his shoulder and down his spine, reached out, pulling slightly free from Gwaine's choking hold. Gwaine made an angry sound, but released him enough for Arthur to pull him up.

Arthur turned away from his people and returned to Leon's side. His palm was warm around Merlin's. “Leon. Kay. Take those still following the code and clear out the castle and city.” Leon's lips thinned, but he nodded. “A man – Lancelot – will be coming through in less than an hour. He'll be on one of the castle's horses. Let him through. Bar the gates to anyone else. Let no one leave or enter. Even if that person be Morgana herself.”

Leon's brow rose, but Kay merely nodded and turned to the rest of the knights. “Pull together and move out! On the prince's order!”

And despite what had just happened in Gwaine's cell, the knights raised their arms and shouted. Like the well-trained soldiers they were, they lined up to a battle march up the steps of the dungeon. The guards at the table didn't so much as move. Kay came to them and escorted them into the cells Arthur and Merlin had just vacated.

“Gwaine.” Arthur turned to the man, even as he stood slowly to his feet, glaring murder at the man who had kicked Merlin. Merlin hadn't even gotten a good look at him, but now he could see the man was burly, broad, and a bit squat, with dirty blond hair in short tangles around his face, greasy from his time in the dungeons. His clothes were well-tended, if a bit light from multiple washings, and his boots, though dirty now, obviously once polished. A merchant, likely, and a once prosperous one. “Gwaine,” Arthur said again, and Gwaine finally tore his gaze from the man.

“What?” he snapped. Those dark brown eyes turned to Merlin. His lips pulled back all over again.

“I need you to find those amongst the people who still side with justice.” Gwaine started to protest, but Arthur spoke right over him. “Both here and in the city. The people need to know we have not forgotten them. And they need to know their voices still matter. They will decide what happens to this country today, not I.”

Merlin snapped another look to Arthur, but he carefully did not meet Merlin's gaze. He did, however, clench Merlin's good hand tightly within his. “This is bigger than me. Bigger than Merlin,” he said, before Gwaine could start in on him for anything. “And the people need to know I will not rule them as they've been ruled for the past few weeks.”

Gwaine looked ready to spit again. “And these bastards?” he asked, even though Merlin could tell he had no intention of doing anything other than what he wanted.

“The man who assaulted an innocent man returns to the cell,” Arthur said. The man screeched in denial. Several others spoke up, as well. It said everything about Arthur that they quieted with one sharp look their way. “It has always been a law in Camelot that any attempt of physical harm to anyone results in a stay in the cells. Merlin himself learned this shortly after entering Camelot.”

Merlin gave Arthur the fish eye. He was fairly certain he'd only been thrown in the cell because he'd tried to attack Arthur, not just anyone. But he let it slide, because he thought Arthur was barely concealing his own fury.

“Moreover,” Arthur said, and yes, here was the real reason, “you attacked my consort.” Arthur lifted his chin while Merlin just blinked. “Merlin did nothing more than attempt to free you, on my order. And you rewarded him with violence? Take this opportunity to learn who your true enemy is. I doubt it's someone you can attack.”

It was pure favoritism, and Merlin opened his mouth instinctively to protest. But what could he say? 'No, Arthur, I'm not your consort'? 'No, Arthur, princes and prince consorts don't get to have special privileges'? 'I don't want to be treated like that'? The only one that was even true was the last, and it would spasm through everything from the moment he said it. Prince consorts were always treated differently than the common masses, and certainly differently than manservants. If he spoke up against the special treatment now, how could he or Arthur ever expect the people to not speak up against it later? How could they expect the people to accept Merlin if Merlin didn't accept himself?

This was a test. For him. Did he love Arthur enough to accept what it meant to be more than he could possibly be? If it had been Gwen – if she had been the one hit – it would make perfect sense for Arthur to punish her attacker. So why did it make Merlin uncomfortable to have Arthur do the same for him?

In the end, he closed his mouth and settled with a frown. Arthur squeezed his hand again, and this time when Merlin looked up, he found Arthur sending a look to look to him – a look so rare Merlin had tried desperately to memorize it. He looked proud.

Then he turned back away. “We'll follow after the knights,” he said. “I need to find my father.”

Gwaine's lips turned into a full-out scowl. “You're taking Merlin to him?!”

Merlin blinked. “I'll be fine,” he said, but he was completely overridden by Arthur.

“He's unconscious. For now, he can do no harm to Merlin, or I assure you, I would be taking greater precautions.”

And Merlin stared at Arthur again.

Gwaine looked little appeased, but he couldn't say more to that kind of rebuttal. He flipped his greasy hair back. “I'll take care of the idiots here,” he said, “but I'm not wasting too much time out there! Yeah, I get what you're saying about the people. But that can be taken care of after. After the castle's been cleaned out.”

Arthur thinned his lips. “It will not be 'cleared out.' The people will choose who stays.”

Gwaine harrumphed, and really, Merlin could understand why. It had always been clear that the people loved Arthur dearly, and if they had to choose between their king and their prince, they would likely choose Arthur, even with Uther at his best. But if only half the rumors Merlin had heard were true – if what he'd seen in this dungeon alone acted as evidence to the horrors Camelot had suffered while he'd been away – then there would be no contest at all.

But Arthur was nothing if not honorable, and loyal to his father, and so Merlin once more said nothing. And so Arthur waved Gwaine on. Though, Merlin saw, others had already begun putting his assailant back into the cell. Others still gave their loyalty to Arthur, even with him by the man's side. Merlin was painfully grateful to them for it.

Of course, the man spat an expletive at Merlin as Arthur turned him away, but he hadn't expected people to suddenly like him.

Still, it gratified him even more to feel Arthur's grip become, for a moment, crushing.

The first few halls, when they finally reached the upper floors again, were completely empty. Not a single person stood nearby. If there had been servants, they had likely run away the instant Arthur's knights had come up to take on Uther's. Whatever had happened, whether Arthur's men had been routed, Uther's men beaten back, or the battle merely pulled somewhere else, the halls were, at first, empty and silent as a tomb.

And then they got through the first few corridors, and the halls began to echo. Dully, at first, like the deep growl of some sort of animal. But as they arrived at the halls leading to the kitchens, the growl turned more into the roar of waves against some rocky shore. Metal clinked, clanged, and suddenly, around the next turn, near the throne room, the noise separated into the recognizable sounds of battle. Men shouted, garbled, unintelligible cries that likely meant little more than 'have at.' Sharp, broken sounds, hopefully merely of broken shelves or pottery or paintings. The swinging of swords. The shuffle of armor. Slightly wet sounds, of blood or (again hopefully) water splashing to the floor.

Merlin looked ahead, down the castle steps, where the battles were being fought the hardest. But Arthur turned them momentarily toward the entrance tot he castle. A few men, including Kay, fought at the front of the castle. More and more knights came from the lower town to fight them off. And behind them, shuffling slightly and hiding behind their homes, were Camelot's people. And when they caught sight of Arthur, there was no hatred, or anger, or fear. There was only hope.

“Do you see them?” Merlin asked, even as Arthur's gaze traveled along the edges of the upper town.

“I do.” His hand remained warm around Merlin's own, and Merlin had to fight against the instinct to pull away. Not because he wanted to, or even because he was afraid of how the people would respond to Arthur with a man, and a servant. But because of how they might respond to Arthur with a man, and a servant, and a sorcerer. But Arthur caught the slight twitching of Merlin's fingers in his grip and stared down at him. “They asked for amnesty for you. For saving my life.”

Merlin's eyes widened. He looked back at Arthur, even as the man turned to his people and nodded. “What?”

“They recognized your act as one of courage and loyalty.” He turned and led the way back inside. “They have not condemned you.”

Merlin's mouth flapped as Arthur led them both back inside. He twisted around to look back at the people peeking out of their doors or their windows. He wasn't certain they were looking at him, and he hadn't thought to check past seeing their reaction to Arthur. Did they really not hate him? Well, maybe it wasn't that; maybe they just loved Arthur so much that saving him meant Merlin could get a free pass. Or maybe they only let him go because it was clear Arthur wanted it so.

Arthur led Merlin away from the fighting, down the servant's halls. Merlin ended up leading him for a time, as Arthur was far less used to taking these paths. But then they made it past the battle, and Arthur took point once more as Merlin led them back to the main halls. Arthur released Merlin's hand to pull out his sword then, and with his other moved Merlin to stand slightly behind him. As if Merlin couldn't fight. He didn't know if he should remind Arthur that he was perfectly able to shove enemies away from him. Or maybe Arthur didn't want Merlin using his magic on the men? It would certainly instigate a much more violent assault.

Then again, he was fairly certain that he was giving Arthur too much credit. He was almost certain Arthur had just acted on some old instinct to protect his defenseless manservant.

The thought did not make him warm. Because that would be girly.

The few guards along the way watched wide-eyed as they passed. More than one guard moved to stop them. Arthur pointed his sword at them, and Merlin, equally wide-eyed, tensed, ready to push them back, not matter how Arthur might feel about it. And in this way, slowly but surely, they made their way to Gaius' chambers.

It was curiously empty of guards just outside the door, and Arthur slammed inside, ready to fight back a horde, likely. But there was no one within, either. Merlin sucked in a breath. They couldn't be too late, could they? “Gaius?” he called, taking point once more, leading Arthur through the maze of books and herbs, baskets of them lying by the empty bed and around the edges of the table, the top of which was covered in bottles and scrolls. Nothing seemed out of place, but neither Gaius nor Uther were in the room. Merlin grimaced. “Where are they?”

“I told them to bring my father here.” He hesitated. “Perhaps he was taken to his chambers?”

Merlin toes his way past the heaps of books beside the inlaid shelving and opened the medicine cabinet door. “Nothing's missing,” he said.

A small noise sounded from Merlin's room.

Both their heads snapped up at the sound, and Merlin, closer to the door than Arthur, quickly led the way up the steps. Arthur was right behind him, sword glinting from the soft light echoing through the windows. Merlin pushed open the door with his shoulder, his good arm out to aim his magic.

Gaius stood from the side of the bed, his eyes wide before he took in Merlin, and then Arthur. He huffed something that might have been like relief before hurrying around the bed. Merlin saw a distinct lump in it. “Merlin! What are you doing here?”

“Arthur was in trouble,” he said. Arthur shimmied himself through and hurried to the bed.

Gaius came over to him, those piercing eyes landing straight on Merlin's wounded arm “Let me see,” he said, and held out his hands. Merlin shook his head and stepped back.

“There's no time,” he murmured. He looked over to Arthur. He was bent down over the form in the bed. Merlin could only assume it was Uther. Arthur's face was contorted; his lips pulled back, his brows lowered. Merlin didn't know if it was grief or anger he was looking at. “I have to help him,” he said.

“Merlin.” Gaius grabbed Merlin's stomach, careful of his arm. “Sire,” he said, calling over to Arthur. The prince looked up, but did not move away from his father. “I had to use a sleeping drought to knock him out. He kept trying to get up, to come after you. He says you must be killed.”

Arthur flinched. Merlin winced and moved instinctively to Arthur's side. Arthur hitched in a breath and closed his eyes. “Magic?” he asked. “His eyes... they hadn't been normal.”

Arthur had mentioned being attacked by Uther when speaking to the knights. There were many things Merlin was ready to believe about Uther, but he'd seen firsthand just how much he loved his son. He couldn't believe Uther would ever want to harm Arthur. It made sense for Uther to have Merlin killed. But Arthur?

“That may be the case, sire,” Gaius said, but Merlin could hear something much darker in Gaius' tone. He frowned over at the physician. “But I'm afraid that if there is magic involved, it has only heightened the king's senses, not created them.”

Arthur moved back toward Gaius. “What does that mean?”

“It means, sire, that the king had already made at least some of his decisions before a spell may have begun.” Gaius' gaze was steady, but his eyebrows sat so low his eyes seemed hidden. Hooded. “While I cannot say if he would have attacked you, I can certainly say that what has happened in Camelot was assuredly his doing.”

The rumors of a martial regime, the people who had been imprisoned. The knights being exiled from the kingdom. It was all true? Uther had done all that while in his right mind, after all?

Arthur seemed to sag slightly with the news, but he nodded. “Of course. I had already known that.” But his voice said he'd hoped, nonetheless. Merlin wished there was something he could do. Something he could say. But what could ever make any of this right? Still, he moved to stand right beside Arthur, his shoulder nearly bumping into the prince, offering the warmth of Merlin's presence, if nothing else. He nearly jumped when Arthur actually clapped a hand on his shoulder, sagging slightly into him for a moment before straightening. “Then what do you propose we do, Gaius?”

Merlin caught the hesitation in Gaius an instant before Arthur did. Arthur straightened. “I will not kill the king, Gaius.”

Gaius shook his head. “No, sire. I do not ask that.” Gaius' gaze flickered to Merlin before returning to Arthur. “We may be able to heal the king of this... affliction. But magical or otherwise, it will not change the state of the kingdom, I've afraid.”

Arthur raked a hand through his hair and started to pace. It was a useless effort; Merlin knew from experience just how tiny the space beside his bed was. And sure enough, Arthur found himself meeting the wall within two long strides, and when he came back, the inability to move made his lips pull back in a grimace. “Merlin.”

“Yes,” Merlin said immediately. Arthur stopped and gave Merlin a strange look – nearly assessing, shortly angry.

“Is there anything you can do?”

Merlin hurried to Uther's side. He looked the king over. He seemed pale, nearly pasty. But his breathing, while more rapid than usual, was still steady. He checked the king's pulse, but though that was also elevated, it wasn't thready or erratic. He looked over to Gaius with a frown. “What's wrong with him?” He held out his hand. He had always been horrible with healing magic. He couldn't tell anything wrong with the king, other than that he should have been awake.

“Here.” And Gaius came around the other side of the bed, He leaned over and pulled back one of the king's eyelids. Merlin hissed.

“His eyes,” he murmured. Arthur came up beside him. Merlin stared at them. There was nothing but the pupil amongst the white of the eye, tiny pinpricks of monochrome against the clear expanse.

“They're the same as they'd been when he'd attacked me,” Arthur said. “I watched the iris fade myself.”

“That's very bad,” Gaius said. Merlin looked to the old man.

“Why?”

Gaius straightened, one hand on his back as he did. Though he answered Merlin's question, it was Arthur he spoke toward. “It means that final action was what created the divide between his own desires and the compulsion likely placed on him.” Gaius waved Arthur with him toward the door, obviously attempting to grant whatever he would next say some privacy. Arthur went to him, and Gaius leaned in a bit. “Sire,” Gaius said, and spoke in a low tone. Merlin knew he wasn't supposed to hear, but, well, could he help it if he had excellent hearing? Hearing that had nothing to do with the size of his ears, of course. “I do not know when this magic might have been put on him, but it merely brought out his own desires, as I said. The loss of color in his eyes is merely the outward sign of what has occurred. Much more has happened within him.” Gaius hesitated again. Merlin leaned down over the king once more. There had to be something he could do. “His desires are now indistinguishable from the enchantment placed on him.”

“Speak plainly, Gaius,” Arthur snapped.

“It means he will not stop his actions against Camelot, its people... or you, sire.”

Arthur shook his head. “No. Something must be done. We have to fix this.”

Arthur needed him.

Merlin closed his eyes. He didn't know enough about physiology, even with all the information Gaius had been shoving into his brain for the past couple of years. So instead he focused on the magic. His own twisted immediately away, as if the very idea of it was tainted. He twitched as his magic shuddered through him. There was definitely something there. It rose like some purple miasma from Uther's form. His bad arm jerked back. He hissed.

“Merlin?” Arthur rushed to his side – it didn't take more than a step – and lightly touched Merlin's arm. He eyed it as Merlin traced a hand over Uther's body. He couldn't see it as clearly now, but he could still feel it.

“Gaius is right,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “If there is a way to remove this spell from him, it's beyond my knowledge.”

Arthur hissed out a breath. “Then...”

But Merlin cut him off before he could think to say such a thing. He wouldn't let Arthur tarnish himself in such a way. “No. I won't let you.” He stared up at Arthur. “If anyone must do it, it will be me.”

“Merlin.” Arthur's face did that contorting thing again, angry and despondent and desperate, all at once. He raked his hand through his hair again. It looked messy, as it did when he first woke in the mornings. “Whatever must be, it is my responsibility.”

Gaius cleared his throat, interrupting the odd argument. “Sire, if I may?” Both turned to him. “We may have another solution available to us.”

Arthur nearly sagged in relief. “What is it, Gaius?”

But Merlin wasn't impressed. Whatever the option was, it would be intricate, and likely time-consuming. “What about Morgana? What about Camelot?” He bit his lip and looked over to Arthur. “There isn't time to look for a solution.”

“Merlin, this is my father. Your...” But Arthur stopped himself there, before he could call Uther Merlin's king. Because no man in his right mind would back a king who tried to kill him. Arthur sucked in a breath. “If he is under an enchantment, then I must do what I can to save him.”

Merlin didn't want to disagree. He didn't want Arthur to have to make the choice between his kingdom or his father, Merlin or Uther. He didn't want Arthur to carry the weight of his father's death on his shoulders. But if they waited much longer, then the rumors would spread farther, even farther than the edges of Cenred's kingdom. If they tried to find a solution, Uther might wake, or die anyway, and Morgana might have the chance to try something – or something more, if this was already her doing. And who knew if there as even an answer to be found?

“We may not know of a way, sire,” Gaius said, “but there are those with far more knowledge of the arcane arts than ourselves.”

This time when Arthur sucked in a breath, it came out in a low laugh. “No druid would ever try to save a Pendragon.”

“Arthur.” Merlin twisted his hands together. “I could go.”

But as soon as Merlin staid it, Arthur shook his head. “No. I won't separate us again. Either we both go, or neither of us.”

“But Morgana – Camelot – you need to stay here,” Merlin said. He stood as straight as he could. His shoulder throbbed under the strain. “The druids might listen to me.” He waved his arm a little helplessly. Even that movement seemed to irritate his wound; he winced and stopped. “They seem to think I'm some sort of legendary... sorcerer. A warlock. They even have a name for me, remember?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Emrys.”

Merlin almost jumped at the way Arthur said it, nearly like an accusation. “Yes. They may be willing to listen to me.”

Arthur didn't move for a while. Merlin could see him thinking, considering. Wavering. Those bright blue eyes closed. “No, Merlin.”

Merlin jerked back at that. Arthur looked to almost be in pain. “I cannot chance you going out there alone. Even with Lancelot or Gwaine with you, there could be more my father sent for you. You're injured, and tired, and the knights will be on the lookout for you. Besides,” he said, cutting Merlin off before he could do more than open his mouth, “I need you here. Not just for my father, but for Camelot. For me.” He took a deep breath. “I need you in case Morgana tries something. You're the only one with – with magic, to fight with it if I need you. I need to show Camelot that you and I are a team, that we stand together. I need...” His voice finally trailed off. He rubbed his forehead. “I need you here,” he said again.

Ah. Merlin hugged his injured arm close. “I understand,” he said softly. Arthur nodded.

“Well, then, sire,” Gaius said, clearing his throat and cutting neatly through the sudden thickness in the air, “then may I suggest we keep the king, erm, quiescent for the moment?”

They all looked over to the king, still on the bed as if merely in some deep sleep. What would he do if he woke up? Would he attack Arthur again? Go on some sort of rampage? Send out his men to forcibly take the kingdom back under his rule?

Arthur nodded, his lips so firmly pressed together they seemed little more than a thin line. “Very well, Gaius. Just make sure he doesn't harm himself or... others.”

Gaius nodded and moved toward the door. “Of course, sire. I'll take good care of him.”

Merlin held his tongue as Gaius left, Arthur looking after him as if he wanted to call him back, or perhaps go in his stead. But when Arthur looked back to his father, his entire body drooping with the weight of it all, his fists clenching tight enough to turn the knuckles white, he couldn't keep silent any longer. “Arthur–”

“No, Merlin. Spare me your self-sacrificing drivel.” Merlin didn't know how to take that, but he didn't have to worry; Arthur wasn't done talking yet. “I need to know you're safe. I need to know you aren't getting yourself involved in something beyond you again. I need you to tell me who might have done this, if it's Morgana or someone else. I need to know what you can do, and what you know that I don't. I need to know the secrets that could mean the destruction of this kingdom. I need...” Arthur covered his lips, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I need my armor polished.”

Merlin snorted. His lips twitched into a smile. “Of course, sire.”

Arthur bent down and placed a hand on his father's brow. Merlin looked away, granting Arthur some semblance of privacy. Gaius waited for him at the edge of the room, by the door, where Arthur had stood not moments before. The old man gave Merlin a long, slow look, before he held out his hand imperiously. “You have time right now,” the old man said, and Merlin's mouth twisted. He looked back to Arthur, but it was true that Arthur didn't look ready to move. He was curled over his father, pushing the short locks of hair around. His lips hardly moved. Whatever he was saying was for Uther's ears only.

Merlin turned away and sighed. “Fine, then.”

The blood had congealed by the time Gaius pulled at the shirt, and Merlin winced as the tug on the shirt ended up pulling the scabbed-up blood loose. He already knew he was bleeding sluggishly again.

“Merlin,” Gaius hissed, and immediately stopped trying to pull the thing off. “You fool boy.” And he made Merlin sit down beside the door, against the cupboard, and peeked out the door before running quickly down the steps.

Ah, he realized, and stood all over again as he finally realized why Gaius had been in his room. Hiding. From Uther's men, from Morgana.

Arthur finally seemed to be pulled out of himself as Gaius' exit, and his brows furrowed. He caught sight of Merlin, cradling his arm to himself once more, and stepped away from his father. “How bad is it?” he asked, gesturing to the arm. Merlin just stared up at him. It was wrapped, and he was certain the blood wasn't visible on the dark blue of his shirt. But Arthur's gaze traveled there, anyway, and his lips thinned. “Is all that blood?” He asked, and, well, apparently he could see it.

“Yes?” Merlin asked, and Arthur hissed.

“Sit down,” he ordered. And then Gaius returned, and Merlin was ushered to the edge of the bed, right next to the king's feet, and Gaius shooed Arthur away to cut off Merlin's sleeve.

Merlin expected Arthur to return to his father's side, unable to do anything for Merlin, anyway, but instead he leaned against the wall and folded his arms. His gaze stayed on Merlin's, his lips so pursed they stuck out like a duck's. Then Gaius slid a slim knife beneath his sleeve and cut the thing open, and pain shot up and down his arm as the bandages were pulled from the sleeve. And yes, the blood had soaked through the things, enough that Merlin could hardly tell they hadn't originally been dyed red. Gaius scowled down at it. Arthur snapped a quick, “why didn't you tell me it was this bad?”

Merlin looked back at him. He could tell Arthur only raged against him to hide his own self-recriminations, so he just smiled goofily and said, “maybe next time?”

Of course, that only made Arthur glare harder.

Merlin decided to just keep his mouth shut then and let Gaius work. He flinched when Gaius tried to unwrap the bandages, and Gaius hesitated. One wrinkled hand settled on his shoulder. “Can you stay still?” he asked, and Merlin didn't know if he could.

Arthur lurched up from the wall. “What can I do?”

“Hold him still,” Gaius said. Arthur took Merlin's good hand and pulled up. Merlin went with him, wondering if Arthur thought he would be able to keep his legs still underneath him once Gaius started cutting through the bandages. But Arthur moved around him until he was behind him, and he once again pulled down to the bed. Instead of the bed beneath him, however, he felt the steel warmth of Arthur's legs and chest. He grunted a surprised breath as Arthur tucked him within his body with Gaius right beside them. With Uther lying on the bed with them. And that, thankfully, beat back the flickering heat between his legs.

Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin's chest and good arm. Those legs encased his own. Merlin shivered. It had been a very long time since he'd last sat so close to Arthur. So long since he'd been wrapped around his prince. He bit his lip, reminding himself of Uther, of Gaius, of the awaiting pain. And thankfully, he once more kept himself in check. Finally he looked to Gaius and nodded.

Gaius held out his arm and slipped the tiny knife underneath. Merlin flinched at the way the bandages lifted with it. He could hear the dried blood cake and flake, following the bandages. He bit his lip as Gaius sawed at the bandages. He heard them rip, but didn't really feel it, save for a looseness that hadn't been there before. And then Gaius went higher, and the back of the blade rubbed against his wound, and he gasped. Arthur clamped down on his a bit more. And then he felt Arthur's breath against his neck, and Arthur's face buried itself in the crease between neck and shoulder. “I've got you,” Arthur murmured, and it was enough to control the violent shudder that wracked him as Gaius cut once more. This time he did feel it, and he whimpered.

No amount of biting his lip or focusing on Arthur made the pain hurt any less when Gaius decided to just cut through as quickly as possible, and he hissed in a couple unmanly sobs before finally the damn rags were pulled free. Anyone with a brain could guess the blood had started really falling all over again, and Merlin felt it running down his arm in little rivers. “Gaius,” Arthur said, and Merlin heard every ounce of restrained fury in that voice.

“It must be cleaned, sire, if it isn't infected already. Merlin, did you...” And Merlin focused long enough to see Gaius twist his fingers around a bit.

Merlin nodded. He felt really tired all of a sudden. “I tried, but... I don't think – you know I'm not–”

“Not good at healing magic? Of all the magic to not be good at, Merlin!” Arthur said, his breath a hot huff against Merlin's skin. He almost wanted Arthur to pull back; he felt like he was roasting. But immediately after thinking that, he almost felt freezing cold. He hoped it was only because of the loss of blood, and had nothing to do with an oncoming fever.

“I know,” he said, smiling at nothing, since Arthur was still pulled up tight behind him. “You have no idea how many times I wished I could heal you. How many times I tried.” He cleared his throat. “But I guess that's what I get for having to constantly save you. Offensive spells come really easily, by the way.”

Arthur's huff was much louder this time. Merlin could tell he was ready to mock the idea of Merlin saving him. He was ready for it. But this time, when Arthur took a breath, he didn't speak. He just curled right back up against Merlin – just as Gaius started wiping up the blood that likely branded his skin. “All right. How many times did you save me?”

Merlin's gaze instinctively turned to Uther. The man was still on the bed, eyes closed, breathing regular. But he couldn't help but feel that the instant he started talking about his magic to the man's son, he would rear up like some avenging angel and smite him.

Still. Arthur had asked. So Merlin cleared his throat and said, “I made the chandelier fall on the old woman who had disguised herself as your singer. Then I slowed time to get to you before the dagger reached you. Then I forced the snakes in Valiant's shield to manifest. Then I–”

“Wait – that was... no. Of course it was,” Arthur said, and Merlin could feel every word against his skin. He shivered, even as pain arced up his shoulder and through his fingers as Gaius picked dried blood away from the reopened wound. “I should have known that. You were the one who warned me about them. And I didn't believe you.”

“You did,” Merlin said, trying to pretend Gaius wasn't there listening to them. “You did, and it was the most wonderful thing in the world.”

Arthur snorted. Likely at his choice of words. But he was silent. Merlin let him piece it together. Gaius patted at his arm, slowly dabbing at the wet blood as it oozed down to his elbow. “And then?” Arthur asked, pulling Merlin's attention back to him.

“I...” And here Merlin cleared his throat. “This one wasn't you, but... I healed Gwen's father when he took sick.”

He expected anger, and waiting for it made dealing with Gaius scraping off the last of the blood much easier. But Arthur just leaned down a bit further, until his lips brushed Merlin's skin, and said, “I'd already guessed that. At Merlin's jump, Arthur said, “well, you admitted to it, didn't you?”

His mouth flapped open and closed. Gaius stood up and moved to the side, grabbing up something else he must have brought from downstairs. Merlin recognized the green paste as something Gaius had used before and made a face. No sooner had Gaius taken off the lid did the smell waft through the room. Merlin nearly gagged. Arthur chuckled. “This is what you get for getting injured in the first place,” he said.

“How was I to help it?” Merlin asked, trying to glare over his shoulder. It didn't work, though Gaius made an annoyed noise at Merlin's twitching. He forced himself to still. “There were almost a dozen of them, and every single one of them was after me. They hardly paid attention to Lancelot.”

Of course, the reminder of how Merlin had gotten hurt made Arthur tense up at his back. Merlin sighed. “I managed to... they were taken care of. But... I can't go back to Ealdor.” Merlin bit his lip again, even though the salve, when Gaius touched it to his arm, felt cool and soothing, and hurt only at initial contact.

Arthur hugged Merlin so tight he almost couldn't breathe. “They saw your magic, too, then?”

Merlin could only nod, miserable. “I don't even remember – I don't know what happened. I just... fought. There were too many, and I... I just reacted. Things turned bright, like – like with Nimueh? Only I can't remember properly. And then they were all hurt, most just...” He took a deep breath. “I think I killed them. All of them, save one, maybe.” He shivered. “I don't even remember.”

It was the wrong time to be worrying about it, but Gaius was there beside him to touch his shoulder and say, “you protected yourself. And though I'm sorry you had to do it, you had no choice. It was them or you. And I'm glad it was them.”

Arthur, however, was silent for a moment. But of course, it wasn't for long. “Nimueh? The evil sorceress my father had spoken of?”

Merlin didn't know how to take that. 'Evil sorceress' was certainly a step up from just 'sorceress,' in which it was just assumed that, because one was one, one had to be the other, was it appropriate to bring up that story? It was involved, and detailed, and twisted into several others. Should he try to speak against what the king had told his son, which wasn't quite accurate? But that would mean bringing up the biggest, potentially worst thing Merlin had done, worse even than letting Kilgharrah loose. And in this situation, he couldn't afford to distract Arthur so much.

“Merlin?”

Merlin jerked, and Gaius let out a reprimanding noise as Merlin's injured arm pulled away from the physician's hands. Merlin guiltily held it back out, muscles twinging and spasming under the strain. “Sorry,” he muttered. Then, “yes. That's the one.”

“You fought her? Alone?”

“I used magic,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper despite the fact that Uther had yet to so much as twitch on the bed. “Who could I take with me?”

It might have been the wrong thing to say, considering the sharp inhale that sucked the warmth from his shoulder. It took a long moment before Arthur spoke again. “What part of that battle was like the one in Ealdor?”

“The light,” Merlin answered instantly, trying to pretend he hadn't nearly ruined the chance to speak with Arthur about everything. He didn't want Arthur to feel guilty over what Merlin had done. He just didn't know how to keep it from happening. “I, um, used lightning? On Nimueh. And the light, it reminded me of that. I think – I think I might have summoned it again.”

Arthur's arms tightened around him. Once more, he went silent, and Merlin was left watching Gaius finished spreading the noxious cream over his skin and slowly wrapping it once more. “I'm going to make a splint for this,” Gaius said, his quiet voice still somehow piercing the silence that had descended on the room. “Don't move your arm any more than absolutely necessary, Merlin.” Merlin could only nod.

He wished he could look behind him, but with Gaius working on his arm, and with Arthur's hands wrapped around him like a viper, his breath still hot on Merlin's shoulder, he could hardly move. He finally ducked his head down. “I'm sorry?”

The breath hissed, almost cold, against him. “No.” Then, after another long pause, “you're powerful. I suppose I knew that. I was told. But... lightning.” His grip tightened a bit more, just for a second. Just long enough for Arthur's muscles to shiver in tension, then to fade. “You're very powerful, aren't you?” And he laughed. “To think someone as clumsy as you has so much inside of him.”

“Hey!” Merlin said.

“Oh?” And finally, Arthur pulled back enough for Merlin to glare over his shoulder at him. Arthur was smirking. Something tense and barbed softened against his breast as he realized he hadn't scared Arthur off yet. “That's right,” Arthur said. “You're still that clumsy, even when using your... spells.”

Merlin caught the hesitation – just as he saw Arthur force himself through it. He beamed the man a smile. “It's one of my charms,” he managed, his mind still on Arthur's intent, his very will to change his old prejudices.

Arthur just snorted.

Gaius made Merlin hold his arm to his chest while he found something to wrap it in. And of course, the old man finally just rolled up one of Merlin's clean shirts (though it was still on the floor) and wrapped it around his neck. “Don't use it,” the old man said, glaring with all the unearthly power of that eyebrow of his. Once more, all Merlin could do was nod. “I mean it. Arthur, don't let him use it. He's already lost too much blood, and if he loses much more, he will be in serious danger.”

All of Arthur's humor vanished. “Of course.” He looked Merlin over, finally turning his attention to his arm. “Do you have any other injuries?” he asked. His tone brooked no room for argument.

Merlin barely managed to shake his head before Arthur was turning up the power of his glare. “I don't! Just bruises and such. Nothing big. Nothing like...” And he just gestured vaguely to his arm. “I'm fine.” He tried a smile. Arthur did not buy it. He carefully kept his gaze away from Gaius, knowing the old man would have that eyebrow arching ever higher. Finally he sighed. “I'm fine.” He gestured to the king. “I'm more concerned about him. And Camelot.”

It served to distract Arthur, if nothing else. He turned and stared at his unmoving father, and his shoulders slowly tensed all over again. Merlin could guess what Arthur was thinking – not only about what his father had done, would do, but about how Camelot would suffer for it. And what had to happen next. Arthur would not decide for his kingdom. Not because he lacked the courage to choose, or because he would hesitate. He would step aside for the people to make a decision, because he'd seen Uther choose for the kingdom, and he'd seen the king choose against the people, for himself. He was waiting, not for Merlin to be patched up, but for the knights to finish taking care of the building. Clearing it out of Uther's men. So that the people could safely come out of hiding and decide.

Merlin also knew the other issue with doing so. After all, the man in the prison had turned on Merlin, even though Merlin had merely released him from the cell. The people may have turned away from Arthur's pleas. They may no longer support amnesty for Merlin. Which would mean, at best, Merlin being exiled all over again. And at worst?

Merlin reached out and wrapped one hand awkwardly behind him, until he was grasping Arthur's shoulder. Arthur turned those bright blue eyes on him. “It will be all right. Your people are strong. Have faith in them.”

Arthur just wrapped one of his hands around Merlin's own.

He wanted to believe in them himself. He did. But Arthur had reacted so poorly. Better than he'd expected, in the end, but still. He'd nearly found himself alone. Abandoned. If Arthur, the one closest to his heart, could not forgive him so easily, how possibly could the rest? Camelot, tainted as Arthur had been by Uther's poison, could so easily pull away from him completely. It already had. If Arthur had managed to make any headway – if the tales of riots and rebellion were even remotely true – then maybe there was hope. But when rebellions were squashed, people turned all the quieter. Would they even have the courage to speak up, if they even still believed in him at all?

And so his mind kept nipping around itself, and he found he couldn't quite believe his own words.

Gaius seemed to be finishing packing up whatever it was he'd brought up from downstairs, and he stood, his back cracking a bit, and turned to Merlin's cupboard. The old man opened it up to reveal several empty shelves – Merlin heard Arthur snort from behind him – and placed the items carefully within. He closed the cupboard door. “I believe it might be safe now for you to roam, sire,” Gaius said. Merlin knew what he wasn't saying: that the king and the prince together were too big a target. “The castle will be in a panic without you.” Because the king was currently indisposed. And hopefully would be for the foreseeable future.

Merlin looked back toward Arthur. The man's lips were once more in that near-duck phase, thinned to a tight line. “Yes, of course, Gaius. Thank you for everything.” He looked down as he stood, at least waiting for Merlin to shuffle up before standing, as well. Merlin hugged his injured arm to his chest; even with the splint on, the heaviness of the limb pulled on his wound. “Keep an eye on him?” he said, and his voice tilted up at the end despite himself.

Gaius nodded. “Of course, sire.”

Arthur kept staring down. Merlin couldn't rush him. If Uther every woke, whether he was still bespelled or not, he would still try to stop Arthur. Even if Arthur did nothing more than allow Merlin beside him as he continued his father's laws, Uther would still disagree. He would stop at nothing to see Merlin dead. That alone would be enough to cause Arthur pain.

But worse than that, Merlin knew without a doubt that Arthur wouldn't simply allow Uther's laws to continue. He would bring back the men Uther had exiled. He would lower the restrictions on sorcery. There might be countless things he could change – the treatment of Lancelot and Gwaine, the potential allowance for certain types of magic, even a potential – and Merlin's gut churned at the idea of it – betrothal to a manservant. (Or near-betrothal? Something like that; Merlin was a bit sketchy on the details.) And what would happen if Uther woke up then? He would rage. There would be chaos. Uther would demand the throne back, and Arthur would be in no position to deny him. It would spark all-out civil war.

Merlin's gut clenched. But he couldn't kill Uther, and he couldn't let Arthur do it. Arthur loved Uther too much. Killing Uther would kill him.

He'd been right. The things he'd be willing to do for Arthur – they weren't rational. They weren't healthy.

And just as he thought that, someone banged into the room below them.

Arthur placed a hand on his sword even as Merlin jumped. Heels clicked onto the floor. Merlin already knew who it was. He stepped carefully in front of Arthur. “I know you're here!” Morgana screamed, and Merlin flinched again. “I know you have Uther. Come out now, and I just might spare your life.”

Merlin's heart thundered in his chest. He held out a hand before Arthur could do anything more than brace himself. Silently, he shook his head. He tipped his head back toward Uther. Arthur had to protect his father. The man was vulnerable, and Morgana hated him.

Merlin didn't wait for Arthur to make some sort of noise or gesture to show he understood. He just hurried forward. But though he could avoid looking behind and seeing Arthur's face, he couldn't avoid Gaius'. The look there did not bear considering; he just passed the worrier a stupid grin and hurried through the door.

The first thing he noticed, oddly enough, was that Morgana was still in a long, flowing blue dress, with that soft lacy stuff flowing up the bodice and the sleeves wide and loose. Her hair sat in a coiffed, netted pattern, pulled back from her face. And her hands were outstretched on either side, and her eyes glowed. “Merlin. Good. I was hoping to settle the score.”

“Morgana.” He couldn't think of a single thing that he could say to diffuse the situation. Morgana had every right, every reason, to hate him. There was nothing he could possibly say. “I don't want to hurt you.”

She laughed. He'd known she would, but he couldn't help but say it, anyway. “That's rich. Didn't you try to kill me?”

“You have to know why,” he said. “What Morgause had done.”

“You poisoned me! While claiming to be my friend.” She held one hand out before her. Arthur and Gaius and Uther sat behind him, behind the door. Merlin needed to get her away from them. Somehow. “There's no excuse good enough for your betrayal.”

“I don't disagree.” She hesitated, and Merlin took the chance to walk two, three, four steps to the side, carefully keeping the distance between them the same. Morgana's eyes narrowed at the move, but she didn't attack. Not yet. “I can't ever take back or make up for what I did. I know that.”

She lifted her head. An ugly grin spread over that beautiful face. For the first time, Merlin disliked the bright red rouge on her lips. “And to find that you, of all people, have magic! The things you could have done instead of turning your back on me.”

Merlin winced. It was nothing but true. He'd been too busy thinking about himself, about what he would lose – about who he would put at risk, even more than himself – if his secret became known. His mother had told him that not even Arthur could know his secret. How could he even think of telling Morgana when he couldn't even tell Arthur? Even if it might have saved her life.

He dared take another step. Morgana raised her hand faster than he could dodge, and with a sharp push, Merlin felt something shove against his chest, He lost his feet, flipped over Gaius' bed, and slammed into the wall. Some sharp thrumming, like the sound of an axe against the trunk of a tree, started beating heavy against the back of his head. He reached up a hand to touch it and winced. There was enough sticky wetness to tell him he'd smashed a bit too hard.

He looked up and blinked. And blinked again. He grimaced as the world tilted and fuzzed at the edges. Morgana laughed. “Did you really think your pathetic sniveling was going to stop me? You're pathetic. And somehow you've gotten Arthur wrapped around your finger. I suppose I should congratulate you for that.” She stalked closer. “But someone like you isn't what I would call a good influence. Better to have someone like myself stand by his side.”

Merlin just blinked again. He needed to get her away from Arthur and Gaius and Uther. Which meant he needed to get them out of the room. Somehow. “You?”

“Yes. The person who will do what needs to be done. You and Arthur are too soft. Simple.” She grinned at this, these easy insults that she used to always fling, way back when, back when things were normal and Morgana was beautiful inside and out. She raised her hand again. “Forbærne yfel!”

“Áscilde!” Merlin managed, barely pulling his hand up in time. Fire broke against the edges of the shield, but instead of dissipating, it ate along the edges of the invisible wall and encircled him. He grunted in surprise. The fire burned high around him. He let the shield go, having no other choice, and covered his face as smoke curled around his head. Morgana trilled another laugh.

Arthur needed him. He held his breath and thrust out his good hand once more. “ Miere ál sweoloþhat!” He didn't know at first if it even worked; all he knew was the dark thrumming in his head and the dizzy swirl of the room. But he felt the heat around him dissipate, and Morgana let out a scream that could only be of fury, and he figured that was good enough. He staggered to his feet.

The door was too far away for him to get to it without engaging Morgana in battle. And with the way his vision was blurring, he didn't think he would make it. He saw Morgana thrust out her hand, saw the golden glow of her eyes, and tried to block with nothing more than his will. It might have worked; he couldn't tell. He didn't feel anything, but Morgana may have just been gearing herself up, or muttering a spell. He didn't think his hearing was very good at the moment.

What spells did he know that could possibly help him here? Fire would only put the entire room – and everyone in his own chambers – in danger. No amount of shoving Morgana around would ensure Gaius' medicines were protected. And he needed her out of the room. The battle couldn't drag on inside.

That move he'd used. He didn't even remember where he'd read it. But if he could use it in another way – if he could just keep Morgana walled up... maybe make a shield around her? Keep her from harming herself or others. Could he do it?

“Befe...” He thought. His mind seemed to be working slowly. Morgana shifted in his sight, and he tried to focus. Her lips were moving. Definitely moving. And something seemed to be gathering in her hands. “Befé wiðinnan rangebor... no...” His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. He grimaced.

Whatever Morgana was saying, she was done saying it. He gave up and just called his shield back. Thankfully, it came to him, just as something blasted against the front of it. He grunted at the impact. His visions faded to gray. He fell to one knee.

“Merlin!”

Oh. That wasn't good. Morgana's assault ended, and he slumped forward. His shield vanished around him. He couldn't see well, but he saw enough to know Arthur had come down to join him.

“You come for him?! Look at him!” There was something else, but Merlin's ears started fuzzing out with his eyesight.

“–away from him, Morgana.”

Arthur. He clenched his hands into fists. The pain from his injured arm shook itself up his shoulder and down to his fingertips. “Beféh wiðinnan randgebeorh!”

The pain in the back of his head exploded, and even as he watched his magic encircle Morgana, he saw the edges of his world turn black. Just as the magic caught her within it, it faded away. “No,” he said, his lips moving but his voice caught in his throat. Arthur stood before the door, his sword in his hands. Morgana's lips were moving. A snarl contorted her face. Arthur did not move.

“Áscilde,” he said. Nothing happened, and Arthur rolled, dodging something. Something bright. “Áscilde, áscilde, áscilde, áscilde!”

Arthur ducked down as Morgana turned to him. Merlin finally felt his magic move , felt it follow his demands. He felt Morgana's power push against his shields, once, twice. For the first time in a long while, he heard a sound – Morgana, screaming her fury. She battered against the shield with little more than brute force, and Merlin's knees shook. If he hadn't already been on the floor, he'd have fallen.

One last push, one last mad shove, and Merlin felt his shield cave inward and crash. He doubled over at the force of it. The pounding on the back of his head became more of a steady blast of pain. He hardly saw Morgana fling Arthur away. But he did see – just as his vision went black – Morgana turn toward the stairs to his room. He tried to will a force to push her. When that didn't work, he whispered, “ Ástryce.” He though he saw her fumble, but she didn't go flying as he'd hoped. She hissed something in return, however, and whatever it was, it felt like a rock slamming into his back.

He only realized he'd lost his last bit of energy when he cracked his jaw against the hard floor. “Áscilde Arthur,” he managed, not knowing if Morgana might come back and – but it didn't matter. He lost the battle against the dark and the pain.

Things got loud suddenly after that, and he came to long enough to swivel his head from side to side, the pain blanketing him completely, and yell, “Arthur? Arthur?!”

Someone – and old hand, and a smell of foul medicines – Gaius – Gaius grabbed his shoulder and gently led him back down. “Be still, Merlin. That wound on your head is serious.”

“Where's Arthur? I didn't – I couldn't protect him, Gaius. I failed.” The very idea of it drove him mad. “And Morgana...” He thought he remembered something important, but he couldn't think of what it was. “Where's Arthur?”

“He's fine, Merlin. He's... with Uther.”

Oh. Oh. Oh, by the gods. No. “Is Uther...?”

“Enough, Merlin. You've done enough damage to yourself, I should think. I need you to settle down and try to stay awake, please.”

Stay awake? Of course he would stay awake! “Where's Arthur? And Morgana? I can't just leave him alone.” And Merlin started struggling to get up. Gaius was no weakling, whatever his age, but Merlin just shoved his hands away and threw himself off the edge of – of the bed. Of Gaius' bed. The world tilted and spun and something awful pierced the back of his head. He groaned. “I could have – if I'd just attacked instead of trying to talk. I was so stupid, Gaius.” He looked around, but though the physician's chambers were in a state of chaos, there was no sign of Arthur. Whatever Gaius had been working on at the table was now all over the floor, along with several bowls and the leech tank (ew). Books were strewn around the room as if swept up in a storm, and something smelled distinctly of smoke.

Arthur. If he was nearby, with Uther, then he could only be in Merlin's room. He struggled to his feet. Gaius made a yelping noise, but the lance stabbing into his head made the blood rush in his ears. He didn't make out what the man said, but after a moment, those strong, old hands wrapped around his upper arms and helped steer him toward his rooms, and he was grateful. His legs wobbled like a foal's.

The path to the stairs was strewn with debris, and he tripped more than once on his way forward. Gaius' hands were sometimes the only things saving him from splattering himself on the ground like paint. And then, of course, came the stairs. He ended up nearly crawling on them to get into the room above. He shoved the door open and nearly smacked his face into the top stair. Again, Gaius' steady grip saved him.

Gaius ended up leading him step by step to the top, and Merlin was left to focus on his feet in order to ensure he didn't pull them both down. And so it took until he was firmly standing on the precipice to his own room that he managed to look up and see Arthur. He couldn't help but swallow back the whimper. Even as Arthur turned to the sound, he could see the defeated bend in Arthur's back as he curled on the bed around his father's still frame. Arthur's hands, clutching limp ones slightly bigger than his own. His eyes, empty and stark.

Merlin had failed. Uther was dead.

On a short moan, Merlin lost his ability to stand, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor. Arthur actually made an aborted move to get to him, and Merlin leaned back into Gaius' hold to get away. He shook his head. “He's...” And at Arthur's slumped, stoic expression, Merlin collapsed in on himself. “I'm so sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur stood. He seemed to do so with some difficulty, and Merlin wondered if he hadn't left his father's side. But in the next instant, he winced, and Merlin struggled forward. Arthur held up his hand. “Don't. Stay there.” For one horrible second, Merlin thought Arthur meant to turn Merlin away again. But Arthur hurried to his side, and his warm, callused hands curled around his upper arms, taking his weight in a way Gaius couldn't, and he forced Merlin straight once more. “Don't look like that, Merlin.” Arthur actually tried to smile. It only hurt more. “I know you did everything you could.”

Merlin shook his head. He hadn't, though. He'd tried to talk to her. Like an idiot. If he'd just pushed, if he'd–

“Merlin.”

Merlin jerked at the sound of Arthur's voice, nearly flinching. Arthur took more of his weight, perhaps assuming physical pain drove him. He let him, despite knowing Arthur was hurt inside and out. It was easier than admitting he hadn't done everything possible to stop Morgana. As if he'd wanted Uther to die. But he hadn't. No matter how much he didn't like him, the very fact that Arthur loved him made him indispensable. He wanted Arthur to understand that. But if he said he hadn't, if he said he'd tried to talk Morgana down instead of fighting her from the start, would Arthur really see it that way?

Arthur sighed. “Merlin. I can hear the thoughts running around in that tiny brain of yours. Stop.” And when Merlin held his breath, Arthur continued. “I know you tried to protect her. To stop her. And I want to thank you for it.”

The air gushed out of Merlin's chest in a whoosh. “Arthur?”

But Arthur didn't look over his shoulder to look at the lump underneath Merlin's ratty bedsheet. He kept his eyes on Merlin. “I know better by now, but nonetheless, I doubted you. Without you here, Morgana... started saying things. I knew, logically, that she was hiding information. And yet if I hadn't heard from you first, I might have doubted. I shouldn't have.” Arthur gripped Merlin just that little bit harder. “To the very end, you tried to help her. That's who you are, Merlin.” And Arthur quirked him a tiny smile. This time, however, he did look over his shoulder. And just like that, his smile fell. “A couple of my men came in. They saw. We're... we're taking him to the mausoleum. I'm to spend the night in solitude. Not even you can join me.” Arthur's lips thinned.

Solitude. In order to consider the weight passed on to him, the duties he must now perform. As king. Merlin's heart felt like lead in his chest. Tears pricked his eyes. “I'm so sorry, Arthur.”

Merlin saw Arthur take a deep breath. “No. I hate it. I despise it. But she was right. I was going to let my country fall apart because I couldn't make up my mind.”

Merlin frowned. “Wait. Morgana?” Arthur headed back to Uther's side, and Merlin moved right next to him, even knowing he had no right to stand there right then. Even though he couldn't drum within him a shred of sorrow over the loss of the man himself. But Arthur leaned over the edge of the bed, his face a rictus of loss, and Merlin couldn't imagine leaving Arthur for anything right then.

“Yes.” Arthur didn't elaborate for a while, and Merlin didn't press. The very fact that Morgana had been in a position to speak to Arthur at any sort of length over his choices... the very fact that Merlin hadn't been able to defend him, even from her words... Merlin held back a great sigh and slumped against the wall. The world darkened at its edges. “Morgana has always been the practical one. I... have not always been so. I would never have made the decision she did.” He buried his face in his hands, and Merlin jerked forward as if to help. But Arthur stood in a rush. “She's on the run now, Merlin. As a traitor. She – gods. She used magic to kill him. The people...”

And Merlin knew what Arthur was saying, and it hurt. To think that everything Arthur had done was for nothing, that everything was back to square one – but there was worse to consider. Arthur forced into being king after the major fight he'd had with his father. Arthur dealing with the death of his father at the same time as the betrayal of his sister.

And then Arthur looked up at him, and he realized perhaps the biggest problem, the major issue causing him pain – that the reversal of his people's opinion of magic meant Merlin could not sit, or even perhaps stand, beside him when he took the throne.

Merlin tried to smile for him. He was almost certain it worked, even though Arthur's pained look never wavered. “It's all right, you know. Everything will be fine. You're destined for great things, remember?”

“And how will Camelot fare while it waits for me to figure out how to make my destiny a reality?” Arthur asked, his voice not so low as to hide the bitterness tinged within. The sharp pounding in Merlin's head turned to an ache like a lightning strike. He couldn't quite hide the wince. Arthur sighed and scrubbed his face. “You're hurt and tired. You should go rest. I can handle the rest from here.”

“It's the manservant's job to do the dirty work,” Merlin said with a grin. But of course, reminding Arthur that he was still nothing more than the man's manservant wasn't the way to go about making him smile.

As if he could, Merlin thought, reminding himself once again that, even though Merlin himself couldn't care less if the king was dead, Arthur was devastated by it all. As if the king's death wasn't enough, there was the fighting beforehand, and the attempt Uther made on Arthur's own life. The battle that ultimately had begun because of Merlin, because of Arthur's loyalty to him. A battle without a victor. A battle that left his land divided.

Merlin sucked in a deep breath. “Exile me,” he said.

Arthur raised his head very slowly. When he met Merlin's gaze, it was with a glare that nearly made Merlin lose his footing. “You are ordered to not leave my side again. Hell, I ordered it last time, and I ignored my own decree. No more. You stay. With me. By my side. Do you understand, Merlin?”

Merlin flushed. The sudden heat made him dizzy. “Yes?”

“Good. Now go rest. You look ready to swoon.”

Almost, almost Merlin actually did as told – either swooned or went to rest, he wasn't certain which would come first – but he held his ground and lifted his chin. Arthur, thankfully, missed the personal battle, having apparently decided his babysitting duties with Merlin were over with his command. Really, the man should have known better by now. “I need to be with you. You can't be alone during this.”

“Merlin. The last thing I need is to worry about you when I have everything else to attend.” And Arthur stood and moved to Merlin's side, gently lifting him up from the wall despite his gruff words. “I will feel much better knowing you're getting your rest instead of following me around to places you can't even go.”

Arthur led him back down the steps, practically carrying him as his legs stumbled all over each other. The lightning strikes crashed like drums inside his head, a steady, pulsating beat that pounded from the back of his head. He groaned as they made it to the bottom step, even as Gaius came to help Arthur with his now mostly dead weight. He lost focus long enough to miss the trip back to the bed, and only came back when he found himself being laid horizontal over its surface.

“Get some rest,” Arthur ordered again, and Merlin's eyes closed at the words. At the sound of his voice, low and firm.

“But you shouldn't be alone,” Merlin said, his words mumbling together. His body felt heavy.

“I won't be,” Arthur said. “Gaius will make sure you're there in person for my coronation. But until then, I'll have you with me in other ways.”

Merlin managed to flutter his eyes open enough to see the blush creeping over Arthur's cheeks. His lips quirked. “Don' le' me slee' through it,” he said. “I wanna see... ya ta' your place... as king...”

The next thing Merlin knew, he was waking to Gaius' hand on his shoulder and forced to endure a check-up before being allowed to sleep once more. Arthur was nowhere to be found.

He still felt dizzy and woozy when he awoke for what had to be the tenth time in as many hours, and his head still beat like a herd of deer were trampling over the back of his head, but he was able to hold on to lucidity long enough to hear Gaius ask if he felt well enough to attend Arthur's coronation, and death itself would have to snake it cold claws into his neck before he would miss that. It was with Gaius' assistance that he managed to get himself up and dressed, and despite Gaius' age, he was the one to help Merlin to the throne room. It was slow going, and even slower as they neared, the people of Camelot all pushing for position in the room and spilling out into the hall. Many stared at Merlin with heated gazes, and some even blocked Gaius' passage forward. But a few of the knights – and Merlin blinked in surprise to find Gwaine in such an ensemble, shoving heartily at those who would impede his progress – came to field them forward, and oddly enough, for the number of people barring his path, there were just as many, if not more, who stood aside. It made their path forward both slow and circuitous.

His feet nearly failed him all over again by the time he finally gained entrance past the doors, and Gwaine took his weight from Gaius. Gaius hurried forward to get the two of them space in the front.

“Hey, there, hero!” Gwaine said, as if there was anything he'd done that was even remotely heroic. Merlin just looked blearily up at him. From the position leaning against his shoulder, Gwaine looked very, very, very tall. “The story's gotten around, by the way. How you shielded Arthur with your final breath. So romantic. But seriously, do think about the rest of us, yeah? My heart can't take much more of this.”

“Your fault for being late,” Merlin said, managing a small smile. Gwaine laughed.

“Well, don't go running off on some big errand while I'm busy corralling the baddies!”

“You took too long,” Merlin mumbled, and Gwaine chuckled as he muscled his way past a few nobles. The throne finally came into view, empty still as the crowd shuffled in. It looked high, even though the dais stood only a step above the rest of the floor. It looked lonely.

It was stupid, and petty, and selfish. But a part of Merlin wished he could have stood up there, with Arthur, on such an important day as this.

Merlin was once again surprised to see Lancelot and Percival standing before the dais, acting as a buffer between the throne and the people, both equally decked out in Camelot red. It looked dashing on Lancelot, as if it had been made to sit on his shoulders, and it looked like some sort of cape off Percival, the man's broad limbs pushing it to flow regally down his back. Both turned to him as he took his place beside Gaius, on the end of the first row, with the nobles on the other side of the red carpeting. Gwaine held Merlin steady until his legs could hold him, then went back to help the other knights rein in the rest of the crowd. Even though people spoke in hushed tones, the very number of voices made the sound loud and cacophonous. Every woman in the crowd seemed to have put on their best clothing, and the rustling of fabrics sounded like a flock of birds had been let loose in the room. Something clinked, either a sword or a cane, most likely. Merlin pressed just that little bit closer to Gaius, who smelled safely of herbs and linen, instead of the colognes and perfumes heating the air. Gaius checked him over, from the crown of his head to his feet. His head pounded.

The sound rose as time passed, and unless Merlin was mistaken, most of the stares had turned to him. The clergyman entered, and behind him scuttled a young man, even ganglier than Merlin, carrying the pillow on which rested the crown. And then Arthur finally entered, and the sound immediately died. It was only when he saw Gwen walking behind him that he realized he hadn't seen her on the way in.

They held one another's hands.

Merlin's heart nearly beat out of his chest. The slam of adrenaline pushed back the queasy, dizzy feeling. He saw, from the corner of his eye, several people turning their gazes once more to him. It felt like something had slithered up his throat and lodged itself there. His hands shook.

Arthur stepped up to the throne, and Merlin saw that he led Gwenivere over to where another throne sat, the throne Arthur had been placed in as prince. Gwen looked up at him with a big smile, and Arthur beamed down at her. That something in his throat dropped to his chest and twisted. “Where's the bishop?” Arthur asked, as the people stared dumbstruck.

Arthur had made it public that... that he and Merlin were a thing. A couple. Affianced? No. Merlin thought he should be fine with this. It was Arthur's plan, right? And even if it was nothing, or something, and he was nothing, he should be fine. So long as Arthur was happy.

But now he'd set his hopes too high, he'd let himself believe, and he was dying.

The bishop started forward, and despite the gravity of the scene, a low murmuring started up. Merlin's face flushed. He looked down.

“Sire?” the bishop said, staring Arthur up and down, his gaze flicking over to Gwen once, then twice. Arthur frowned.

“You know your duty,” Arthur said.

The old man straightened his spine. “Yes, sire.” And with one deep breath, he began.

Merlin's eyes caught, momentarily, on Gwen's, and they stared at one another. Her gaze was light, almost joyous. The hand not entwined with Arthur's reached up to cover their joined fingers, and she beamed Merlin a grin. As if he was supposed to be happy for them.

He was. He was supposed to be. Only he wasn't, because Arthur had sworn this wasn't the way it would be. He'd told Gwen he loved Merlin. He'd told her he couldn't go against Merlin and marry someone else. He'd said he wanted to marry Merlin. He'd anguished over not being able to just the night before!

Was this the work of the councilors? Merlin looked over to them, finally breaking eye contact with Gwenivere. But they were giving one another uneasy glances, and looking over toward Merlin. Their faces seemed torn on whether to believe Merlin had a hand in this or not. But wouldn't that defeat the purpose of ensorcelling Arthur, if he was going to give up his place just before everything would have worked out?

Everything, even this disaster with Uther, would have worked out. Merlin had no doubt Arthur would have been able to make something of it all. He would have gotten the kingdom back together, would have unified the whole of Albion. He would have gotten the people back on his side, with no more than kindness and patience and a pure desire for equality. It would have worked. It would have taken time, and effort, and perhaps even some sacrifices, but Arthur, of all people, could have made it work.

What had Arthur thought about, alone in that room beneath the castle all night? Had he thought about Merlin, about his situation as king? Had he decided there was too much at risk? Had he decided Merlin wasn't worth it?

But his very last words before Merlin had gone to sleep had been a promise that the two of them were together, even while apart. He hadn't sounded like he was wavering, or like he was pulling away. And Arthur wasn't a coward. He would have come to speak to Merlin about it, if at all possible. He wouldn't just... just turn away like this. He wouldn't just pull Gwenivere onto the dais and...

But perhaps he'd only had time to speak to one person? And perhaps that one person would have been Gwen. But that didn't make sense...

It didn't make sense. Because they were both staring adoringly into each other's eyes, and Gwen would at least be looking at him, trying to apologize, to perhaps send some sort of message or signal. They wouldn't do this to him. Neither of them. They wouldn't.

Something was wrong.

“We will wed, as well,” Merlin heard Arthur whisper as he bent down to accept the crown. His blood froze. Beside him, Gaius stiffened. In front of him, Merlin saw Gwaine, Lancelot, and Percival do the same. Gwaine went full-on scowl mode and started glaring at Arthur.

Merlin looked around again. There were a few more confused looks, a lot more wary looks. Many people looked at him with wide eyes. He didn't know what they wanted. Validation that he hadn't actually used and deceived Arthur all this time? An explanation as to what was going on? He had neither. He didn't see anyone using magic. He wasn't even by Arthur's side when he'd been left alone all night. He didn't know what could have happened. Weren't there guards stationed by the only exit? When would anyone have had the time to...

Merlin's thoughts skittered right there. Hadn't he thought it odd that Arthur thought Morgana had been right? Hadn't he thought Arthur's grief, his anger and frustration, should have been directed at him? But Arthur had been perfectly fine. Hadn't he? He'd been fine enough back then to tell Merlin that he would be with Arthur in other ways. He'd been speaking to Merlin as if he still cared about him. Didn't that mean Arthur had been fine then, as well? Did that mean it had happened sometime this morning? But if so, how had anyone gotten Gwen, as well? How had they gotten together in time?

Gwen was giving him a look now, like he was somehow betraying her.

He took a deep breath. A deeper one. Because no matter what, Arthur was still king, and what he was about to do might very well get him killed.

The priest took the crown from the pillow and raised it to Arthur's head. And Merlin stepped forward. “A-Arthur,” he said.

Every single person in the room turned to him. And when Arthur did, it was with fury. He nearly quailed back. “Arthur. You're... acting strangely. I need to be sure it's you. Really you. Before you're handed the crown.”

It was the priest's cue to step back, but all the old man did was stare at Merlin with eyes rounder than the moon.

Arthur stood, slowly, the full bearing of his regal heritage on display. And yet even as he stood, Gwaine moved to Merlin's side, taking a united front with him. Even as Merlin trembled and feared the gallows. Because he saw not a shred of affection in Arthur's gaze.

“I was going to hold off on this until I was king,” Arthur said, voice quiet. “I was going to give you a chance. To turn yourself in, to swear to never step foot within the borders of Camelot again. I would have let you go home.” Merlin blanched. “Because you were – are – very close to being a friend, despite your base birth. But I see offering such to you would be an error. Knight.” And Arthur actually nodded at Gwaine – his eyes hard. A warning. “Take him away.”

There were more than a few gasps. But Merlin was finally certain. There was no more doubt. “You're ensorcelled.” Even more gasps. And Merlin saw that Gwaine didn't even pretend to follow Arthur's order, but instead matched him glare for glare. “I don't know how, or by whom. But I will free you, Arthur. I swear it.”

Arthur's face scrunched. “It was you who ensorcelled me! I was lucky enough to see it before I took the throne.” Arthur's gaze swept to Gwaine, standing defiant against his king's wishes, then to the priest. “Finish your duty. And any knights still loyal, arrest both Merlin and Gwaine for treason.” And Arthur knelt down once more, as if he hadn't just asked for Merlin's death.

Gwen looked uneasy, and she moved as if to tug on Arthur's arm before looking toward the crowd and stopping. Her gaze swung to Merlin's. More betrayal, and the deep look of pain that spoke of her believing what Arthur said. But she didn't, not once, look upset about the rift caused between two people who were at least supposed to be as close as brothers.

People who knew about Gwen were few and far between. Any magic that would make such information available was high-level, as it meant rooting around inside someone's head. It was dangerous, volatile, and not easily controlled. He could think of two sorceresses off the top of his head who had the ability to work such magic. The problem was that he couldn't see a reason for either Morgause or Morgana to go after Arthur in this way. What would it solve? What would they gain?

That meant he had to find out what had happened, and he needed to do it quickly, before Camelot got handed over to some sorcerer.

The people were talking pretty loudly now, and Arthur was glaring over his audience. Merlin lifted his chin. “Don't worry, Arthur,” he said. “I'll find out what happened.” He looked over to Gwen. The betrayed look had grown into an almost devastated expression. But not one aimed toward Arthur. It was at him. As if he'd sought to destroy her happiness.

He turned to Gwaine. “It's both of them,” he said. “Does anyone know about Arthur and Gwen?”

Gaius moved, as well, though his shuffle was a bit cautious. “A few of Prince Arthur's friends,” Gaius said, “and some high members of the council. I'm sure Uther attempted to keep Arthur's attentions as discreet as possible, but he would still have needed to prepare contingencies in case anyone ever learned.”

Merlin immediately turned to the councilors. Some still stared at him, but many more were turned to one another, whispering and nodding and frowning. Making their own contingencies, or just trying to understand what was going on?

“If they thought I was controlling Arthur,” Merlin said, and even though he kept his voice down, he couldn't keep the rage inside, “would they rather manipulate Arthur themselves than have him manipulated by me?”

Gwaine actually hissed. Lancelot broke rank and moved closer, frowning down at Merlin but nonetheless shielding him with his body. He quirked a brow, making it plain he didn't catch what Merlin had said.

“It's possible,” Gaius said.

“Just possible?” Gwaine asked. “Or likely?”

Gaius hesitated. That meant enough for Merlin. He clenched his fists. “None of them have magic, though, do they?”

“No,” Gaius said, and it was with firmness. And of course, if anyone knew who in Uther's closest men might still know the arcane arts, it would be Gaius.

“Gaius,” Merlin said, but the old man was already moving.

“Leave it to me, Merlin,” the old man said. “I'll make a few inquiries. I am the king's physician, after all.” And with that, Gaius moved slowly over to the side of the council, in front of the nobles, even as the priest, his voice wobbling, finally held up the crown once more, and declared Arthur king.

“Long live the king,” the priest said. And though the first rendition was soft, hesitant, almost fearful, the whole room started echoing the chant.

Lips pursed, Merlin let Gwaine and Lancelot lead him away.

Chapter Text

Touch Every Breath I Breathe III

Merlin had hardly made it out of the throne room before several of Arthur's closest knights followed him out. He stared at them all as they converged: Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, Kay, and even Leopold. "Leon's taking Arthur back to his chambers," Kay said.

And from there, Gaius would take care of both Arthur and Gwen.

He didn't know what to do. He'd said he would help Arthur, but how could he? He didn't even know who was responsible, or what they'd done, or how to undo it. And while he hesitated and waited and tried to figure out just what was going on, Arthur remained with Gwen, completely unknowing of his very words to Merlin before he'd left Merlin last night.

And worse, traitorous thoughts in Merlin's mind asked if maybe, just maybe, this was for the best. Gwen was a wonderful woman, and she loved Camelot. And Arthur. They had both cared for each other deeply before Merlin had almost died against those bandits. If that moment had never happened, perhaps this was just the way things would have played out. Merlin could have lived in that in-between world of close friendship and deep affection, and Arthur could have continued swimming in that sea of denial, in which Merlin was hardly a friend, and certainly nothing more. The two of them together would create a beautiful Camelot, and eventually a beautiful Albion.

He took a deep breath. But no, he couldn't think that way. It was unfair to Arthur, and to Gwen. It was a lie. One propagated by some sorcerer who, for whatever reason, thought their best bet for whatever goal they had was to delete Arthur's and Gwen's memories of Arthur's feelings for Merlin.

He looked out from his thoughts to realize the knights who'd followed him had cleared out the already sparse population in their portion of the hall, leaving Merlin surrounded only by Arthur's knights. He suddenly felt their stares on him, their expectation. He could only look back with wide eyes.

Lancelot put his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Don't worry, Merlin," he said, and a small smile broke onto that handsome face. "We'll figure out what's happened to Arthur. You're not in this alone."

It was all he needed, a reminder that these people weren't just Arthur's knights, but also his friends. He smiled for them all. "Right," he said. He looked back toward the throne room, even though by then, Arthur and Gwen had almost certainly been led away by Leon and Gaius – hopefully, he thought with a wrench in his chest, before they wed. By now, Gaius will have offered them a drink laced with some sleeping tincture, and Leon would be tucking them away – in separate beds, Merlin hoped, and couldn't believe he actually had room in him at the moment for petty jealousy.

But Gwenivere had been introduced to the land as Arthur's fiancee. And though he'd been introduced the same, hadn't people only stared at him oddly? Hadn't there been silent accusations hurdling toward him as soon as Arthur made the announcement? 'Maybe Arthur has broken free,' 'maybe the sorcerer finally let him go.' There would always be suspicion hanging over their heads. But Gwen. She may have been a servant, but otherwise, she was still acceptable. Female. Non-magical. And even with the suspicion around what was going on with her, most people who shunned Merlin would welcome her with open arms.

Merlin turned to Lancelot. "Make sure people don't start blaming Gwen for this," he said. Lancelot's brows furrowed. "With her suddenly being accepted, and most people not even knowing Arthur's affections for her, it's only a matter of time before people start saying she ensorcelled him herself."

Lancelot nodded, his entire countenance contorting as he realized Gwen might actually be in danger. With Lancelot and Leon looking over Arthur and Gwen, Gaius could be expected to return soon. Merlin bit his lip, then gestured everyone away from the throne room entirely and down the hall that led to the edge of the castle. "We'll meet you back at Gaius'," he called out, knowing Lancelot would pass on the message to Gaius. He didn't say anything more as they hurried along, just barely beating the first pass of civilians out of the throne room.

His first order of business had to be releasing Arthur from the spell. Whatever the sorcerer's plan may be, it involved Arthur marrying Gwen. And whether it was while under a spell, a marriage was a marriage. If Arthur wed Gwen, it was over for them. At least – any legitimate thing was over for them. And Arthur's honor – well. Merlin and Arthur would be no more.

But... was that really the most important thing? Shouldn't his first order of business really be to protect Arthur, or to find the sorcerer, or to ensure Camelot's safety?

He clutched his stomach. He couldn't let his personal desires get in the way of taking care of Arthur and his kingdom. If whatever this was separated them, then that was just the price he paid for fulfilling his destiny. He'd believed from the start that he would have to make some sort of sacrifice. He'd always wondered that it would be his life. Perhaps it wouldn't be as simple as that.

They arrived back in Gaius' rooms, and only after he opened the door and stepped inside did he realize that the throbbing, panicky feeling that clouded his mind was the pain pounding from the back of his head. He touched his arm and shivered in reaction as pain lanced up and down from shoulder to wrist. He hadn't even thought of his injuries. "Is there any way to narrow down our list of possible sorcerers?"

"We were kind of hoping you could do that," Gwaine said, immediately ushering Merlin over to the table. He sat down and pulled Merlin with him. Gwaine's gaze locked on Merlin's arm.

"Right." Because he was the resident sorcerer. But he wasn't knowledgeable. All he knew, he learned either on the fly or from the few scant books available to him. And he'd always focused his attentions on spells he thought he could use to help Arthur. Protection spells, fire spells, earth spells.

But wait. Hadn't he also used a spell earlier, to find magic on a living creature, and find out where it had been sent?

He looked up. "I think I know a way to search for whoever did this," he said. It would be something else entirely to use his magic on a human. They were complex being themselves, already linked to the magic of the earth, even if they couldn't touch or manipulate it themselves. But the creature he'd searched from before had also been a creature of magic, so couldn't it be possible? At least in theory. And if he could at least follow the path of the magic taken, he could find who it was that had done it, or at least where they'd been. That could help them find a link in other ways – others may have noticed them, or they may have traveled through a strange area, or they might have gone somewhere they may yet return to.

In any case, it was a place to begin. And he very desperately needed that.

Gwaine clapped Merlin on his good shoulder. "We knew you could do it, buddy," he said. Merlin looked up to find Percival giving him a small smile, and Kay nodding to him, and even Leopold watching him without censure. "As soon as Arthur's asleep, I'll go up and try to trace the magic back to its user."

"I will accompany you," Leopold said. It was a voice that said he would not be dissuaded. Obviously the man intended to ensure Merlin didn't do anything to Arthur. But that was fine. It was far better than trying to kill him.

Of course, Gwaine glared murder at the man, anyway. Merlin leaned forward to cut off Gwaine's eye contact. "When Gaius comes back, we can ask him if he knows anything more about this kind of magic or what we can do. He knows a lot more about magic than me." Merlin hoped no one thought too hard about that fact.

The others started murmuring, bit by bit, until Percival and Kay had their heads bent down to one another, and Leopold leaned against the wall and covered his lips with his mouth, his gaze on the floor. Gwaine gathered Merlin's attention back to himself with a short push and a big grin. "So," he said. "Not how you were intending to spend today, huh?"

Merlin hardly managed a short grin. "No," he said. "Not really." He wasn't certain how he'd expected to spend the day, but he'd never thought it would be like this. He'd thought maybe Arthur would stand before the crowd, head held high as he took on his father's responsibilities. He'd thought maybe he would avoid being pulled back to bed in order to help Arthur with the council, or with the people, or with clean up. He'd expected at least one fight with Gaius about what he could handle, and maybe one with Arthur, as well. He'd thought Gwen would come in at some point to keep him company if he had to be on bed rest. She would have told him about whatever it was Arthur would have been doing.

He'd expected to hurt, and to be pushed away for his own good, and to have to watch Arthur from a distance, and maybe even some hate for coming back or using magic again. He'd been ready for the pain of watching Arthur stand up above him and accept the crown. He was ready for Arthur to even go so far as to denounce or even renounce Merlin or his engagement, even though he'd not put serious consideration into it, because it just wasn't in Arthur to act so against his beliefs in honor.

Gwaine nudged him again. "Hey. We'll find out what happened, all right? And don't worry. We'll take care of Arthur."

"He's king, Gwaine," Merlin said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "Even though we're doing all this for Arthur's sake, it doesn't change the fact that we're committing treason right now."

"Arthur's not in his right mind," Percival said, his soft voice breaking through their conversation. Merlin turned to find that the others had all stopped their own conversations to listen in to his.

"Whether the king is ensorcelled or not, it does not change the fact that we go against his orders," Kay said. The man did not, however, seem troubled by this fact. "But we are knights. Our duty is to the king, and to Camelot, and to the people. We must save this country from whoever has chosen to attack it, even if it means we lose our standing as knights."

It seemed the rest agreed, because no one said anything after that. Someone knocked on the door shortly thereafter, and every knight in the room turned as one toward it, putting their hands on their sheaths. Gwaine stood from the table and actually pulled his out slightly. But the person at the door ended up only being Gaius, and behind him came two knights, their hands already up in a gesture of surrender. "It appears," Gaius said upon entry, "that we are not the only ones prepared to help our king."

Merlin looked the two men over. One was older, much older. Old enough to have perhaps been a squire, or even a knight, before even the Great Purge. The other was much younger, likely only about five years older than Merlin, with long hair pulled back. Both stood at the entrance and waited patiently for Kay and Leopold to come and take their weapons. Once they were disarmed, Kay led them to the table. Merlin quickly got up and out of their way. Gaius went to his side and moved him to the bed. One high eyebrow quelled Merlin's complaints before he could do more than open his mouth.

"We came to help," the younger of the two said. The older merely nodded.

"Ulfius. Pell." Kay greeted both, and Merlin nodded vaguely at the both of them, the old and then the young, as their names were called. "It's good to see you."

"We won't be the only ones," Ulfius said, but though his words were for Kay, his gaze fixed itself upon Merlin. "We find ourselves in a strange situation."

"You mean one where you have to apologize and ask the person you've treated like shit for help," Gwaine said, and Merlin was unsurprised to find himself being gently pushed back behind Gwaine so the man could take a protective stance in front of him. It almost made Merlin laugh. Hadn't Gwaine just finished mentioning Merlin's magic? Why was he taking a defensive stance in front of him when he could just blast away any of the knights who came after him?

Although, well, he probably didn't make much of a menacing figure, all wobbly and injured as he was.

"We aren't saying we think this one's any safer," Pell said, but Ulfius shut him down, his voice gruff.

"Yes. Essentially."

Merlin peeked out from behind Gwaine at that. He blinked owlishly at the old man. His beard was white, his hair hidden beneath his mask, his face shadows with line after line of wrinkles. Merlin had seen the man on the march, however; the muscles beneath his armor were as real as Pell's or Kay's. "Really?" he asked. Then, hoping that didn't sound like he was actually waiting for some sort of apology, he stammered, "but, well, that's fine. Great! I mean. Because we'll need some help." And it also meant Arthur's knights all recognized that something was wrong. Even if they hated Merlin, they couldn't possibly want Arthur ensorcelled.

The worst part, however, was likely that, for the first time in a long time, though Arthur had been ensorcelled plenty of times before (usually by blond women, and considering Morgause was still a suspect, that trend could very well be continuing even now), the people had been safely kept in the dark about it. Heck, even those around him, Uther and the council and Gwen and others, and even oftentimes Arthur himself, had been kept in the dark while Merlin and Gaius scrambled for answers. But now it was different. Now the entire city had been within those walls when they'd seen his king order his previous fiancee – previous by less than twenty-four hours, and the man he'd fought his father and his entire country, arguably, to keep – to the dungeons. They'd heard Merlin label Arthur bespelled. They'd seen it all. The news would spread like wildfire. The people would fear their king's leadership, his control. They would wonder. Merlin scraped his hands over his face. Should he have just let it all go on? But if he had, Gwenivere would now be queen.

And that, Merlin thought with a grimace, was where his personal connections got in the way. His own desires, his fear of Gwen taking what he wished, hoped, wanted to be his place, had arguably put the entire country in jeopardy.

He would just have to take this one step at a time. Free Arthur. Then worry about saving the country. If he even could. If he was even in a position to do so.

Right. One step at a time.

"Merlin thinks he might be able to trace the magic on Arthur and Gwenivere back to whoever used it," Gwaine said, nearly as soon as Gaius stepped inside. "He thought you might have a better chance uncovering just what the spell might be."

"Or how to reverse it," Merlin said, starting to move toward the door. Leopold settled directly behind him. Ulfius moved to follow him, as well.

"Of course," Gaius said, and the old man moved to the bookcase beside the hearth.

"I'll go with him," Kay said before the old man could come. Kay was only slightly inconspicuous as he moved Ulfius and Pell aside to reach Merlin and led him to the door. "The rest of you, stay with Gaius. If any other knights come, vet them. Ensure they mean no harm to Arthur or to his true fiance." And Kay's hand landed on Merlin's good shoulder. Merlin looked up as he was herded out into the hall. Kay kept his gaze on those within until Leopold exited with them and the door closed behind them.

Merlin led the way to Arthur's rooms, his entire body going tenser with every step he took. Arthur had been enchanted before, and not once had Merlin felt like he was intruding on Arthur's privacy. Not once had he felt like he might be overstepping his bounds.

It was just that he was with Arthur now, and interfering with the enchantment now felt just a little bit like asserting his own place by Arthur's side. Like he was ousting this person just to take their place.

But Arthur had told Gwen that he intended to marry Merlin. He'd told Merlin that he intended to marry Merlin. He'd told his entire kingdom that he intended to marry Merlin. He may have been ousting this usurper, but he did belong by Arthur's side.

He straightened his back and turned down the last hall before Arthur's rooms. He didn't bother knocking; he never did. The room looked dull, almost dirty. It was likely just the dust motes in the air, dangling like jewels in the light from the windows, and the vague shadows of the heavier ones over the grain of the floor. Merlin walked in slowly, despite himself, despite knowing Arthur wouldn't be waking up this time. No matter how loudly Merlin tromped around or what he knocked into or spilled, Arthur would remain druggedly asleep. But habit had him moving slowly and cautiously, anyway, and Kay and Leopold ended up mirroring his careful steps.

The drapes around the bed were pulled back, and Merlin could see that Arthur and Gwen truly were sleeping together. To keep them both easily in sight? Easily protected? Or because it was just easier?

Nevertheless, Merlin got a sight of the two of them together, lying limply next to one another. One of Arthur's hands rested alongside Gwen's, almost entwined. Merlin wondered if Arthur had done it in his sleep, or if it had just been an accident of placement. He wondered why he was almost angry at it, why, above all that, he felt hurt. Neither Arthur nor Gwen had betrayed him. Neither of them would do that to him.

He looked away from their hands and turned instead toward Kay and Leopold. "I know at least one of you is here to ensure I don't do anything to Arthur," he said. Leopold nodded slightly; Kay merely narrowed his eyes. The man was impossible to read. "So if you want, I can try to bring one of you with me through the process. I don't know how well it will work, however. Or you can tie my up, or keep me far enough away that–"

"Merlin." Kay cut him off, and threw out one of his hands slightly when Leopold made a noise, as well. "We are here to help you. Not to get in your way."

Merlin looked at Leopold, but thought the man's brows were slightly drawn, he did not argue Kay's words. Well. Great. That just left him with the spell, and tracing the magic, and hoping it actually led him somewhere.

Merlin knelt beside the bed, until his gaze was level with the side of Arthur's head. He closed his eyes. "Ábeþece drýcræft."

He'd done this very same thing with the creature that had been sent into Arthur's rooms. Before he'd been exiled. Before the whole of Camelot had known what he was. Before Uther had gone mad, or been made to go mad. Before Arthur was king.

He recognized the feel of it now, like a slowly lapping wave against the world around him, curling from him in every direction. It crashed gently against the still bodies of Kay and Leopold, both seeming to hold their breath as they watched Merlin work. It splashed gently across Arthur, and something almost magical, but not quite, tingled along beneath the surface of his skin. It was almost a spell – a price, Merlin thought, thinking of the circumstances of Arthur's birth. And there was something more, something that almost seemed to shimmer. It linked back and forth, from Merlin to Arthur and back, over and over again. For a short second, Merlin was horrified, thinking he might have actually enchanted Arthur somehow, that maybe something he'd done, some way he's shielded Arthur, had linked the man magically to him. But no, it wasn't that, either.

Destiny. Merlin had never thought destiny could be something so simple. Platonic. Like waking slowly to the sound of birds outside your window, or the lazy touch of grass in the summer heat. Calmness, along with freedom, along with recognizing one's place. The world opened and closed, all at once. Possibilities and inevitabilities. Merlin had never seen the future before. He was not a seer. But suddenly he thought he could see a string, and that string was wound around his own. And it stretched into eternity.

The feeling of it all was encompassing. He felt like he could drown in it. But he pushed forward, anyway, and he felt something else. Something like a duller, coarser rope. It tied Arthur to another in the room – to Gwen. And it was ugly, and knotted, like comparing a golden thread to a sailor's rope. It beat with magic, as well. And as it beat, Arthur's and Gwen's hearts beat.

Merlin hissed. This was powerful, dark magic. It linked lives to this false love. If Merlin were to try to untangle them, or to break the knot in any way, it would lead to Gwen's and Arthur's deaths.

He had to find the source. "Áspyre!"

The feel of it was powerful enough – or dark enough – to make finding the stretch of it much simpler. The feel of someone manipulating Arthur was slimy, like Gaia berries on his skin. He took a deep breath and followed the thread of magic forward.

Merlin wasn't sure what he was expecting. Perhaps for it to lead away like it had with the creature, outside Camelot, like all clandestine sorcerer attacks had lately. But it didn't, and he shouldn't have been surprised. All other times Arthur had been enchanted, it had been right in front of his face, most often by nobles. But this one was slightly different, linking Arthur to Gwen instead of some entitled blond girl, and he'd thought, obviously incorrectly, that the enchanter or enchantress was acting more clandestine.

But of course, where best to strike than right beside someone? And hadn't Merlin feared the act of a noble's or councilman's hand in all this?

But the magic kept twining around something else, something that caught Merlin's attention even more than a person could have. The feel of the slimy magic hardly made it out the door before something caught onto him. He winced. It was like some sort of locked door, or – or a Pandora's Box, suddenly opened and set loose. He flinched as it raged.

He had never really practiced this spell before. The creature had the first time, and thought it was useful, he knew it was dangerous. A difficult spell, with the chance to backfire. He didn't know what that meant, exactly, but he could guess it wasn't good. But this was no backfire of his own magic. This was a trap.

Someone had thought he might use this spell? Who even knew he had the ability to perform this? Arthur. And Morgause. Was Morgause here, in the castle? Something like panic tripped in his chest, sparking a surge of adrenaline. He breathed deeply. What could Morgause possibly have to gain by linking Arthur to Gwen? It would do nothing to improve their own positions. All it would accomplish was to oust Merlin from Arthur's side. It might grant them an opening to Arthur, but only if they could pull Merlin from Camelot completely. Whether Arthur married Gwen or not, Merlin wouldn't abandon him. And he would work tirelessly to free Arthur's mind from their control, even if it took him years.

The trap was like the slimy sensation itself. Merlin railed against it, even as it touched his mind. He could feel the grip of it, murmuring that he should be happy for this change. Happy for Arthur, and for Gwen, and supportive. He had no claim on Arthur. They were close friends, separated by station. Nothing more.

Merlin surged against the thoughts. No. If this was what Arthur wanted, of course he would be happy for him. But the rest was nothing but a lie. He did have a claim on Arthur. Even if that claim wasn't one of love, which it was, it still wouldn't diminish his claim on the man, nor Arthur's claim on him. And they were more than close friends. He was Arthur's consort. As good as wed, kept from the full title by his sex and station and magic, but still held to Arthur's side. There was much, much more.

The pushed forward, trying to shove through the trap, and then realized it would be better to use it. It was magic, too, set up by the same person who had assaulted Arthur and Gwen. He wasn't trying to attack anyone. He was trying to find them. And the trap was so new, so recent, and was even helpfully burrowing itself into Merlin. There was no way he could lose it.

When before the trail had been like a thread, now it shone like a beacon. He still felt it, in the back of his mind, trying to tell him he was just Arthur's protector and friend. It was so ludicrous he could almost blank it out entirely, save for the focus he needed to use it as a compass.

The trail wasn't long. It bent down from the top of the tower, of course, but then it twisted down and around, back through the castle halls. The spell in his head snapped and snarled, warning him that he was going against Arthur's wishes, hurting Arthur. It made him pause partway through the search. How did the thing know to say that? How did it know that the idea of hurting Arthur would be the best possible approach to get him to stop? Why didn't it say something else, about how he was putting himself in danger, or how he was showing off too much of his power? Why didn't it warn him about Gwen, or say he was going to be attacked by the knights?

Well, Merlin's actions lately certainly showed that he wasn't too concerned with his own welfare. And he certainly stood more loyally to Arthur than to Gwenivere, no matter how close with her he was. But still, it seemed odd that it would know Arthur meant so much more to him than himself.

So. So whoever it was that had performed these spells, they knew the secrets of the people in this castle. Secrets that no one had any right knowing. How many councilmen would have used these spells, or ordered these spells, knowing both about Gwen and also about Merlin? None. The third party, if there had been – the sorcerer, whether they were third-party or the initial aggressors – had to know Merlin and Arthur inside and out.

Morgause? Or Morgana?

But what could Morgana possibly gain from this? Uther was already dead.

He didn't know how she could have been the one. The twisting turn of the pulse of dark magic ended in the heart of the castle, just behind the throne room. It pulsed with a sort of heartbeat there, and he could feel the person on the other end. The shape of them failed him, even as he felt the deep, steady touch of the source of magic within them. It flashed over their chest, up their necks and down their arms and legs – the blood. The blood itself held their magic.

Suddenly he felt something across the stream he felt – amusement, and a hard sneer of contempt. He thought the person might try to cut him off, send him away or break up the flow of magic somehow. Instead they surged it forward, like the gentle wave had turned into a monsoon. He snapped away from it with a yelp. He hardly felt himself fall until he crashed back into the floor, banging his poor, abused head. The almost-headache he'd been dealing with since his battle with Morgana flashed back into a bright burst of pain. He groaned and sat up. Kay grabbed him and helped him regain his balance. "What happened?" the man asked, when Merlin finally just pushed himself back until he was leaning against the side of the bed.

"I found them. They're here, in the castle." Leopold and Kay both looked like they were about to storm out the door. "They felt me, too. They might already be – behind the throne room," he said, because Leopold was already on his way out the door. He sighed as the man hurried from the room. "I don't know if they'll still be there." He looked up at Kay, kneeling with a furrowed brow before Merlin. "They had a trap waiting. Something only someone who knew me would set up, I think." Not like he was any sort of master of the arcane arts. He could always be wrong; heck, maybe it just latched on to his greatest fears. "It..." He looked over to Arthur. He hadn't seen what had happened at the end. He only knew that Arthur had tried to fight Morgana back, and that he'd failed. Arthur had said she'd run, and Merlin had no doubt Arthur had sent his men after her. One would have assumed she would have attempted to escape the castle. But what if she hadn't? What if she'd hidden herself away – perhaps even gone to the now-empty cave that had once imprisoned Kilgharrah – and waited for Arthur to go into that room and be left all alone before coming out and... and...

And what? Made Arthur forget about his feelings for Merlin? Made him get with Gwen? What could that possibly accomplish?

"You are afraid it is someone close to the two of you." Kay's gaze swept over to Arthur. "There should be more guards here," he murmured.

Merlin jerked. He hadn't even noticed. Leon should have sent men to guard Arthur, or should have stayed with him himself. But the room was empty. There was no one. Merlin scrambled to his feet, nearly kicking Kay as he shoved up from the floor. Kay moved much more fluidly, glancing around and grabbing the hilt of his sword.

Merlin's gaze swept straight to Arthur. He lay still on the bed, eyelids pale, his lashes ghosting shadows over his cheeks. Gwen lay beside him, but even as he watched, she shifted slightly, curling onto her side toward Arthur. He had to fight back the urge to separate them. Perhaps one of the reasons they'd been left together was because they refused to be parted? Or just to keep them complacent. But without knowing why, Merlin wouldn't put Arthur in danger. Besides, he told himself, they would be safer together. They could both be protected at the same time.

The room seemed so quiet now that they'd noticed the emptiness around them. Merlin glanced at the corners, around the room. He'd sent his spell through the full room, hadn't he? Suddenly he wasn't sure. Had he checked everything when he'd let himself follow the magic encircling Arthur, or had he merely pinpointed his attention? So he checked again, whispering the same spells as before. But nothing lingered. Nothing caught. The room was clean.

He took a deep breath. "There's no trace of magic here. I don't know if a spell was used perviously, and I just can't feel it here anymore, or it it's something else, something that was used on a person specifically to get them to leave. But there's nothing here anymore." Then why hadn't they realized there was no one...? He spread his awareness to the door. "But there's concealed magic just beyond the door," he said, and let his feet take him to the entrance. He didn't know enough about what he was feeling to be able to tell what its full purpose might have been.

He let his magic rest once more. "Whoever it was, they're not in the room." He looked back to Arthur, though, because he didn't know if the man could really be safe if there was no one left with him. And whoever had done that to the door... "Do we know who's been up here?"

Kay hesitated before removing his hand from his sword. He looked warily into Merlin's eyes for some time. Finally, he broke his gaze and looked to the door, as well. "I don't know. I can have it checked, of course, but..." And the man's gaze turned toward Arthur. Finally, he looked back to Merlin. "Can you use your magic to keep people out of the room?"

Merlin nearly jumped at the man's mention of his magic. Then he jumped again, as he realized Kay had seen his eyes glowing as he'd worked. Oh. He cleared his throat. "I... I think so. I mean, I can try to shield the place?" He said it like it was a question, and Kay's shoulders tensed. "Why?" he asked.

"Because I can ask Gaius." But it would mean leaving. Leaving Arthur virtually defenseless, with only Merlin to protect him.

"I've guarded him many times before," Merlin said, though it was true that he would have felt better if Arthur had more than just him. But over and over again, all Arthur had had was him. "I'll protect him with my life."

Kay nodded absently, as if that had never been in question, and something warm flowed through Merlin's chest. "Then I ask that you stay here while I retrieve such information from Gaius. I would like to search out Sir Leon and Sir Lancelot, but I can't afford to leave the king without more protection." Merlin nodded.

"And I can't afford to try to search them out while you're gone. I don't think I'd be able to fully concentrate on any threats I might find."

"Of course. I'll tell the men with Gaius to search in our stead." Kay hesitated by the door. "We will ensure the king and you are returned safely to one another, sire."

Merlin jerked as the man left the room, calmly shutting the door behind him.

He thought he felt the soft flutter of a breeze against his cheek. He heard the slight flap of the curtain in the wind. Those sunbeams danced and danced in the air, in front of his face, like sparkles. He managed to blink.

Sire. Well. That was certainly new. He didn't know if he was uncomfortable by it, or comfortable, or maybe just confused? Awkward. Warm. He finally just pushed the thought from his mind and looked down once more on Arthur. The man slept peacefully, though Merlin could help but notice how one arm had wrapped around Gwen's middle, pulling her against his side until nothing, not even air, separated them. He was still jealous, but he thought maybe he could handle it a little bit better. Just because he and Arthur hadn't gotten the chance to lie like that together for so long didn't mean he should be angry that they did now. It was only because of the spell.

He looked away, because he was not handling it any better.

Though he watched the door and the windows, no one passed through any of them. Nothing disturbed Arthur's rest. Yet Merlin still felt something bubbling against his skin. Some warning, some feeling of danger. He looked again and again toward Arthur and Gwen, but there was no change in them, either.

Impatience. Reticence. Annoyance. Anger. They pricked at his skin like tiny barbs, dancing on the surface until his very flesh felt hot. He shifted in place. Something urged him to come.

Was this the magic on the door? Was this what had made Lancelot and Leon leave their posts? It felt like a perpetual itch, similar to the sense of danger many of the knights referred to – something Arthur referred to, something Merlin knew better as a sense of foreboding. Enough of this, and the knights would have been antsy enough for the magic to impair their judgment.

So Merlin sat on the bed and focused on breathing evenly, one hand on Arthur's leg beneath the covers. He kept his eyes glued on the door, the windows, his body tense enough from the constant press of magic against his skin to keep him focused. He wanted to strain his magic against it, as well, perhaps try to create a shield or barrier, but since he had no idea what he was fighting, he knew it would be worse than useless. So he sat. And sat. And sat. And finally, Gwaine burst through the door. "Merlin!" As if they'd been separated for years, the man swooped him up, injured arm and all, and hugged him tight. "Don't ever go off with those assholes without me! I thought there'd be some kind of epic battle, and I would be left out."

Merlin laughed despite the pain in his arm and head and hugged Gwaine back. "Thanks for coming. I'm going to try to follow the feel of magic, see if I can find the source."

Gwaine frowned and pulled Merlin back enough to look at him. "I thought you already had?"

"I did," Merlin said. He looked to the door. "But there's something by the door that... I don't know. It pulls at me, I guess. I think it's what called the others out of the room. If I'm right, it called them straight to the person who's done this. I guess the quickest way to find those protecting the king is to have them come to you." He looked back to Gwaine. "Can you hold the fort here? You'll feel antsy, like something's just behind your shoulder, but I'll need you to stay as calm as possible."

"The old man knight should be up here soon," Gwaine said. "Can't you wait for him to come? I want to go with you."

Merlin shook his head. "No offense to Sir Ulfius," he said, his voice quiet, "but I trust you more."

Gwaine stared at him for a moment. Then he put a hand to his chest. "Why, Merlin," he said, "are you coming on to me?"

Merlin shoved him. It felt good to laugh. "Stop it! Arthur's right there. You know he'd beat the snot out of you if he'd have heard."

"What Arthur doesn't know won't hurt him." Gwaine grinned. But of course he didn't go anywhere with it, instead pulling up beside Arthur and unsheathing his sword. "So you're going to hunt down the sorcerer doing all this and attack them alone, injured, and without back-up. And you're lecturing me on not pissing Arthur off?"

It felt really good to laugh. "You're closer; you'll be his first target. Make sure to tire him out before he gets to me."

"What, so you can have the fight but not the make-up sex?" Merlin blushed to his roots. "No, I'll just hide when I see him wake up – oh, but to see his face when he finds out he's been sleeping with Gwenivere – oh, well. I guess I'll just take a couple of hits, then go hide."

Merlin rolled his eyes and set out. If anything, crossing the barrier of the magic by the door made him even tenser, and suddenly he was nearly propelled down the stairs toward the throne room. The place should have been closed, cleared out of people. There should have been guards posted around the perimeter, as usual, to keep gawkers from going inside and, say, sitting on the throne. But the average guard wouldn't likely stand much of a chance against a sorcerer of any caliber, let alone Morgana.

Unsurprisingly, when Merlin arrived, it was to find all of the guards standing silent sentinel – trapped in place, eyes unblinking. He maneuvered around them and opened the side door. Of course Morgana sat on the throne, her green dress billowing around her feet. She hardly looked over to Merlin as he stepped inside. "Well. It took you long enough."

Around her feet sat the remains of his friends. Leon lay prone on the floor, his limbs stretched out to each side. Lancelot leaned against the throne, his arms limp at his sides. Leopold lay draped on his side, feet tangled together with another knight whose face was hidden by his helmet. Several more stretched out from the throne like an ebbing wave. Merlin's heart tripped in his chest. He saw no blood, but with magic, that didn't mean much.

"What have you done to them?" he asked, careful of every step he took. While he and Arthur had been banged up pretty good – and he definitely remembered harming her at least a little – she seemed perfectly fine.

"They're just sleeping." She stood, the soft silk of her dress swishing around her ankles as she did. Her hair curled around her face as she turned fully to him. "I have far more to carry out today than simple revenge." She grinned. It was the same grin Merlin had fallen in love with back when he'd first come to the castle – a grin that spoke of confidence and righteousness. He shivered at it now. "You are going to do a little favor for me."

"Release Arthur and Gwen. Now."

She waved her hand. "Oh, please. You're always so concerned about him. Don't worry; he's fine. Forhwierfe."

Merlin was ready for it this time, and ducked and rolled, already shouting "scildan!" as he did. But when he finally focused on Morgana, it was to see her laughing at him like he was a child as her face twisted and contorted like wet clay. Merlin reared back at the sight. "What have you done?" he asked, not yet dropping the shield. Likely as soon as he did, she would strike.

"As I said." Her voice contorted, up and down like the keys of a piano, "you're going to do me a favor."

"I would never–" Merlin cut himself off for once, his jaw dropping so far to the floor he had no hope of uttering intelligible sounds. Morgana no longer looked like Morgana at all. With curled blonde hair, rounder cheeks, and a shorter frame, she hardly looked like herself at all. In fact, she looked just like... "Morgause?"

Morgause laughed. "I see the transformation spell went well." She looked down at her dress, which pressed against the waist and sat slightly limp on her chest. "Well. Can't have that. Scinnde." The dress shimmered before his eyes like a thermal. It retained its emerald hue and expensive cut, but somehow it looked slightly different – more like satin than silk, with a thinner scarf acting as a belt around the waist and trailing down the front of the dress. It also now seemed to fit her perfectly. A glamour, and with only one word. For a moment Merlin was actually envious of Morgana, for having had all that time with Morgause to learn so many spells. Next to her, he felt like a fraud. A failure. How could the supposedly strongest magic user of all time know so little of magic? How could he defeat someone so much more knowledgeable than he?

"Morgana. I don't know why you're doing all of this. I don't care. I'm only here to get you to drop your enchantments and leave." He stalked closer, one tiny step. If he could undo her glamour, he'd already be on his way to undoing whatever mess she was up to.

"Always, always with Arthur." Her face twisted into something far more ugly."You should be glad I came when I did, undoing the poison you're so good at giving others, Merlin." She sneered, and Morgause's were the lips he saw curl. "Glad that I did what neither you nor Arthur could, what saved your precious little country from itself. Neither of you would have killed Uther. Do you know what that would have done to your precious Camelot? But no. Arthur loved that disgusting despot more than he did you, me, or any of his so-called precious citizens. He didn't care about anything, so long as he kept that filth alive. And you! Even worse, you pathetic, simpering fool! You kept him alive, too, just because you love Arthur so much! You were willing to let everything be destroyed, simply for him! And now you dare to come to me and demand anything? I will use you how I please, and you will thank me for it!"

Merlin ignored Morgana's ravings from the moment she started screaming at him, using her voice to drown out his own. "Áwæcne framéower dihtedon mameran." Unlike Morgana, he needed a longer spell. He didn't even know if it worked before his attention was pulled once more to the woman's altered form. He barely had enough time to hold up his shield before her mental blast shoved him back. Pain flared bright and hot over his arm as he held the attack off. His feet skidded against the expensive tile.

"Did you think I was doing you a favor?" Morgana snarled, pushing him back again. Merlin carefully kept his gaze on her, afraid she might notice if his spell actually worked. "That I killed Uther for you?" She laughed when she saw the look on Merlin's face. "Oh. That is just – beautiful. You and Arthur – I don't know if it's conceit or naivete that drives you." Merlin nearly tripped over someone's leg. He stumbled, barely keeping his shield up. Morgana held one hand before her and pushed. "I don't care about either of you. You're too caught up in your own little worlds, your happy little bubbles. Me? I have plans. Plans that don't include either of you."

"Fríes," Merlin whispered.

He had to be careful which spells he used. Though he was more acclimated to fire than ice, fire could cause severe damage to the men collapsed around the throne. Any attempt to shove Morgana, too, would cause similar destruction. His friends were there. He couldn't do anything that could hurt them, too.

The freezing spell was supposed to lock someone in ice if used after another spell to chill the area or pull snow onto the battlefield. The throne room couldn't see that kind of damage on a good day without making people afraid. Now, the best he could do was what he did – send a bitter cold Morgana's way, enough to make her stop in her tracks. Her lips trembled as she sucked in air. When she exhaled, despite it being perfectly warm inside the room, her breath fanned out in a white plume.

"You..." Her lips barely moved. Merlin dared relax his stance, just a bit, and hurried farther away from the throne and the men lying helpless around it. Morgana could only follow him with her eyes. Merlin kept the shield up as he moved. He blamed the small distortion of the shield on his vision for how long it took him to realize her eyes were glowing golden. She planned on using magic to burst free. And because he was awful at ice spells, she probably could.

Merlin's gaze went immediately to the knights. "Ascildeƥ!"

He held one hand out to the throne while his other, injured arm held out the shield he'd yet to release.

The fire, when it hit, hit like a punch. The shield protecting him pushed against his injury; the heat made his head pound and throb. The very force of it shoved him back toward the front doors. His teeth clenched together as his body spasmed at the shock of the blast. Something banged against his shield; it looked like a chunk of ice, but was more likely a piece of this very room, a tile or part of a column destroyed by Morgana's wrath.

"Oh? Worried about your little friends, are you?" Morgana's lips still trembled, and they were tinged slightly blue, but that didn't stop the smirk from growing or the woman's body from turned in a quick arc to face those Merlin had tried so hard to steer them away from. She held up one blue-tinged hand.

"Don't!" Merlin shot off a quick blast, intending to knock Morgana back. Morgana swept away from it, though she stumbled in its draft. She didn't call up a shield. Could she? Had he ever seen her do it?

"Bealufulu geraoentteágian!"

"Forbærne!"

Morgana didn't have time to evade his fire, and once again, she didn't call up a shield. The fire hit her square in the stomach. She fell back, clutching the smoking wound, her eyes glowing like liquid dawn. Merlin held his shield up for her own assault, only to have chains sprout like vines from the marbled floor and wrap around his legs. He grunted as he was pulled to his knees, the chains twisting around his waist, grabbing his arms and yanking them to his sides. The metal cut into his injured arm so badly he cried out in pain. His shield dissolved around him.

Morgana stood up and dusted herself off as best she can. Her dress smoldered, scraps of satin raining down, showing off a tiny bit of her stomach, the hint of a belly button. "Well. My sister makes better ones, but those will have to do." She stalked forward, even as Merlin struggled uselessly in the bindings. He gasped for breath. His arm hurt. He could feel his pulse along the line of torn skin. "Now. You and Arthur owe me, and I intend to collect." She strode right up to him, blocking his line of vision to the slight movement behind her. "By taking the initiative with Uther, I knew the people would once more begin to look suspiciously on magic. But you." She reached down and grabbed the chains on his chest. When she leaned in to look at him, it was with something almost like a grimace, if only filled with far more contempt. "You're their little golden boy, aren't you? The prince's lap dog. Ready and willing to give your life for their precious Arthur. And isn't the convenient for me, too? Because the quickest way to make them forget about what I did is to show them what you do. So come on. Æftergæe."

She looked away, dismissing him entirely, and started walking toward the main entrance. Merlin glanced back. Yes, his spell was finally starting to work. He turned back to attack Morgana and nearly splatted his face into the floor. His body slid along the ground as if tethered to something – to Morgana herself. His already questionable balance nearly failed him completely at the sudden shift. By the time he managed to get himself held fairly straight, he'd already been dragged practically to the door.

Merlin planted his knees as best he could as he continued moving and snapped, "byre ond bæl fégaþ ond ánlæce!"

The sudden gush of wind threw both him and Morgana through the room. It burst open the doors and tore through the halls of the castle. And with it came fire.

It roared. Like a storm, it blew through the throne room, curled through the wind like a coil, and with the weight of a hurricane, picked Morgana off her feet and slammed her through the doors and out into the castle hall.

For the first few feet, Merlin was dragged with her, his short tether pulling tight as she went flying. But the next instant, the chains snapped from around him, and while Morgana still skidded along the floor of the castle to the main entrance, Merlin stretched out his arms and rose to his feet. A spot of red on his jacket caught his eye; of course the chains had managed to pull open his wound. And now, because of being scraped along like some toddler's stuffed animal, his knees hurt.

His feet wobbled slightly when he tried to move forward, but he locked them straight and grabbed the wall. He could see Morgana, lying limp, her body letting off small wisps of smoke. She'd landed half inside the castle and half out, her dress hitched up around her calves from the force of the wind. But even though Merlin had put everything into the spell, she was still struggling to her feet.

"No more!" he shouted, letting his voice reach her while he got his body under enough control to move. His head pounded thickly. The world tilted slightly. He took a deep breath. "No more, Morgana! You hear me? I've had enough." And he finally let go of the wall and moved to face her. She had enough sense to scramble backward, but even as she did, her chin went up. Defiant to the end. She got on her feet. "I know I'm at least partly to blame for what's become of you. But nonetheless, I cannot allow you to harm Arthur any further." He stepped out of the castle. The sun was nearly blinding on his face. It took him a moment to see that a few of Camelot's citizens had stopped to see what the ruckus was about.

One lone guard stood by the entrance of the castle, either too far away, too oblivious, or too lucky to get caught by whatever spell had lured countless other knights to her side. He unsheathed his sword. Morgana didn't even look at him before she blasted him back. He bounced like a rag doll off the castle wall and down the steps. Merlin scowled. If he'd gone to protect the man, she would have struck. He needed to think of Arthur first and foremost.

"Harm him? I haven't touched him." Morgana threw her blond hair behind her shoulder. Her smirk showed she knew exactly what game she was playing. "He seems quite happy."

"It's a lie!" Merlin tried to blast her. Morgana tried to blast him. The force met in the middle, and both got pushed back. Merlin powered through it. "Cuman haef fýrbrýne!" Fire wrapped around Morgana's feet. He wouldn't let her get away. Not this time.

"A lie? Why? Because he's not with you?" But no matter how Morgana mocked, she didn't make a move toward the fire. Behind the flames, however, her eyes glowed gold.

The knight who had been thrown about the castle entrance managed to struggle to his feet. He took one look at Merlin and Morgana – still glamoured to appear to be Morgause – and turned to keep the growing number of people from getting any nearer. "I don't care if Arthur is with me or not!" he said. Though, based on how he reacted to Arthur pulling Gwen closer, that was at least partly a lie. "But whoever it is who stands beside Arthur, it should be his choice, and no one else's! Áríse!"

The fire rose to Morgana's thighs. Whatever Morgana had been planning, she was forced to drop it to scorch out the flames licking at her dress.

"Let him go, Morgana! Give him and Gwen their minds back. I can't promise you anything, but I will ask Arthur to grant you some mercy."

She laughed. Merlin had thought she would. "Mercy?" She pointed the palm of one hand down toward the rising flames and said, "Áswáme!" Without wind or rain or even the slightest indication of its previous existence, the fire dimmed to a sputtering flame. Morgana picked up the hem of her tattered skirts and stepped lightly over its flickering remains. "You can't be serious. Have you always spouted such lines? Does Arthur enjoy listening to you say such things? Or does he prefer something less... intelligible?" She chuckled. "Oh, isn't that sweet. You're blushing."

Merlin swept a quick gaze to the people starting to crowd the front of the entrance, heedless of the danger of being int heir vicinity, no matter how strongly the knight urged them back. "Are you trying to humiliate me, or Arthur?"

"Does doing either take any trying?"

Merlin didn't know how to go about actually getting Morgana to do what he wanted. He also didn't know what exactly it was she wanted to use him for, so he didn't know what to avoid doing. But he did know he couldn't let her get away, and he wouldn't let her use him to harm Arthur. That was all he had at the moment. At least until the others finally came to help. "What do you even get out of this? Gwen? Really?"

"Oh? But besides you, she was the closest one to his heart. It's so much easier to manipulate a man when he's already partly there himself." She stepped closer. Merlin couldn't summon more wind without putting the curious bystanders in danger. He couldn't summon fire for fear of it being deflected their way. There's wasn't much one could do with water without having at least some nearby, and the very air itself was dry, nearly crackling with anticipation. If he used lightning and called it forth like he had for Nimueh, however, what were the chances the people wouldn't fear him all over again? They might panic, might shove each other in their attempt to escape. Worse, they might... might think Merlin a monster, and no longer want him around. Arthur's work might end in vain. But if he didn't stop Morgana, then it would be even worse, right? Arthur in the palm of her hand, and thus Camelot, as well.

His wants didn't matter. He'd hoped the others might have gotten to him in time, but–

"Merlin!"

Merlin jumped at the sound of his name. Despite himself, he turned to the castle, his lips breaking into a wide grin at the sight before him. Leading the way was Lancelot, his sword already drawn as he raced out of the castle and toward Merlin. Just behind him was Leon, followed by Leopold and the rest, each of them pulling up around Morgana and surrounding her. Morgana looked from them to Merlin, her eyes wide for a moment before narrowing. Her hands clenched to fists. A wind picked up around her, throwing her hair wild.

"Morgause!" Leon said. Merlin opened his mouth to correct him. "You were the one to put the enchantment on his Highness! For assaulting the king and treason against the High Crown, your punishment is death."

Morgana laughed again. Her very voice sounded like Morgause's; it was no wonder the rest believed what they saw. But did they not wonder what had happened to Morgana? Or had they never seen her form in the castle to begin with?

"Pathetic. If you want to free your precious king, you're going to have to do it over my dead body. Unbræce drýcræft clústor!"

Leon ducked, even though the spell was a protective one. When Leon felt no attack or resistance, he moved forward, no hesitation in his step, and swung. It seemed odd for the man to do so, until Merlin remembered he didn't know it was Morgana. It was useless, anyway; Morgana's spell had been for a magical barrier, something not unlike a shield. Leon's sword slid right off her shoulder like a caress. Leon hopped back, even though doing so couldn't actually bring him out of her range. "What?"

Merlin grabbed Lance's arm. The man turned to him, his hair sticking up on one end and his eyes wide in something almost like desperation. "Like the griffon," he said. In an instant Lance changed; his lips firmed, his gaze steadied, his shoulders straightened.

"Will it free Gwen and Arthur?"

Merlin thought of Sophia. He had to hope it would be the same; no enchantment had ever been willingly lifted by any sorcerer or sorceress he knew of. It certainly wouldn't be done by Morgana. "I've done it before," he said. And that seemed to be enough for him.

"Tell me when." Lancelot lifted one hand and curled it into a fist. Louder, he shouted, "for Camelot!"

Merlin expected them all to charge at Morgana as one, but instead they formed up, putting Merlin in the middle, where Arthur would usually stand, Leon on his left, Lancelot on his right, and held their shields before them. It was one of Arthur's battle formations. A few of the men had to curl in from the castle gates. Some others stood slightly below one another, one on every other step. But each held their ground as Morgana held out her hand and shoved.

"Scildan!" Merlin said, holding out his own hand. The shield was harder to project, as it covered a much larger space than just himself. But it helped when Morgana called down fire. He gritted his teeth. If Morgana heard what he was up to, then she would likely find a way through it; she would dodge, or counter, and Merlin might not know the spell she used next. And now she was likely waiting for whatever sound he made next, since she hadn't caught him waking the knights from their enforced slumber. "I need a distraction," Merlin said, trying to find something he could throw at Morgana to get her attention off of him.

"Done," Leon said. "Men! Fifth formation! To arms!"

A chorus of affirmations followed, echoed by the screech and clang of swords being held out before men's swords. Each point shot from behind the shields; each man launched himself out, one after another, until a wave sprang forth, from the edges out. Morgana flung her arm, trying to direct her blast against them all, but the men hung behind their shields.

"As we would with a beast!" Leon said, and Merlin thought he sounded a little too pleased at the comparison. The group surrounded her, and with short jabs, they pressed their swords past their shields. Morgana's barrier protected her from any harm, but she was quickly surrounded. One banged on his shield with the pommel of his sword. Another slapped the whole length of his sword up the shield's face. Soon there became a thunderous noise, the beating of metal on metal and voices raised in shouts. Morgana snarled and shoved two men, Leopold and another, against the wall. Both struggled to stand. But the rest did not stop.

It was perfect.

"Lancelot. Your sword." Without hesitation, Lancelot held it out for Merlin. He carefully lifted his hand toward it, his eyes, for a moment, on Morgana. She was still preoccupied getting the knights out of her way; their larger bodies hid Merlin from her view completely."Bregdan anweald gafeluc!" And he nodded Lancelot forward.

Lancelot was like the old legends of shining knights and immortal blades. His hair shone in the sunlight. His cape flapped in a slight wind. And like a parting storm, the other knights moved to the side so Lancelot could take their place in the middle and thrust.

Morgana's glamour shimmered, just for one split second, and the picture of Morgause flickered. Morgana's lips trembled.

She should have been able to shove away the knights better. She should have had something, some spell, that would have given her some sort of advantage. All of Arthur's men hadn't been able to take out any magical creature, not a single one. Morgana was just as much magic as them – just as much as he himself. If Merlin had ever wanted to fight the knights, he was certain he would, at the very least, do enough damage to take some of them out, if not all.

That meant... that meant she was doing something else?

But just as Merlin stepped forward, ready to call fire or wind or even lightning to do his bidding, Morgana... exploded. In a burst of flame that shot out from all directions, against the knights' shields, down the steps, against the walls of the castle – in every direction, fire shoved and burst forth. And Merlin was certain Morgana was completely unharmed.

"I'll see you in a year or two, Merlin. And when I do, your precious Camelot will be mine." Merlin shivered as her disembodied voice whispered against his ear. "Keep my country pretty until I get back."

Unsurprisingly, when the fire died, there was no sign that Morgana had ever been there.

The silence in the area was so absolute, Merlin could hear his heart pounding in rhythm to his gasping breaths. Morgana had said Merlin would help her with something. He wasn't sure exactly what it was all for, but he could see now that, in his effort to not help her at all, he'd ended up doing exactly as she'd planned. No doubt, Arthur and Gwen had both been released from their enchantment. But it was not his doing, or the doing of any of the knights. Even as the first person cheered, Merlin's heart sank. What could she have wanted? What had been the point of all of it?

"Arthur." For the moment, the only thing that mattered was him. Someone applauded. Someone else shouted Merlin's name. He ignored them both and ran back inside. He spread out his awareness as well as he could as he twisted around the first turn and shot up the stairs. Lancelot shouted after him, and for a split second, Merlin heard the man chase after him before being called back by Leon. Merlin didn't hesitate.

Only a singe servant stood in the halls as he ran through, and he pressed himself close to the wall – likely on instinct – when Merlin passed. The second length of stairs nearly tripped him; he caught the wall on his left and shoved himself to the other wall on his right, using the rebound to catch his balance and continue forward.

He was sure Morgana would have released Arthur and Gwen. Why else make it seem as though Morgause had been defeated? But that didn't mean anything. Not until he saw it with his own eyes.

When he ran out of the servant's quarters, it was straight into something else, something only slightly softer than the wall. Something that grunted at the contact. Hands wrapped around his arms. "Merlin?"

He jerked his head up. Arthur's hair had been attacked rather thoroughly by his pillow – and potentially Gwen's hand. His clothing was wrinkled, his skin almost slimy with sweat, as if waking from Morgana's curse had taken all of his strength. But his eyes were wide, and clear, and they were focused on him. And there was no anger or hate in them. "Merlin, what happened? I was... I was in the meditation room, and someone came in... and then I was in my own room? With Guinevere?"

The very sound of Arthur's voice nearly made Merlin laugh. "You don't remember anything?" He tried to think of whether that was bad or good. It was certainly par for the course – Arthur had never remembered any of his previous enchanted escapades. But since this one had been seen by his people, in public, it probably would have been better if he'd remembered anything. And Merlin thought... Merlin thought Morgana might even have enjoyed letting him retain his memories – the reminder of how powerless he'd been, and how he'd threatened Merlin's life while under her spell.

But Arthur shook his head. His fingers flexed. "This has happened before. My loss of memory." He glared down at Merlin. "Something happened, didn't it? Something magical."

Merlin nodded. He opened his mouth to tell Arthur, but Gwaine came running up from behind Arthur, Gaius wheezing behind him, and grabbed Arthur. "Hey! You aren't supposed to just run off before the old man can take a look at you! What if you – Merlin! Has he done anything?"

Merlin shook his head, but Arthur snatched his hands away from Merlin's arms. "What does he mean – why are you bleeding? You've opened your wound!"

Gwaine stepped between the two of them and waved one hand in front of Arthur's face. Arthur scowled and grabbed it tight enough to make Gwaine wince. "Ow! Hey! I'm just making sure you're you."

Arthur sent a look over Gwaine's shoulder to Merlin. "What does he mean?"

Merlin nearly got to respond before Gaius stepped to Arthur's side, still puffing slightly. "I must ask Your Highness to return to his room. I can check on both you and young Guinevere there."

Arthur looked like he wanted to argue, but the mention of Gwen got him quiet. They all trooped back. More guards met them in Arthur's room, including Pell and Ulfius, both of whom stared suspiciously at Merlin as he entered behind Arthur. Arthur caught their looks and glared at them both. It warmed Merlin. Arthur really was back.

Gaius pointed Arthur back to his bed, the covers of which had been thrown wide. Gwen sat in one of the chairs by the kitchen table, her face covered with her hands. One of the knights was with her, almost like a guard beside a prisoner. Merlin quickly went to her side. When he loomed near enough to cover her in his shadow, she looked up. One glance at Merlin, however, had her ducking her face back into her hands again. Gaius touched Arthur's forehead, then counted his pulse, while the guards held their breaths. Arthur scowled through it all. Will someone tell me what has happened?"

"Morgana," Merlin said, shoving the word in before he could be interrupted again. "She didn't leave; she only made it seem like she had. I don't know where she hid – I didn't have time to look." He gave Arthur an apologetic look. "She enchanted you. I'm sorry. If I'd been down there, I could have stopped it."

Gwaine shoved him lightly on his good arm. "Are you insulting the rest of us, Merlin?"

Merlin just blinked up at him. "What?"

"Then what happened?" Arthur asked, not bothering to even acknowledge Gwaine's remark. "Why was I..." But this time he just looked at Gwen and trailed off. His cheeks tinged slightly pink. Gwaine guffawed.

Merlin cleared his throat. "I... don't know why." Arthur turned back to him, resolutely ignoring Gwaine's existence entirely now. "I couldn't... I didn't find out in time." He hung his head. "I'm sorry."

Arthur sighed. "Merlin." Arthur's gaze held steady on his, his brows unfurrowed, his lips unfrowning. "Just tell me what happened."

So he did. He told Arthur of his ceremony, of coming out with Gwen on his arm, pronouncing her to be his wife and queen. Arthur went pasty white at that. Gwen moaned and slunk deep in her chair. Merlin lost the thread of it shortly after getting Arthur to his rooms, however. "We found that there was something around the entrance to the room. Something I haven't felt since we came in a few minutes ago. I... don't know what it was. I don't know a lot of magic; it's not like I can study it or anything." He frowned. "So I don't know quite what she did. Whatever it was, it called the knights to her. Lured them in some way. Even I felt the pull, so I think it was intended for anyone. Whoever was loyal to you, whoever stayed by your side, would be pulled away. That's all I know." He shifted where he stood. Gaius finished looking Arthur over and patted his hand, giving him the all-clear. Arthur immediately held his hand up to Merlin, beckoning him to his side. Merlin came. And when he sat beside Arthur on his bed, the prat immediately grabbed his bad arm and held it out for Gaius to check. The old man sighed at the sight of the reopened wound.

"Well? There's more, surely."

"I had Gwaine stay with you and went after her." He pushed forward before that scowl could grow any bigger. "She's magic, Arthur! And the other knights had disappeared – we didn't know what was going on. I found them in the throne room, unconscious. She was sitting on the throne waiting for me." He gave Arthur another by-blow, since this one was really only about the fight. He didn't fail, however, to relay what Morgana had said to him. "I don't know what it meant, either. She'd changed her form for a reason, obviously, but I'm not sure why. I don't know what she could have possibly gotten from it all. Enchanting you with Gwen? Letting us defeat her? It doesn't make any sense."

"No," Lancelot said, entering the room with his sword still drawn. He locked eyes with Gwen and instantly sheathed his sword again. "It's good to see you back to your old self, Your Majesty." He bowed to Arthur. "May I ask how you fare?"

"I'm well. Gwen seems to be unharmed, as well." He looked at her as if to check, but it seemed Gwen was attempting to mold herself against the chair and refused to look out from behind her hands. Lancelot took four bounding steps toward her, dropped to one knee, and gently touched her hands with his own. Gwen peeked up from behind her bangs. Slowly, Lancelot lowered her hands to her lap.

Merlin looked away from the very private scene, his lips twitching into a warm smile. He'd not really had a doubt as to who would most likely become Gwen's love, but the look they shared between them destroyed what little sliver of it there might have been. Arthur took longer to look away, but when he did, his smile was just as fond. "So? I suppose you have a point to make, Lancelot?" Arthur asked.

Without looking away from Gwen, Lancelot answered. "Yes. I believe I can guess at the basic goals of her plan. Merlin, you left before you could see the peoples' reaction to our battle."

Merlin nodded dumbly until the true meaning of Lancelot's words sank in. Then he paled. Gaius pushed up the sleeve of his shirt when he realized Merlin wasn't aware enough of what he was doing to assist. "Oh. I... Oh, gods. I fought Morgana in front of the people. With magic." He covered his own face, mimicking Gwen. "Gods, Arthur, I'm so sorry."

"No, Merlin. That's not it," Lancelot said before Arthur could do more than frown. "The people cheered. They saw you as their savior. Though most everyone believes it was Morgause you slew, it doesn't change the fact that they saw a sorceress attacking the castle and its knights – and then saw you defend them. I believe that was her plan. Or, at least, it was part of it."

Merlin's brows furrowed. "She wanted me to beat her up?"

Arthur sighed. "Merlin. Really. Think about it. After... after what she did with Uther, with magic, the kingdom would once more see all magic as evil, right? It was something we'd discussed ourselves." Merlin nodded. A light began to flicker on. He didn't think he liked what it would show. "But if, before the hatred could really take flight, someone saved the next king with magic – well, then it's neither good nor bad again, right? It once more depends on the bearer. And she made herself look like Morgause, didn't she? So Morgause is painted as the enemy, and you as a hero. And Morgana, well, she's just caught in the middle, isn't she? It's the perfect opportunity to be pardoned from her crime."

Merlin felt himself grow weak as blood gushed from his face. That wasn't it, was it? Because she could have just done that from the beginning. She could have made a grand show of a battle when Arthur was coronated, or even before that, when she first killed Uther. Or any time after. But instead, she enchanted Arthur, and made sure the entire kingdom would know of it. "It... that's why..." He shivered. "She'll be back, then. And then what? What will the people believe?"

"I think I see the same thing you do," Lancelot said. He finally turned from Gwen, staring hard at Merlin. "You think she'll come back, and soon, while your position is still weak. So that you can't denounce her without potentially denouncing yourself."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked. "Simply because she thinks she might be forgiven by the people doesn't mean–"

"She doesn't think she'll be forgiven, Arthur, she thinks the people will think she was enchanted, too."

Arthur stopped mid-word, mouth still half-open, his entire body stuttering to a halt at that. "Wait," he said finally. "Because I was enchanted?"

"Yes," Merlin said. He leaned against Arthur while Gaius cleaned the skin around his opened wound. "And she made Morgause be the one who did it. Morgause, whom the entire country knows took her away. And before she was taken, everyone still knew her as the sweet, courageous, beautiful Morgana from before."

Arthur frowned. "The one who had already tried to kill Uther before."

"Exactly." Merlin bit his lip. "I... I wish I could..."

Arthur wrapped one arm around Merlin's waist and hugged him close. Gaius huffed gently beside them and leaned in further. "No. I spoke to her as much as I could without risking your safety. She seemed... angry. Too angry for reason, I think. At least for now."

They were both silent then. For Merlin's part, he wondered if there was anything left in Morgana to salvage, if maybe they could eventually get her back. With Uther gone, he wanted to think that she might calm down, come back to her senses, and return. But perhaps it was too late for that He had poisoned her, after all. There was no going back from that level of betrayal. But if not for him, then maybe for everything, everyone, else? She hadn't killed Arthur when she'd had the chance. Surely she could have taken the country if she'd done that. (Or maybe not? The knights would have pursued her to the end, but she likely had the power to defeat them. As it was, Merlin might have had more raw power than her, but she had more knowledge. If they both fought seriously, who would win?)

"Morgana's fury may never cease," Gaius said, pulling back from Merlin long enough to put away the dirty cloth and grab fresh bandages. "And as she stays away, so she will be poisoned by Morgause's own anger. When she returns, what little there may have yet been of the Morgana we once knew may be lost entirely."

A small shuffling sound came from the table, and Merlin turned to find Gwen slowly straightening in her chair. "All of this talk about Morgana... what have you two known that you haven't told me?" Her face was still dark with a stained blush, but her lips and gaze were firm.

"Gaius. Leave us, please. And close the door. We don't want any disturbances." Arthur's voice was every inch a king's: quiet, yet hard with demand. Without a word of protest, Gaius got up and did as Arthur bade, leaving Arthur and Merlin with only Gwen and Lancelot as witness.

Lancelot stood, as well. "I will ensure no one comes in," he said.

"Stay," Arthur said. Everyone in the room save Arthur startled at the command. He gestured toward Gwen. "I believe Guinevere would prefer you stay here with her, and I trust you with this information."

Merlin beamed at him. Arthur caught the look out of the corner of his eye and... and blushed?

"All right."

"Keep Merlin from moving," Gaius said. "Once you're done talking, I want him resting. The more he opens that wound, the greater the risk of infection."

That got a good, hard glare from Arthur for him. Merlin made a face. "Understood, Gaius. Consider him on enforced rest until he heals."

Gaius nodded. Merlin saw the evil little smile on the old man's face; he knew the man too well not to see it. "Very good, Your Highness."

Once Gaius had left, Arthur turned on Merlin and pushed him, albeit gently, to the middle of the bed. Where Gwen had lain, now Merlin sat, propped against the pillows, the bedspread pulled up over his legs. Arthur eyed every inch of him, taking in every bruise and scrape. "Don't move from here," he ordered, as if Merlin had any inclination to do so, and finally turned back to Gwen and Lancelot. "I'll explain everything, to the best of my ability. If you have any questions, save them until I'm finished."

It would be better if Merlin explained. But when he opened his mouth to offer, Arthur just said, "rest. You've done enough. Allow your king something."

Heat suffused him. Arthur likely just meant it as if he was the king of Camelot, the one who should be guarding his people. But Merlin, likely slightly anemic from losing so much blood both yesterday and just hours before, heard it as Arthur, Merlin's king. Specifically, Merlin's husband by consort. The idea of having any right of possession of Arthur made a fire light in his chest. He reached out and grabbed Arthur's hand. And even though it was girly, Arthur not only let him, but squeezed his fingers tight.

Merlin sat back and closed his eyes and Arthur gave Gwen and Lancelot a summary of what Merlin had told him, then outlined some conversations he'd had with her. Merlin listened closely to them. It sounded like Morgana had almost been willing to listen to Arthur, if only he hadn't defended Merlin. He wanted to feel miserable about it, but that warmth kept creeping back in. Arthur, even when Merlin was gone, even when it was just a conversation Merlin could have never learned about, he still stood by Merlin. Even with such high stakes.

He started drifting to sleep around the time Arthur recapped what had happened in Gaius' bedchamber just the day before. Arthur's voice, the steady heat of his body next to Merlin's own, the warm touch of his fingers along the palm of his hand. Things felt right again. The image of Arthur curled around Gwen faded, replaced with the idea of pulling Arthur down to join him and resting his cheek on Arthur's chest. He sighed.

"Morgana did all that?" Gwen asked.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Lancelot said. The words pulled Merlin from his sleepiness enough to look at the man. He sat next to Gwen at the table, a polite distance away despite how Gwen leaned toward him. Oddly, Lancelot wasn't looking at him. "That you underwent such trials alone."

"The fault lies with me," Arthur said, cutting off Merlin's own attempt to take away blame from anyone entirely. "I was prince. I should have known what was happening under my very nose. Because of my ignorance, Merlin went through much more turmoil than any man should have. Especially a manservant." Merlin glared tiredly at Arthur's back. He thought he saw the edge of a bitten-off smirk. It quickly disappeared. "I also handled the truth of his magic poorly, and because of that, I caused greater difficulties for him."

It was how Arthur spoke that clued Merlin in to the fact that Arthur, and apparently also Gwen and Lancelot, who seemed to be staring at the tabletop or at Arthur more than at Merlin, thought he was asleep. Suddenly he was afraid to so much as twitch beneath the covers.

"Arthur, you can't blame yourself. You're just one man. And it sounds like Merlin made it his job to protect you from the shadows."

"That's no excuse." For an instant, Arthur's fingers clenched so tight around his hand as to cause pain. Merlin closed his eyes on instinct when Arthur turned his head toward him. "How can it be an excuse to miss what happens around you simply because someone doesn't want you to see?"

Everyone was silent there. Merlin wanted to see how their friends reacted to Arthur's words, but he didn't want to chance being caught. It would, at this point, be far too awkward. He'd already missed his opportunity to show he was awake.

"If I may, Your Highness. I believe your reaction to magic has been exemplary. And I'm certain Merlin would say the same." Arthur snorted, but Lancelot wasn't dissuaded. "Arthur – Sire – you were taught from birth to hate magic. That all its practitioners were evil. Of course you will have a harder time accepting Merlin's magic than I or others raised in or nearby other countries. Your father – and my apologies if this upsets you – but he taught you to hate and fear someone like Merlin. If you'd been a weaker man, Merlin may now be exiled, or even killed."

Merlin thought back to that crypt, to the stones slowly piling up before him, blocking out the world. He barely kept himself from shivering. From the frozen feel of Arthur's body, he feared Arthur was thinking of the same place, from the other side: a cold, empty room with no light, and a newly paved wall hiding a man within.

"But to think all that happened with none of us knowing..." Gwen said. "To think, the whole time we searched and worried over Morgana, Merlin knew so much more about what had happened than us. He'd known she'd been part of the attack, albeit unwittingly. He'd actually... attacked her. And then..."

Merlin couldn't help it. That time, he flinched. Arthur turned to him immediately, and Merlin had no choice but to open his eyes and look back at him. Arthur's face wasn't quite blank; no matter how much he tried to keep his emotions restrained, he never quite managed it. Merlin thought it much better; people might say a king should have a good poker face, but Merlin thought it much better that a king be honest. "Merlin."

"Oh, no! That's not... I didn't mean it like that, Merlin," Gwen said. "I mean, it's surprising. I can't... but I can see where you were..." She bit her lip. "Unaware or not, she'd put countless people in danger. Several died. It's like... like she was so angry, and she didn't think it through, and she just took her anger out on anyone, not thinking about who else it might hurt. Like an arsonist setting fire to a building, not thinking of those next to it. Her anger with Uther spread to the rest of the country through her own recklessness. She was always the type to act without thinking it through. Ah. My apologies, Arthur."

"Don't apologize. My sister has... had... many good qualities. Patience and restraint had never been one of them." The small smile on Arthur's lips was ruined by the frown of his brows. Merlin squeezed his hand. Arthur straightened his shoulders. "Well. Merlin, I don't like the idea of making you move, but since you're awake, do you think you could come with me for a few minutes? Immediately afterward, I promise, you can rest here. I'm certain I'll be busy for quite a while, but–"

"Until you're able to rest, I'll stay with you," Merlin said.

"You have to rest," Arthur started.

"I'm not leaving you again. Last time, you managed to get yourself enchanted in front of all and sundry. I need to be where I can keep an eye on you."

Arthur bristled. "Are you saying you need to babysit me, Merlin? Must I remind you who your king is?"

"How could I possibly forget when you constantly remind me?" Merlin asked, rolling his eyes. Yet through it all, neither of them let go of the other's hand. "And doesn't the constant procession of knights act as babysitters? And all your servants, of course, ensuring you don't get lost between your bed and your cupboard. Being your manservant is a twenty-four-seven babysitting job. And it's hard work with you."

"Watch it, Merlin." But Arthur's lips twitched. Merlin caught both Gwen and Lancelot grinning at the two of them. Lancelot no longer paid full attention to the space between himself and Gwen, and slowly, she was breaching the gap.

"If you need to be somewhere, your manservant – your... your consort," Merlin said, his voice dropping to little more than a murmur, "should be there with you."

The smile broke free from Arthur's restraints and blossomed softly on his face. His eyes gentled. "Exactly what I was thinking." Arthur stood, carefully leaning over to keep Merlin's hand in his without tugging Merlin from his place on Arthur's bed. It made him look like he was bowing over Merlin, as a man might to a woman he courted. "Would you care to join me, then, Merlin?"

Merlin pulled himself forward, using Arthur's strength to help him sit forward and pull his legs around. "Always."

The sun beamed bright from the east, casting a long ray of light through the entrance to the castle. Two knights – Gwaine and Lancelot – stood on either side of the doors, swords out and held above their heads, crossed over one another. Gwen stood next to Gaius, far enough to not be seen in the stream of light. Gwen smiled so bright it seemed to hurt enough to produce tears. Gaius grinned and nodded at Merlin when he caught the man's gaze. He flushed. His heart pounded fit to dance right out of his chest.

"I don't think I can do this," Merlin said.

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin," Arthur said, staring straight ahead, his entire body exuding the confidence and power of a king. His crown glinted slightly from a stray beam of sunlight. His cape, thick velvet red, made his skin and hair shine bronze and gold. Merlin, dressed quickly in one of Arthur's thinner shirts and hair trimmed with a small, silver circlet, shook like a fawn next to him. "It's far too late now."

That smirk did not suit a king at all. Arthur, however, it fit perfectly. The sight of it could almost relax him. But not quite.

Arthur took his elbow and led him forward, ignoring the stumbling near-trip Merlin's feet attempted when they moved. The streak of light finally found his eyes and glared straight into them, blinding him. He squinted and tried to keep his feet straight as Arthur led him beneath the swords and onto the top step of the castle. His eyes barely adjusted enough to see a sea of faces, of people, what seemed to be the whole of Camelot's citizenry standing below them before Arthur grabbed his hand and held it up. And before Arthur could say a word, the people began to cheer. The sound became a roar. The roar thundered until it shook the earth.

"Camelot! We have returned to you!" Arthur said, his voice somehow rising above the people's cheers. And even as the cheers rose to a crescendo, blurring Merlin's hearing to a single note, Arthur tugged Merlin slightly closer and turned to him. With his free hand, he turned Merlin's face to meet his own. Those deep ocean eyes caught his. Waiting. Merlin parted his lips.

And to the exaltation of Camelot, the shouting of its people and the surge of magic within the earth, Arthur bent his lips to Merlin's.