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Ever since he was old enough to understand, Arthur had known that the triskelion over his heart was a bad thing. His mother had been killed by magic wielders, and his father had waged a war against them ever since. Unfortunately for pretty much everyone except the Druids, the triskelion was tattooed over Arthur’s heart, showing to the world that his soulmate would be a member of the magical creed.
Uther left the Druids alone because he loved his child, and because Ygraine had died to give him a son and he would not take the one fundamental person from his son’s life, even if it killed him.
Ever since he was old enough to understand, Merlin had known that the crest over his heart was the Pendragon Crest, for better or worse. Hunith had cried the moment she saw Merlin’s eyes flash gold, the first time she held him. She knew that he was a creature of magic, just like his father, and that his soulmate was in Camelot, where magic had been considered treason for almost three years now.
Hunith knew her son would suffer in this world, and she raged against it.
She taught Merlin control, and how to read and write, and how to stay unnoticed by undesirables. In turn, Merlin soaked up these lessons, playing with his gift only when he was alone, or with Will or his mother. When he turned sixteen, Hunith knew she had to let him go, to find his soulmate. Merlin knew too, and bade a tearful farewell to his home and mother, quietly sure he would never see them again.
***
Four years later, and Arthur was still ashamed of his soulmate, hiding the symbol of magic from all, even his most trusted friends. No one knew Arthur was destined for a Druid; no one knew who he was destined for at all, and subsequently he was the butt of many jokes. Merlin too, kept his symbol very much a secret, and the two danced around each other, knowing their love but believing it could never be.
Arthur knew Merlin wasn’t a Druid, having visited Ealdor a few years ago, so concluded he couldn’t be his soulmate. Merlin knew he could never risk being with Arthur. So, they pined away, stealing glances and longing brushes of hands, but never acted upon their mutual feelings.
The others knew of their love, of course. They thought that their soulmate tattoos must be dreadful indeed if neither of them would risk the other seeing. This all changed once they were captured by mercenaries, brought before a lord in the far North.
‘Arthur Pendragon. Far from home, no? Why were you in those woods?’ The ancient noble sneered down at the blond King, pushed to the dirt at his feet. Arthur panted up at the silver-haired monster, glaring with all his might. His knights and Merlin were lined up behind him, shackled and forced to watch.
‘Take his shirt off and bring me the whip. Let them watch.’ Instantly, six hands roughly grabbed six heads, manhandling them to look straight at their King. Of all of them, Merlin struggled the most, especially when the barbed coil of leather was brought out. He didn’t care about the knife to his neck, only that Arthur was there, and he was about to be whipped.
Arthur’s shirt, soaked through with sweat and blood, was torn from his back, revealing tanned, muscle-toned skin. Unblemished, for now.
When the whip descended for the first time, Arthur didn’t scream. Didn’t grunt, or whimper, or even flinch.
Merlin did. He saw that strap come down on his King’s back and he bellowed, heaving against his bonds. He almost blew the entire place to smithereens right then and there. He tried to. Only Arthur, back tense and shoulders drawn up, stopped him; he was taking the blows so that they didn’t have to, to give them time for Camelot’s knights to arrive. Only knowing these shackles were pure poison for magic kept his own at bay.
Unfortunately, upon hearing Merlin’s yell of fury, Arthur did move. He twitched, and that was enough for the lord to see, and pounce upon. A thin, cruel smile curved his grey lips.
‘Oh, I see.’ Arthur held his breath as the lord issues his next order. ‘Turn him around.’ His men leapt to do as he commanded. Arthur met Merlin’s fearful gaze, finding solace for a few, precious moments.
Their bubble of serenity was destroyed a second later.
‘Remove that one’s shirt.’ Stalking around behind Merlin, the lord smiled at Arthur, whose eyes widened in sheer horror.
Stroking the handle of the whip, the lord repeated the question for all to hear. Arthur gritted his teeth, helplessness shining in his eyes. Merlin shook his head, smiling at his King.
A moment later, Merlin winced as his shirt was torn off his back. The lord gave Arthur a raised brow; one last chance to save the blood of his friend.
But Arthur wasn’t looking at him. Wasn’t even looking into Merlin’s eyes. Instead his attention was wholly transfixed on that emblazoned crest of a golden dragon, wings outstretched, on a red background, fading out.
There was only one person that symbol could possibly relate to.
Pure, unadulterated fear coursed through Arthur’s veins as he witnessed that first strike of the whip against his soulmate’s back. The knights, enraged, struggled futilely. Arthur felt sick to his stomach, devastatingly calm inside even as he roared and fought to get out of his bonds, for Merlin for Merlin for Merlin.
Merlin hissed through his teeth as the whip cut into his skin. A harsh crack echoed throughout the dank dungeon air, the slap of leather on skin following shortly after.
It cracked again, and again, and again.
Each time, Merlin only exhaled sharply, holding in his pain, but when the whip fell directly atop a previous cut, Merlin couldn’t stifle his cry.
That tiny noise set fire to Arthur’s blood and he rose, beating against his enemies with nothing but his bound hands and his anger, taking down one man, then two. Gwaine, disregarding the blade at his throat completely, threw his head back into his captor’s groin, making him collapse in pain. He too surged to his feet, rage transforming his features into something primal and murderous. One by one, the knights rose and took down the nameless mercenaries and guards, determined to protect their most vulnerable member.
All this took time, however, and it ended at a stalemate. They were free now, their arms still shackled together – except Gwaine’s, as he had lots of experience escaping even the most rigorous of prisons, and Arthur’s as he had blocked a blow with them and was now no longer restrained – but with various weapons in their clasped hands. They had backed the rogue lord into a wall, surrounding him with a half-circle of sheer violent intent.
He was not a fool, unfortunately, and he had grasped Merlin around the chest the moment Arthur had brought down his first man. He had him now clutched against him, Merlin’s shredded back against brutal steel. A slender dagger was held carefully against the side of the man’s jaw, forcing his head up and to the side.
‘You will put your weapons down, or I will spill his blood, Pendragon.’ The lord’s voice was thunderous, which nearly disguised the nervous quality.
Before he had a chance to, Merlin, who was not as useless as people often told him – jokingly or not – , took a deep breath and slammed his heel up behind him, catching the man in the crotch. He screeched a note he hadn’t been able to hit since he was thirteen, and threw himself backwards to escape his captive. He forgot that there was a very strong, very solid stone wall directly behind him, and accidentally knocked himself clean out, smashing his head against the granite.
The knights blinked, and cautiously approached. Arthur threw caution to the wind however, and lunged for Merlin, tugging the topless man into his arms, feverishly checking him over, mindful of the large gashes on his back.
‘Merlin.’ He breathed, relief pouring from his tone. Arthur pressed their foreheads together for the smallest of moments, before he peeled away to remove his cloak and began tearing strips from it, efficiently binding Merlin’s various cuts.
When he was all done, and the lord had been safely tied up by the newly freed knights – no one wanted to know exactly where Gwaine had learned to pick locks so easily – Merlin turned around to face him, sorrow gracing his features.
Arthur smiled gently at him, but refrained from confronting the elephant in the room until they were camped out three leagues away from the castle, the lord still out cold.
‘Merlin.’ He was hesitant; he didn’t know why Merlin hadn’t approached him on the subject of their being soulmates, as there was no way Merlin could have possibly misconstrued its meaning. It had not yet occurred to him that if he was Merlin’s soulmate, Merlin was his.
‘Yes, your majesty?’ Merlin’s tone was subdued: he had pieced together the facts, and with Arthur’s misled hatred of magic, had kept his many secrets thoroughly hidden from the one person whom he should be able to trust with anything.
Misunderstanding Merlin’s response, Arthur flinched, allowing his features to be open enough for Merlin to see the hurt in them. He believed that Merlin wanted nothing to do with him because he was a King.
So, because he loved Merlin, he spoke the words that broke his heart.
‘If you want nothing to do with me, then I understand.’ He forced the words out past the lump in his throat, steeling himself so it would not catch on the tears building up behind his eyes.
Merlin’s confused gaze shot to meet his. They were lying down, side by side, as the rest of their group bustled around on the opposite side of the fire, pretending not to listen.
‘Arthur. We’re- we’re soulmates. You realise that, don’t you?’
Something painful and tense relaxed in Arthur. If Merlin was acknowledging that they were soulmates, then surely he wasn’t about to reject the King. He nodded, barely daring to breath. But Merlin’s face didn’t lighten.
‘Arthur… what’s. What is it?’ He asked instead, placing a trembling hand on Arthur’s chest, hardly there for how gently it pressed into the warmth of Arthur’s body. Right atop the Druid symbol.
Arthur’s brows furrowed, but a split second later his face slackened in shock. The triskelion. Merlin had magic.
Panicking, Arthur gulped in a deep breath of air. What had he done? What had he put Merlin through, for all these years?
Taking Arthur’s hyperventilation the wrong way, Merlin’s expression closed off and he rolled away, curling up into the foetal position to protect his vital organs. From Arthur.
Scooting closer, his heart in his throat and his stomach somewhere by his feet, Arthur tenderly looped an arm over Merlin’s waist, reaching up to cover Merlin’s Pendragon Crest. He didn’t press up against Merlin’s back, afraid of causing his soulmate yet more pain.
‘Merlin, I’m so sorry. So very sorry.’ The king’s voice was choked on the tears he had tried to withhold before. To his joy, instead of tensing up further, Merlin calmed in his embrace, twisting slowly to face Arthur once more.
‘What are you sorry for?’ Carefully, as if he didn’t want to startle Arthur, he rested his own hand on the other man’s waist and brought his other hand up to his King’s sternum. Arthur smiled at the touch, the tentative trust and acceptance shown. Their faces were close with their breaths mixing and their noses brushing. Arthur blushed at the intimacy.
‘All these years, you’ve only ever heard me speak badly about magic wielders. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you. Rest assured that the moment we return to Camelot, I will begin working on a new decree to restore magic to the kingdom.’
Arthur thought that would make Merlin smile. He could not have been more wrong. His soulmate’s eyes widened in trepidation. ‘No! Arthur, you have no idea how hard I’ve worked to keep you alive from all the sorcerers trying to kill you.’
Arthur stroked Merlin’s prominent cheekbone with his thumb. ‘Thank you. But don’t you want to be free?’
Merlin’s eyes clouded over with want. That was all the answer Arthur needed, and he rubbed his nose against Merlin’s gently. ‘Then it shall be done.’
They were quiet for a beat, until Arthur’s natural concern for both his soulmate and just Merlin took him over and he broke the silence.
‘Couldn’t you heal yourself? You know, with magic.’
Merlin furrowed his brows as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Arthur helped him, grasping the wounded man by his shoulder where no bandages covered the pale skin. The knights gave up their pretence and hurried around to them, matching expressions of concern on their faces. They had all heard Arthur’s proclamation, and with Lancelot’s help, had deduced the reason behind it.
Trying to be helpful, the five of them passed water, food, blankets, and anything they could think of to the bedridden man.
Waving them off with a fondly exasperated expression, Merlin winced as the movement pulled on his wounds. They all tensed, wanting to relieve his pain but utterly unable to.
‘Um, actually yeah. Maybe. Lancelot, in my saddlebag…’ The knight dashed off to root about in Merlin’s bag, surfacing triumphantly with a thick, leather-bound book. Arthur stared in disbelief.
‘You thought I wouldn’t understand if I found out you had magic, and you brought a magic book with you?’ Stunned stupid, Arthur’s jaw dropped at the absolute idiocy his soulmate could show. Merlin smiled weakly in his direction, thanking Lancelot for the tome.
Curious, everyone leaned closer to witness their trusted friend who was currently flipping through the pages of an illegal magic book. None of them could read it; it was written in a tongue as old as the religion itself.
‘Hmm. Does anyone have a mirror? Gwaine?’ Merlin stopped on a spell with a tap of his finger. Only he could discern its use, but apparently it was satisfactory.
With a wry smile, Gwaine pulled a small hand mirror from behind his back. If Arthur didn’t know better, he would have sworn blind that Gwaine had just used magic to do so. Merlin grasped the handle, and turned to lay on his stomach.
‘Could someone remove the bandages, please?’ Arthur immediately leapt to do as requested. The long, gruesome scores were slowly revealed and the knights all flinched at their friend’s pain.
Wriggling on his elbows, Merlin tried to position the mirror so he could see his back. He struggled for a few moments before he realised he could just charm it to float wherever he wanted. His eyes shone a metallic gold and the looking glass jumped from his grasp to hover just in front of his face, perfectly angled to show the horrific, ruined slab of flesh of his back.
Gwaine swore. ‘My mirror can float!’ Everyone turned to look at him with equal measures amusement and exasperation. After a moment, his expression cleared. ‘Oh, right. Hey, cool!’
Merlin chuckled, wrinkling his nose in happiness at the uncomplicated acceptance Gwaine showed. ‘Right. Um, Þurhhæle dolgbenn!’
A bright gold illuminated his eyes, stunning the gathered knights. Despite this, nothing really happened.
‘Er…’ Elyan didn’t want to be the first to point out the obvious, but fortunately he didn’t have to. Merlin bit his lips, narrowing his eyes into the mirror, an expression of concentration they had only ever seen on him before when he was stealing pies from the palace kitchens.
‘Þurhhæle dolgbenn!’ Merlin grunted. Slowly, the flesh on his back crept together, blood seeping back into his arteries. The skin knitted together slowly, until there was nothing but unblemished skin once more. Arthur gaped. Forgetting himself, he reached out and caressed a hand up where, until very recently, Merlin’s flesh had been cleaved open. Merlin shivered slightly; Arthur’s hand was very cold.
Snickering, the knights backed up once again, leaving the new soulmates to themselves. Arthur flattened his palm onto Merlin’s shoulder blade, gaping at the smooth skin. Merlin smirked slightly. Looking up, Arthur noticed his smile, and blushed to his roots.
They lay like that for minutes on end, facing each other with their faces just a hair’s breadth apart, neither crossing that final distance.
Gwaine, tired of waiting to wolf-whistle when they finally got round to it, went for it anyway. Arthur and Merlin jumped apart as if they had been caught canoodling in an alcove behind a tapestry. Glaring vehemently at Gwaine, Arthur nearly missed the moment Merlin turned back to him, intent clear in his eyes.
Nearly, because he never missed Merlin looking at him.
Biting his bottom lip to stop himself grinning, Merlin’s iris’ glinted in the firelight, pulling Percival’s abandoned cape up to hide them from the watching eyes of their comrades. Their – Gwaine’s – groans of protest were drowned out by the roaring in Arthur’s ears as, for the first time, Merlin kissed him.
Arthur huffed into the kiss, pulling himself closer to Merlin. Their lips moved in sync, brushing tenderly against each other before pressing together with more urgency. Merlin reached up and tangled one of his hands into Arthur’s blond hair, using the other to keep himself upright above Arthur, as he had tugged Merlin almost atop him. They kissed faster, more desperately, getting lost in the moment and each other.
So preoccupied were they, that neither of them noticed Gwaine until it was far too late.
The knight flung the contents of Elyan’s water skein all over them. The two broke apart, flushed and smiling giddily at each other, until they twisted together to pin the man with identical glares. Gwaine beamed beatifically, until Merlin returned the favour with Percival’s skein.
Gasping and dripping, Gwaine shook like a dog to get rid of the frigid water, spraying the other knights with the freezing droplets. Within moments, the entire camp had devolved into juvenile water-splashing and leaf-throwing.
Chuckling to themselves at the havoc Gwaine had wrought, Merlin and Arthur turned back to have their mouths meet again, in the second kiss of what would become many.