Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Over the years, Merlin had thought of a million and one delightfully creative and satisfying ways to kill Arthur Pendragon.

He’d never followed through with any of them, for some reason. Odd, but no matter. There was nothing stopping him at the moment, and he couldn’t see a single reason not to kill him, so he would and that would be that. It was a fantastic idea, and a very important one, though he wasn’t quite sure why. It just was. It needed to be done, and as soon as possible.

He could, of course, wait until the next run-of-the-mill assassin or kingdom-threatening catastrophe and simply stand aside and let them do their work without interfering like he usually did (and why had he been doing that, anyway? He’d allowed the problem to continue, ensuring that Arthur lived when he needed to die. How silly of him). There was the whole as soon as possible thing, though, and other people just weren’t reliable. They couldn’t be trusted to get the job done.

A task as important as this required surety of success, and Merlin could provide that with ease. After all, he spent nearly every waking moment at his target’s side. Alone. With plenty of weapons within reach.

They didn’t even need to be alone, really, as long as Arthur ended up dead somehow, but Merlin couldn’t risk other people trying to stop him before he accomplished his task. They wouldn’t have much luck, but why make things harder than they needed to be?

Why have an elaborate plan with dozens of potential complications and failures when a simple stabbing could do?

Merlin tapped the hilt of the knife stuck into his belt, reassuring himself that it was still there and hidden beneath the loose bulk of his jacket. Oh, there had been so many knives to choose from, with his access to the armoury with its hunting daggers and battle-ready blades, and the kitchens with their impressive meat cleavers and broad chopping knives. He didn’t need anything fancy, so he’d taken a hunting knife from the armoury; it was wickedly sharp, easily concealed, and deadly, and that was all that mattered.

The rest of his plan could hardly be called a plan at all, it was so simple. Carry about his duties as usual until they were in Arthur’s chambers, wait until Arthur’s guard dropped, get close, and strike before Arthur knew his trusted manservant wasn’t so trustworthy. Easy.

Merlin tuned out everything Arthur said as they approached his chambers. Merlin didn’t care about any of it, and soon, Arthur wouldn’t care about it, either, because he’d be dead.

He could probably do it right there, in the corridor, but Arthur was still walking and it would be messy and Merlin may as well wait.

He waited until after both of them had entered and Merlin had locked the door behind them. He waited until Arthur had stripped off his outerwear, leaving only the thin, billowy fabric of his tunic to protect his vital organs from the outside world. He waited until Arthur settled at his desk and turned his attention to the miscellaneous papers there. He waited a bit longer, just for good measure, to ensure that Arthur was paying more attention to what he was reading than whatever Merlin was doing.

Merlin picked up the pitcher and moved around the table until he was standing a bit behind Arthur, as though he was about to pour Arthur a goblet of wine. He slipped the knife from his belt as he leaned forward, the goblet stretching out into Arthur’s vision first as an excuse and a distraction, and then with one quick movement, slashed at the exposed, delicate flesh of Arthur’s throat.

Merlin wasn’t skilled with a knife, and he’d never slit anybody’s throat before, but the general principle wasn’t complicated. He threw every ounce of physical strength that he had into the motion to make sure he got all the way through, and deep enough to make it stick. He ripped through skin and muscle, thinking of the basic anatomy Gaius had taught him during his training as a physician. There were some funny tubes in there, leading air and food down into the stomach and lungs, and blood up into the brain.

Speaking of blood, there was quite a lot of it, spurting out in jets and burbling over the desk, staining all those papers deep red. It splashed Merlin’s face, hot and slick, and—

—and Arthur’s life well and fully ended, and the magic of the Fomorroh released Merlin’s mind.

Merlin dropped the knife.

Raised a shaking hand to his own cheek, touched the damning wetness there, stared unseeing at the red smear on his fingertips.

His mind surged into chaotic blankness, a screaming silence that drowned out the rest of the world. His heart had stopped beating, or maybe it was beating so fast that there was no space between the pulses, just a panicked vibration in his chest. It would explode soon, it would, and then there would be two bodies in the room for someone else to find.

He looked up at the slumped, lifeless form of his king, his friend. Merlin was on the floor, pressed against the wall, and he didn’t remember stepping back or sitting down or how he even got back to Camelot in the first place, he’d been captured, he’d been caught and tied and he had done this. He had done this.

There wasn’t a breath of air in the room that didn’t smell like blood. Merlin wanted to stop breathing.

He had killed before. Gone to battle before. Taken lives without hesitation or regret. All to keep this one man alive, and now none of it mattered, didn’t mean anything, because he was dead. Dead and killed by the man who swore to protect him from everything he had the power to fight, from heartache to—to this. To a knife across the throat.

I should get Gaius, he thought faintly, but his legs weren’t working anymore. What was the point, anyway? What was there to do? He’d failed, murdered his own destiny, had the blood on his hands to prove it.

The snake, he remembered, in a flash of dank shadows and strained muscles, the bonds cutting into his wrists and Morgana’s cruel, pale eyes in the darkness. Morgana. Agravaine. They did this. They made me do this.

They’d notched him like an arrow to a bow and fired straight at Arthur’s heart, keeping themselves safe and clean and distant while he stained red.

Well, they wouldn’t be safe much longer. He would make sure of that.

Chapter Text

Gwen found him. She’d brought Arthur’s lunch, had meant to let Merlin relax by taking on a few of his duties.

She didn’t notice at first. She set the tray on the long dining table before she turned to face the rest of the room. There was no dramatic crash of broken plates, just a choked-off sob and the silent crash of a broken heart.

She would have run and called for the guards, for Gaius, for anyone to come, but she caught the muffled sound of shuddering breaths coming from beyond Arthur’s—desk. She took up the heavy metal pitcher like a weapon, gripped the handle in labour-strong hands. Approached the other end of the room warily.

Merlin arms wrapped around his own torso like a tourniquet trying to keep the blood from escaping out an open wound. Knees tucked close to his chest, eyes wide and brimming with a steady stream of tears that dragged streaks down through the splatters of red on his cheeks, he trembled with the slow breaths that he forced through gritted teeth. Gwen knew he was trying not to break down into the thick, aching sobs that threatened to rip their way out of his gut until he was hollowed out. Knew because she was trying, too.

He only looked at her when she dropped to the cold stone beside him and set the pitcher aside.

“Gwen,” he whispered, the one syllable rough and uneven. His expression twisted through relief, guilt, horror, grief, until it crumpled entirely and he dropped his forehead to his knees, eyes squeezing shut against a fresh flood of tears. “I’m sorry, Gwen, I’m so sorry, I killed him, I killed him—”

And Gwen threw her arm around his shoulders and tugged him close as her throat closed up and she tasted salt against her lips, because there was nothing, nothing that could convince her that Merlin was responsible for this, not even the confession from his own mouth. He would die before he willingly let harm come to Arthur, let alone harmed Arthur himself. He had proved it a thousand times.

Maybe the blade had been in Merlin’s hands, but this was not Merlin’s doing. He’d been used, somehow, he had to have been.

Merlin tensed like he wanted to pull away, or thought he should. She clung tighter, buried her face into the comforting roughness and familiar smell of his jacket.

“It wasn’t you,” she said as firmly as she could while her voice threatened to crack. “I know it wasn’t. So what—how did—what do you know?”

Merlin lifted his head enough to stare at his kneecaps. “Gaius,” he mumbled. “Should talk to Gaius. And get Leon. But not Agravaine.” Gwen had never heard Merlin’s voice so hateful as when he growled out Arthur’s uncle’s name. “Agravaine can’t know. He mustn’t know.”

“Okay,” Gwen said. She wasn’t sure if she was shaking, or if Merlin was, or they both were. “Okay. We can do that.”

“We need to go now,” Merlin said, and didn’t move. Gwen wondered how long he had been sitting there before she came in, just a few steps behind…she couldn’t look. She’d already seen enough to stick to the back of her eyelids for the rest of her life.

Three breaths. Slow. Steady. Still. She could do this. She could survive this, like she had survived the loss of her mother, her father. Morgana.

Gwen pushed herself to her feet, then hauled on Merlin’s arm until he began to unfold and move under his own power.

She kept pulling until they were across the room, out of direct line of sight of the desk.

“You can’t wander the castle looking like that,” she said. She couldn’t, either, but there wasn’t much they could do about reddened, puffy eyes, whereas some water and a scrap of cloth would take care of the tears and blood.

Arthur’s blood.

A moment of weakened knees, the room narrowing and spinning around her, passed. She had seen blood before, and so much death, and this was different, but right now it had to be the same, or she would fall apart. Focus on the physical, the action, the next step she had to take.

She unwound the neckerchief he always wore and set it aside. Ordered him to take off his stained jacket and tunic while she fetched one of Arthur’s to replace it. Wet one of the cloth napkins she had brought with lunch and scrubbed his face clean as he fumbled to redo his belt. Gathered all the soiled clothes and bundled them into a laundry basket, set it by the door to take with them.

Merlin’s expression had always been deceptively easy to read. His face was so animated, so open, that you often thought that what you saw there must be the truth, since he did nothing to conceal it. Gwen knew better, though, because she had seen him lie, seen the way he could drag up that exaggerated, carefree innocence to cover something serious beneath. In a way, it made her trust him more, knowing that he wasn’t as vulnerable as he sometimes seemed, and that the goofy façade could drop in an instant to show his intensity, devotion, dedication—all the things she knew were there even when he was playing the fool.

Now, she wondered what else he was thinking and feeling beneath the heavy mask of grief overshadowing everything else.

Plucking the neckerchief from the table, she flipped it around to conceal the splotches of darker red and tied it back into place. She left her hands there at his shoulders and tried to catch his eyes.

“I don’t want to leave him,” Merlin whispered, his gaze drifting to the other end of the room. Gwen squeezed his shoulders harder to pull his attention back.

“Neither do I, but we need to find Gaius and you need to tell us what’s going on.” She bit her lip and fought a hot rush of tears that threatened to rise again. “I don’t want to lose you , too. You could be executed for treason for this. I trust you, Gaius trusts you, Arthur trusted you—” Merlin’s eyes flinched shut as if the words had hurt him. “And I can think of no one more worthy. We weren’t wrong. He wasn’t wrong. I know you didn’t do this, so we need to find whoever did and bring them to justice before the court comes after the wrong person.”

Merlin dragged a harsh, sniffling breath into his lungs, and nodded. When he met her eyes, she could finally see him looking back at her, grounded in the present instead of trapped in his thoughts and guilt.

“You’re right,” he said. “We need to find them. And we can’t do that from here.”

He tipped his forehead down to rest against hers for a moment, each of them taking comfort in the other’s presence before they turned toward the door.

Chapter Text

“My boy, what has happened? What’s wrong?” Gaius was at Merlin’s side in an instant, glancing between him and Gwen with mounting worry.

Merlin opened his mouth to speak and choked on the words. I killed Arthur. I was supposed to protect him and I killed him. He trusted me and I killed him. He was my friend and I killed him.

“Arthur,” he managed. “I—he’s—he’s dead. He’s gone, Gaius, and it’s my fault.” He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the pain on Gaius’s face, the pain he had caused. “I killed him.”

He heard the catch of breath, the heavy footsteps as Gaius staggered back under the weight of the news. When Merlin opened his eyes, Gaius had slumped back onto his workbench like he wasn’t sure he could trust his legs to hold him any longer. Merlin knew the feeling.

“He can’t be,” Gaius said, face ashen. He had practically raised Arthur, Merlin remembered. He’d known him all his life, from boyhood to kingship, held him as a babe, treated his wounds, soothed him, and cared for him in a way Arthur’s own father never had.

There was no blood between them, but Gaius had lost a son as surely as Camelot had lost her king.

“He is.” Gwen’s voice wavered still with unshed tears. “There can be no doubt, Gaius. I saw him. It’s true.”

For a second, Gaius looked lost, and older than he had ever seemed before. His shoulders drooped, his eyes glazed over with a bright sheen of tears, and his hand lifted, fell back loosely into his lap when it realized it had nowhere to go.

Then he collected himself and smiled weakly at them both. “There’s a bit more to the story than that, isn’t there? Close the door and sit down,” he said, gentling. “This is no conversation to be had on your feet, and you look like you could drop at any second. Come now, you must be exhausted.”

Merlin wished he could climb up to his room and curl under the sheets of his bed, hide from the world and sleep until he woke up to a reality where none of this had happened.

He sat on a bench at the table where they usually took their meals. Gwen sat beside him, close, and he wanted to lean into her warmth and send her far, far away to someplace she’d be alive and safe from him, from Morgana, from anything that would dare to touch her. He curled his fingers into fists beneath the table and didn’t move.

“Now then, tell me everything you know.” The even, calculating gaze that Gaius levelled at Merlin was the same he always used when he wanted Merlin to talk, and wouldn’t accept anything less than the full and honest account.

“Bandits ambushed us on the road,” Merlin began. That had to be the start of it. “They shouldn’t have known where we were, the route was supposed to be a secret, but they knew. Someone told them.”

Agravaine. It had to be. From Gaius’s expression, he was thinking the same thing.

“Arthur and I got separated from the knights, and then I got separated from Arthur and knocked unconscious. When I woke up, Morgana was there.”

Gaius’s mouth hardened into a grim line, and Gwen tensed. 

“She…healed me,” Merlin continued. “She said she needed me for something, and she used magic to summon and control some sort of creature.”

“What did it look like? Did she say its name?”

“Fum-something, I think. I didn’t recognise the name. It looked like a small black snake with a lot of heads. That’s the last thing I remember before I…before I was in Arthur’s chambers.”

Gaius sat back. “Well. That’s certainly a different tale than the one you told after you were found.”

Merlin's brow furrowed. “What? What did I say?”

“That you were captured and held by the bandits before you managed to escape and hide in a bog until Arthur found you.”

“A bog? I’m glad I don’t remember that, at least,” Merlin joked weakly, more out of reflex than anything else. The half-smile he managed felt strange and brittle on his face. 

“Indeed.” Gaius turned to Gwen. “Now, then, where did you come in to all this?”

“I wanted to bring Arthur his lunch so Merlin wouldn’t need to work just after coming back. I let myself in, put everything down, and then—” Her breath hitched, eyes trembling shut as the image sharpened into searing focus. “A-arthur was…at his desk, slumped over. Throat cut.”

In his lap, Merlin’s hands curled into white-knuckled fists. Gaius’s mouth fell open slightly; until then, he hadn’t yet learned how Merlin had killed Arthur. Merlin hated that he knew now, even though it had been inevitable. Somehow, the more people who knew, the more real it became. The more irreversible.

For a second, thoughts of the Cup of Life and the Isle of the Blessed, Nimueh and lives given in trade, flashed through his mind like lightning. Blinding, consuming, terrifying, and gone the moment the image registered. Meddling with the balance of life and death was too dangerous, too unpredictable, had too many unexpected consequences, no matter how tempting it seemed.

“—tried to take away anything that might lead to Merlin, and then we came here,” Gwen was saying.

Gaius nodded, thoughtful, before standing up and waving a finger at Merlin. “I believe I know why you can’t remember your actions, and why your actions were not your own.” He thumbed through stacks of books, shuffled scrolls, and scanned shelves around the room until he found the tome he’d been seeking. Flipping through the pages, brow furrowed, he meandered back to where Merlin and Gwen were waiting to hear his theory.

“I feared as much,” Gaius said after he had been on the same page for a minute.

Gwen leaned forward, trying to see. “What is it?”

Gaius set the book on the table between her and Merlin, open to an entry bordered by a serpent with heads spreading out from its body like branches from a tree. For a moment, he saw it as the creature he’d seen in Morgana’s hut, alive and writhing and emanating that sickening crawl of magic he’d felt when Morgana had summoned it. He blinked the memory away and nodded at Gaius, who seemed to be waiting for his confirmation.

“It's a Fomorroh,” Gaius explained. “In the days of the Old Religion, they were used by the High Priestess to enslave the minds of their enemies. Once a thought was planted, the victim would not stop till they'd accomplished it.”

“So Morgana was controlling me through the Fomorroh’s magic.” She must have told me to kill him, he realized, and my body went on and did it willingly. Eagerly. Nausea surged in Merlin’s gut. Everything about this was wrong, so wrong. 

“So it seems.”

“Oh,” Gwen said, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. “Then you must have come back to yourself just as—oh, Merlin. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine…”

“You shouldn’t have to apologize to your beloved’s killer.”

The words were out, thick and bitter with bile, before Merlin could stop them. He heard the gasp catch in Gwen’s throat, but he kept his eyes on the worn, twisting wood grain of the tabletop and didn’t take it back. It was true, after all. Whether he’d meant to be or not, he was the reason their slow-budding romance had been cut down before it could truly bloom. He’d been the one to push them together, and he’d been the one to rip them apart. He wasn’t the one deserving comfort or pity, here.

A firm hand grasped his shoulder.

“Merlin, look at me,” Gaius ordered. “You are not to blame. This was Morgana’s doing. Understand?”

Merlin nodded, knowing better than to argue. It was his fault, regardless of what Gwen or Gaius believed of him. He’d been responsible for Arthur’s life, had been his protector, and he had failed. Not only that, but that very position of trust and friendship had been used against him, and Arthur had paid for Merlin’s mistakes with his life. 

Morgana would pay for her actions with hers. After that…Merlin didn’t know what he would do. It didn’t matter at the moment. He had to focus on ending this last and greatest threat to the Camelot Arthur had dreamt of building, if it was the last thing he did. He owed Arthur that much and more, and he had nothing left to lose. 

Except the fragile, precious lives in the room with him belied that thought. Gwen, Gaius, the knights he had come to love as brothers, his mother living in Ealdor still. Maybe they weren’t his destiny, but he’d be damned if he didn’t protect them with every breath of magic in his body. 

Gaius’s rheumy eyes searched Merlin’s face. Merlin didn’t know what he saw there, or how it answered the unspoken questions, but he nodded and leaned back as though satisfied by whatever he had found. 

“It may be better to lie to the court about your involvement entirely,” he said, considering. “They might find the enchantment an insufficient pardon and press charges of treason. Gwen, you’ve done well, proceeding as you have.”

Gwen ducked her head under the praise. “I only hope that it’s enough to protect Merlin,” she said. 

“As do I. We must ensure that you are protected, as well. You said you were bringing his lunch?” 

Gwen nodded. “I have a key.”

“No. You don’t. You sought out Merlin—who has been with me since Arthur returned to his chambers—to procure his key, and when you entered, you found the scene as it is and rushed to inform Sir Leon immediately.”

“What about Agravaine?” Merlin asked. There was no way he would let the story go unquestioned if he was aware of Morgana’s plans. He would most likely know the truth: Merlin had been the unwilling assassin behind the blade.

“He has no evidence to counter my word. You were in your room, resting, and could not pass me unnoticed.” He shifted his focus to Gwen. “You should go find Sir Leon before word spreads out of our control.”

Gwen gave a single, sharp nod, and hurried out the door.

“You need to change out of Arthur's shirt and burn anything that has been soiled beyond magic’s ability to repair it,” Gaius ordered. “Is there anything you couldn’t tell me with company?”

Merlin shook his head, scooped up the bundle of bloodied clothes, and headed toward his room to do as he was told. He stopped when Gaius called his name. 

“Come here and turn around,” Gaius said. 

“Gaius, what—?”

“Just a moment. Sit here and hush.”

Merlin sat at a partially-empty table and waited, listening to the gentle-sharp chink of glass vials bumping together behind him. 

A cold, damp cloth pressed at the top of his spine, and tingling numbness spread up his neck. An anaesthetic? What…? A hand to his shoulder pushed him until he was leaning over the table, his forehead resting on his arms. 

“I’ve numbed the area, but this may sting. Try to stay still.”

“Ah-aaahh.” ‘Sting’ was a bit of an understatement. Merlin didn't want to know how that would have felt without the numbing agent. 

“There,” Gaius said after a moment, and set something on the table directly in front of Merlin. Cautiously, he lifted his head, and found himself face-to-face with a severed head of the Fomorroh. He couldn’t help his flinch, or keep the disgust from his face. 

“That…was that in my neck?”

“It was. And it's the final confirmation that you were not in control; Morgana was.”

Merlin bit back a sigh at Gaius's attempts to keep him from blaming himself. Gaius knew him well. But Merlin’s lack of control in the moment itself wasn’t the problem; it was everything else that had led up to that moment, everything he had done that allowed it to happen. Allowed him to lose control in the first place. 

Merlin knew exactly what Morgana was accountable for, just as he knew which mistakes were his and his alone. 

He smiled at Gaius, grateful for his efforts nonetheless, before he went to do as he’d been bid. 

You've got the wrong person, Merlin had told Kilgharrah in the beginning, though it hadn’t taken him long to accept and even embrace his so-called “destiny.”

Maybe, all those years ago, he'd been right. 

Chapter Text

Gwen thought back over what Gaius had said as she hurried to Arthur’s chambers, committing the story solidly to memory. She wanted to check over the room one more time before inviting the investigation into it, and if that meant she truly was running to find Leon from Arthur’s chamber’s, all the better.

You shouldn’t have to apologize to your beloved’s killer.

God, of course that was how Merlin saw himself.

Of course he would shoulder the responsibility that wasn’t his to bear. He had always put himself at risk to protect people, whether he would be recognised for what he’d done or not, simply because it was the right thing to do. It was why he had been with Arthur on that journey in the first place, and every other one before it, when his duties as a manservant required no such thing; to him, being there to protect and care for Arthur no matter the cost to himself was his duty. One which he took more seriously than many of the knights who had sworn oaths proclaiming it.

Anyone who believed Merlin would ever harm Arthur willingly knew nothing about him. And unwillingly…what could Merlin have done to prevent this? How could he have known? Would it have even been possible to fight back or resist the enchantment?

If there had been anything, anything, Merlin would have done it. There was no doubt in her mind about that, no trace of resentment for her friend, no matter what he thought he deserved from her.

Gwen unlocked the door and stepped inside, breathing shallowly. Her eyes landed automatically on the sight she had hoped to avoid looking at directly, as though drawn by some terrible force.

His hand was still curled gently around a quill, she realised. She wondered what he had been writing. The papers were soaked beyond reading, and she didn’t dare look closer, anyway.

What had he been thinking in those last moments? Had he known what was happening, who was doing it to him? Had he realised immediately, as she had, that something had to be wrong for it to even be possible? Or had he thought it was some unknown and unnamed assassin, quick and cold and impersonal, not even giving him the chance to defend himself?

She wondered if he’d had time for any of that, or if there had only been wordless confusion and fear and pain. What else? Regret? Hopelessness?

Nothing?

Arthur’s eyes stared at nothing, still and glassy.

Gwen wrenched her gaze away as her vision blurred hot. She had come here for a reason. She needed to focus.

The pitcher she had held as a weapon still sat on the floor where she had found Merlin. She returned it to its place on the tray with Arthur’s cold, uneaten lunch. Checked the floor for spots of blood where she and Merlin had walked, or footprints that could be matched to either of them, and found nothing.

On her way out, that awful force turned her head.

His hair had plastered against his scalp in places, trailing in thick, sticky clumps to the surface of the desk. Even so, the light pouring in from the window behind him shone gold against the untainted top, like he’d been crowned by the sun.

She let the door swing ajar behind her.

Skirts twisted up into her fists as she ran, she let loose the grief that had been pushed deep into her chest and locked away, let the tears she’d been damming up flow freely. For once, falling apart wasn’t a luxury to only be indulged in the privacy of her own home. She didn’t have to stitch a smile onto her face, speak politely as she carried on as though nothing had broken in the world, because to everyone else, nothing had.

Arthur was no lowly commoner blacksmith. The whole of the kingdom would grieve for him.

Leon was meant to lead the knights’ training that afternoon, and she found him adjusting his vambraces in the armoury.

When she burst through the entryway, his attention snapped to her and his guard rose, his body shifting into the automatic battle-ready stance of a trained knight before she had said a word.

“It’s Arthur,” she gasped out, lungs strained from racing through the long castle corridors. He snatched up a sword, and she spun on her heel to lead him as he hurried after her. “I found him in his rooms when I was bringing him lunch and I—Leon, he’s dead.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Leon jolted to a halt, his face somehow shedding his years until she could only see the boy she’d known as a child, innocent and wide-eyed, mouth parted in confusion. The rush of nostalgia ached in her tightening throat. They’d all known each other so long, so long, and no more.

His jaw worked soundlessly, and then he cleared his throat and asked, still hoarse, “How?”

She shook her head, reluctant. She had already said the words once today, never wanted to say or hear or know them again, though she knew she would. And she did, voicelessly, a whisper just loud enough to be heard and understood.

“His throat was cut.”

Leon closed his eyes, bowed his head.

Footsteps sounded down the hall, and both of them started in surprise at the intrusion. Leon squared his shoulders as a maidservant bearing a towering load of sheets that Gwen might have offered to help carry on another day rounded the corner. They stayed silent as the woman passed, eyeing their drawn expressions with confusion and curiosity. She didn’t remark on it, but Gwen knew there would be whispers travelling throughout the castle soon, fuelled by the pain etched into their faces.

When the maidservant disappeared around a bend in the corridor and her footfalls had faded away, Leon met Gwen’s eyes. Anger and determination had replaced anguish. He set off down the hall with renewed ferocity, and Gwen found herself struggling to keep up with his longer gait.

“I need to know everything that happened so we can bring the assassin to justice. Lord Agravaine must be informed and put under guard—”

Gwen bit back a protest that she wouldn’t be able to explain. Merlin and Gaius had their reasons for not trusting Agravaine, whatever they were. As a servant, though, she couldn’t voice dissent against a noble without undeniable evidence, let alone the king’s uncle. Even undeniable evidence wasn’t always enough to protect commoners or convict nobles.

“You left the door open?” Leon asked sharply as they approached it.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to find someone to—I don’t know. Do something.”

He sighed. “I understand. Tell me if you notice anything that looks different than the way you left it.”

Gwen nodded and followed as the knight pushed through the door.

He stilled after only a few steps inside, and she knew he had seen. He couldn’t stifle the quiet catch of stunned breath sticking in his throat, or hide the way his shoulders hunched under the realisation that his beloved friend and King was really, truly gone.

“Who else knows?” he asked, ever the steadfast and dutiful knight.

“No one,” she lied. She had thought of what she would say, how she would say it. She was no liar, but she was no stranger to lying, either. Her feelings were genuine; only the facts needed to change to protect Merlin, and she could see nothing wrong with dishonesty if it would save her friend’s life. “The door was locked, at first. I didn’t think anything of it when no one answered—I thought he hadn’t yet returned, so I went to Gaius’s chambers to get the key from Merlin. I meant to wait for him, but when I came in and set it down, I saw—” She gestured at the desk. “—and I ran to find you. You were the first person I thought should know.”

That, too, was true, in a sense. Though necessity had brought her and Merlin to Gaius first, they had all agreed that Arthur’s First Knight ought to be the first knight to know.

It didn’t do much to ease her flush of guilt when she heard his quiet, sincere “Thank you.”

He resumed his businesslike manner and paced around the room, careful not to touch anything as he observed the scene. He knelt near the fallen knife, and his brow furrowed.

“This is one of ours, from the armoury,” he said. “Either the assassin lives within the castle and has access to those weapons stores, or they want us to believe that they do.”

Gwen had stayed close to the door. She tried to pay attention to what Leon was doing while avoiding looking directly at him, or what lay between them.

“Is there anything else I can do?” She wanted to get out of the room. She wanted to be useful instead of standing against the wall with nothing to do but think and feel and stare.

Mostly, she wanted none of this to be real, but that wasn’t a desire she could act on, no matter how much she wished she could.

Leon scrubbed a hand over the scruff of his jaw. “Gaius needs to see this,” he said, voice grim. “Perhaps he’ll be able to determine whether this is a straightforward as it seems, or if there is more to it than meets the eye. You said the door was locked, didn’t you? Either they had a key, or they used some other means to get in and out.”

“You mean magic,” she realised.

“We have to consider the possibility,” he confirmed. “Please. Bring Gaius here, and tell no one else of this until we can learn more from what we have. We don’t want panic to spread, especially now that the kingdom is so vulnerable.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll be back soon.”

With a slow breath of relief at finally leaving Arthur’s chambers and the clinging stench of death, Gwen slipped out the door.

Chapter Text

Reality phased in and out of focus. Time blurred.

At times, the present moment sharpened into painful clarity. The colours brightened until they stung Merlin’s eyes, and he could feel every brush of air and fabric against his skin like raking claws. His breath scraped its way out of his lungs and the thoughts crowded into his skull, clamouring, screaming, you killed him you killed Arthur Morgana killed him she used you to kill him and you couldn’t stop her you didn’t stop her and he’s dead Arthur is dead dead dead—

—and he forced himself to think about something else, anything else, because there was too much to do and he couldn’t curl into himself, useless and frozen, like he had been when Gwen found him. 

He had lost so many people. The pain for each was different, like his love for each had been different, and he felt their absences still. Not always, not every day, but sometimes he would hear a word, see an ordinary object or a face in the crowd that resembled them just a bit, and the memories would rise to pick and press at the scarred-over wounds. 

Too many of those losses had been his fault. He'd been too slow, too hesitant, too naïve. Too scared of exposing himself to protect the people who needed it. 

His anger at himself kept him moving. He wouldn't let his fear or hesitation hold him back any longer. No one else would die for his mistakes. 

“Merlin. Merlin.”

Merlin’s eyes snapped up to Gaius’s, then jumped away from the sorrowful understanding he saw there.

“You don’t have to come, you know,” Gaius said gently. Gwen had come and gone, leaving the message of Leon’s summons and taking with her a bag of supplies while Gaius gathered more instruments and vials that Merlin recognised, but at the moment couldn’t match with a name or function. What was the point of so many tools? There was no life to save, here, no illness to diagnose and cure, no wound to suture and bind. What was done was done, and nothing could change it without risking even more death.

Merlin shook his head. “I’m coming.” His voice felt hoarse and rough.

Gaius squeezed his shoulder and didn’t question him further. He shouldered his kit, and the pair of them left for Arthur’s chambers.

When they arrived, Merlin entered first. Somehow, he wanted to delay Gaius seeing the reality of what they had told him for as long as possible, as if that would make it easier, as if that could possibly make it hurt him any less. And when Gaius came through the door behind him, he wanted to keep his eyes fixed anywhere but on the physician’s expression. Instead, it was all he could see, a glaring reminder of his guilt just as damning as Arthur's body itself. 

Tears sprang up in the old man's eyes almost immediately. His chest heaved on a shuddering breath, and his wrinkled, skilled hands, helpless to heal the damage, tightened on the strap of his satchel. As court physician, he had seen more blood and death than most, but no amount of experience could truly prepare him for the loss of someone as beloved to him as family. Certainly not when the loss was so cold, so brutal, so pointless. So early in Arthur's life. 

He jumped when a hand touched his forearm. Gwen appeared blurred, and Merlin realised Gaius wasn't the only one crying. He scrubbed a shaky hand across his face until he could see her watery brown eyes clearly again. 

"Gaius." Leon broke the silence. His voice was more subdued than usual, less confident, and his shoulders were more slumped. Stress and weariness carved lines into his face. "Do you think—can you examine the body? We need every piece of information you can find if we're to bring the culprit to justice."

Can you bear to study the corpse of someone so close to you? Leon didn't voice those words, but Merlin was certain everyone in the room heard and understood them. 

Gaius nodded and set his kit on the long dining table next to the supplies Gwen had brought earlier. 

Merlin met Leon's eyes and held them. "I'm sorry," he said, putting all his guilt and regret into the words, even though he knew it wouldn't be recognised for what it meant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gaius sending him a sharp warning glance, but Merlin ignored him. 

"You've done as much to protect him as any of us," Leon said with a tired sigh, taking Merlin's confession as an apology for not being there to stop the killer—to stop himself. "There's nothing you could have done. We need to concentrate on the task at hand. While Gaius works, I'll organise a few trusted knights to begin a quiet investigation. Gwen can inform Lord Agravaine—"

Gaius cleared his throat to cut him off. "I've been reluctant to voice my suspicions because I lack evidence, but now I fear my silence has a price. I cannot justify keeping this to myself any longer."

Leon's brow furrowed in confusion. "You're a trusted member of the Court. Surely your word would have been given consideration, at least?"

"Perhaps not. We know there must be a traitor in the castle giving Morgana access to information she could never have gotten otherwise." Leon nodded in confirmation; the possibility had been discussed after they had been ambushed on a route meant to be a closely guarded secret. "I believe Agravaine to be that traitor." 

Leon reeled at the news that Arthur's uncle, advisor, and close confidant could commit such treason, but Gaius pressed on. 

"Merlin had noticed him taking rides into the forest late at night, as well," he said, looking at his ward for support. 

Merlin found Leon's attention once again focused on him, and he realised he was expected to elaborate. "My chores sometimes keep me up late—" this was technically true, but those tasks didn't keep him awake even half as often as his kingdom-saving duties "—and I'd see him entering the stables when hardly anyone else was awake. It seemed like he didn't want anyone knowing he was leaving or where he was going, so, um, I may have followed him for a bit once. Or twice." Leon, fortunately, was familiar with Merlin's nosiness and didn't react to the admission that he'd stalked a member of the royal family through the city in the middle of the night. "I couldn't keep up when he rode into the forest, but I thought it was strange how secretive and shifty it all was, so I told Gaius."

"I expect those were visits to Morgana, and that following him may lead us to her," Gaius concluded. While Merlin talked, he had circled Arthur's desk, taking in the full sight of the body, face drawn. By the end of Merlin's account, he was standing again by his instruments and drawing out a thick magnifying glass. 

"But you've no other evidence?" Merlin and Gaius shook their heads, and Leon hummed, considering. "I trust your judgment. We'll keep this between us and the few knights I'll inform for the investigation until we can be certain of Agravaine's intentions."

"What about the body?" Gwen's voice was quiet, and steady until it wavered on the final word. "We can't give him a proper funeral while his death is a secret." 

Merlin hadn't wanted to think about that. He didn't want to think about any of it, but a funeral meant finality, meant that everyone was expected to grieve and then just move on as if the very heart of Camelot hadn't stopped beating. 

He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to his boots. "We'll have to move him. And clean up the—the desk."

"Merlin and I can get water and cloths, other cleaning supplies," Gwen offered, and Merlin's chest flooded with love and desperate gratitude for her friendship. He needed to get out of this room, to do something useful, and most of all, he needed time and space to plan. 

Leon met all of their eyes, checking that they knew the tasks set to them, and with a promise to keep them updated, he strode down the corridor to find the Round Table knights. 

Gwen stepped out the door, and Merlin said, "I'll be right behind you, I just need to speak with Gaius for a moment." 

She nodded, her worried gaze flicking between both of them before it settled for just a moment on Arthur's body. She clenched her jaw, eyes bright, and disappeared into the hall. 

"I'm going after Morgana," Merlin said without preamble. He pitched his voice low so it wouldn't carry beyond the partially-opened door.

Gaius's mouth set into a grim line. "I expected as much. My boy, please think about what you're doing—I mean don't just charge in unprepared," he amended when Merlin opened his mouth to argue. "And I will help you in every way I can. Be careful, Merlin. I can't lose another son."

Emotion tightened around Merlin's throat, and he threw his arms around his mentor in a tight hug.

"Thank you," he murmured into Gaius's shoulder. "For everything." 

He lingered in the familiar comfort of rough wool against his cheek and sharp herbal scents in his nose for a moment longer before he let go. 

Chapter Text

Gwen hesitated in the hall outside Arthur's chambers, taking only a few slow steps while she waited for Merlin to join her. He had needed to escape the room as much as she did, probably more. What lay inside would be hard for even seasoned warriors to stomach, and the knowledge that it was Arthur, their Arthur, made the nausea surge and threaten to bubble up her throat. Whatever Merlin felt, it couldn't be much better. 

She heard the door shut, and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw Merlin wipe away more tears before he started down the corridor to join her. Beneath the reddened puffiness of his eyes, though, determination had hardened his expression. Gwen wondered what had changed in the few minutes he and Gaius had been alone. 

When he drew even with her, she matched his pace, taking several quick steps to cover the same distance as his long-legged stride. They traveled through the castle in silence for a while, ignoring the curious or concerned servants they passed. Neither of them had the time or patience give them some hollow explanation for their obvious distress, let alone the strength for it.

She noticed him glancing at her a few times, but when she looked up at him, he had already set his gaze forward again. Before she could ask what he wanted to say, he took her hand and pulled her into a narrow corridor with a few rooms that were used for little but storage. He opened one of the doors and ushered her into the dim light filtering through the room's dusty window. 

"Merlin, what—"

"I need to tell you something," he blurted, and Gwen had never seen him look more nervous and uncertain. He had faced down armies with more surety than she saw in his face at that moment.

"I've been lying to you. For a long time, as long as I've known you. But if I can't trust you, there's—there's no point, there's no one else, and I'm sick of hiding and lying, I hate it, I can't—" he choked, running out of air to push out his words.

It felt like neither of them had really stopped crying for hours. Tears had welled up in his already tear-sore eyes, not quite overflowing, but close. And her world had been shaken yet again.

It hurt, oh, it hurt to hear that he had been lying to her, that he hadn't trusted her as she trusted him. Had she been wrong to—? But she hadn't heard him out yet, and she couldn't believe that whatever he'd been keeping from her would make him anything less than her friend. Not with the fear and frustration in his voice, not with everything they had been through together. 

"Merlin, what are you saying?" she whispered. 

He opened his mouth, but no words came out and he shook his head. Instead, he lifted his hands between them, curved into an empty cup. 

Gwen looked between his face and his hands with a crumpled brow, hurt and confusion pushing in with her grief. Because of that, she managed to catch the flare of gold in both his eyes and his palms. 

Shock knocked a gasp from her lungs, pushed her back a step as her hands flew to cover her open mouth. 

Fire pooled in Merlin's hands like water. As she watched, it stretched up, shifted into the figure of a flower sprouting from a shimmering mound. A tiny flicker of spark fluttered up and landed on the petals, and in the way the brightness spread into slowly fanning wings, she could see a butterfly that moved with stunning realism. Like nature had brought it to life, not magic.

Merlin's eyes were wide and wary, measuring her reaction. They'd returned to their usual, ordinary blue.

"I have magic, Gwen," he said softly. "I've always had it, since I was born. And I've wanted to tell you, and Arthur, and everyone—well, not everyone," he corrected himself, surprising a hint of a smile into tugging at Gwen's lips. "I've wanted to tell you for years." He dropped his hands to his sides, and the fragile image he'd created ghosted into nothingness. He huffed out a bitter breath that fell halfway between a sigh and a laugh. "But that would have been selfish of me."

Gwen's hands had drifted down and away from her mouth, and she voiced the first of the thousands of questions clamouring to reach her lips. "Selfish? How?" 

He slumped back against the wall and scratched the side of his neck. "Anyone who knew would be in danger," he said. Bitterness laced through his next words. "You know the law condemns anyone who even talks to a known sorcerer. If I'd been found out—the less people who knew, the better. And how could I force someone to choose between me and the law? Or to carry a secret that isn't yours to bear, but could cost you your life?"

"Merlin..." She didn't know how to continue. What changed? she wanted to ask, but she knew. Arthur was dead. Of anyone, telling Arthur would have been the greatest risk, and now that risk was gone. 

It hurt how little he trusted them. Arthur was the king—had been the king. Hadn't Merlin known that Arthur could never send Merlin to the pyre? Hadn't he realised that Arthur would have changed the laws in a heartbeat if he'd had even a scrap of evidence to prove magic could do more than destroy? 

As Uther lay dying, Arthur had asked her whether he was a fool for believing that not all who practised magic were evil. She'd been hesitant then, though she'd trusted his instincts. Arthur had been right, and his evidence for the good of magic had been beside him all along. If only he'd known it. 

If only Merlin had known what Arthur said to her that day. 

"And then..." The words were barely there. Merlin swallowed. "I was scared."

She didn't understand what he meant, for a moment. Scared of the pyre? Wasn't that fear there from the beginning? Or scared of them? Did he have so little faith in them that he'd believed they would kill him or turn him in?

Then the realisation clicked.

Merlin had never feared losing his life as much as he had feared losing his friends. 

She knew Arthur. He gave his trust as quickly and easily as his temper could flare, and breaking that trust was as good as breaking his heart. 

Their relationship would have recovered eventually, she had no doubts about that, but Merlin would have risked losing everything they'd built over their years together in the meantime. And Merlin had never had as much faith in the strength of Arthur's love for him as he had faith in Arthur himself. 

Merlin was studying the toes of his boots like he was waiting for her to process what she'd been told, but she saw his eyes flick up and back, anxious to read her thoughts on her face. 

When she stepped forward, he looked up at her again, hopeful. She took his hands in hers and mustered the best smile she could. 

"I'm glad you told me," she said. "You can trust me. Always. And I trust you."

Merlin's smile dimpled his cheeks and brought a light back into his eyes that Gwen had feared they'd both lost. Then he bit his lip and his forehead creased like he was trying to make a decision. 

"What is it?" 

Merlin let out a frustrated breath. "There's still a lot you don't know about me. The magic is just...it leads into all the rest. Now isn't the time for me to tell you any of that. I don't think I could bear to, anyway," he said, apologetic, pained. "But, if anything, right now I think you should know...." 

Merlin's shoulders shifted like he was steeling himself for something. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were hard and dangerous in a way Gwen had never seen. "I blame myself for what Morgana's become. I'd hoped that she'd...but I can't let her walk away from this. I'm ending it. Whatever it takes." 

Gwen caught the echo of sadness in Merlin's voice for the friend they had all loved and lost, and the ache of that had never healed for her, either. But Merlin's guilt was not the same as what she felt for not recognising Morgana's pain, not helping her more when she'd been with them.

What had Merlin done to...?

But he was right. That was a story for another time. Whatever had happened in the past, the Morgana they had known was gone, replaced by a deadly, hateful threat to everything Arthur had worked to build. 

Gwen had tried to see the Morgana she'd known in that familiar face. Her compassion. Her fierce belief in justice and the protection of life. Her innocence and fragility and stubborn strength. Her love, her humor, her sharp, teasing wit. 

She had tried to see a friend in the face of a stranger, and she had the feeling that Merlin had done the same. She sensed that neither of them would make that mistake again. 

Gwen pushed her memories and emotions aside to drag herself back to the present, the truth of their situation. They were still tucked away from the castle, meant to be fetching water and other supplies to—gods, give me strength—clean away the evidence of their king's murder at Merlin's hand. 

She needed one more thing before they left to do what they'd set out to do. Merlin may have magic, but...

"Morgana is powerful," she said, and though it wasn't quite a question, she wanted an answer. 

"So am I." He answered immediately, with a grim certainty that made Gwen wonder at the life he must have lived all these years. He said he would tell her about it, but scars could only reveal so much about the wounds that caused them. And some injuries left no mark at all. 

"Alright." She could leave his answer at that for now. In time, though, she needed to know more. What had happened to Merlin, along with what he himself had done. "I'll help in any way I can, as little as that means. But we need to go." 

Merlin nodded, and they slipped back into the hallway before hurrying to fulfill their task. 

Chapter Text

A lifetime surrounded by the discipline and stoicism of knights let Leon school his features into blankness as he strode through the castle.

He knew already which knights he would trust with the news of Arthur's death and Gaius's suspicions, but he had to gather them all without rousing suspicion of any others. And gather them where? He couldn't send them to Arthur's chamber, not without preparing them for what they would find there, and he couldn't tell them without guaranteed privacy. Gaius's rooms, as the physician's workplace, were too open to interruption from the public. He would offer his own, but he lived in the same section of the castle as the rest of the knights. A serious gathering would be too noticeable there.

Where, then?

The king's chambers were not alone in the royal wing. In generations past, far larger families had resided there. With only Arthur remaining, many rooms had been left empty and dusty with disuse, save when the kingdom hosted royal guests. One of those would suffice, he decided.

He found Elyan near the knights' wing. Leon told him his sister had been looking to speak to him about something urgent, but when their eyes met, Leon knew Elyan had understood the intent behind the message.

Percival was at the stables, putting away his tack. Under the guise of checking Percival's equipment, Leon leaned in and told him in a low voice where to go.

Gwaine, fortunately, had isolated himself on his own, so Leon didn't need to be quite so vague and careful. Leon waited until Gwaine finished the set of blows he was directing at one of the wood-and-straw practice targets at the far end of the field. When Gwaine lowered his sword, chest heaving and hair slicked back with sweat, Leon approached. Leon circled round the side to catch Gwaine's eye before he could resume his mock battle.

"Sir Leon," Gwaine greeted him with an easy half-smile framing his breathless voice.

Leon didn't bother with formalities. "I can't explain fully here, but an urgent matter has arisen that requires absolute secrecy."

Gwaine's stance and expression shifted into alertness. He was easily the most reckless and irreverent of the knights, but given a cause he judged worthy, there was no one more loyal or dedicated. Leon gave him the location and promised to follow soon.

Leon circled around to another route back into the castle, trying to appear natural but purposeful. If what Gaius had said was right, Leon wanted to give Agravaine and anyone who might answer to him no reason to question their activities.  

When he reached the room he'd told them all to meet in, he slipped inside and shut the door as the quiet, confused conversations died out.

Elyan, leaning against the dark wood of the table with his arms crossed, voiced the question on all of their minds. "Leon, what's this about? Why all the sneaking around?"

Leon let the blank mask fall. He took a moment to look around the room at each of them.

Gwaine had sat on the table itself, next to where Elyan was leaning, and his eyes were sharp and observant in a way most people wouldn't expect from him. His shirt was still damp with sweat from his training, but he had left his sword in the armoury.

Beside him, Elyan met Leon's gaze with an expectant tilt to his head and a glint in his eye that was almost eager, like he had grown bored of their ordinary routine and was looking forward to another harrowing quest.

Percival stood quiet and still, watching with solemn patience.

None of them had any idea. Leon couldn't prepare them or make it easier; he could only tell them.

"The king is dead," he said at last, watching each of their faces flash through disbelief and confusion to anger and grief. "His throat was cut by an unknown assassin around noon today."

He stopped to let them process, and to give himself time to maintain the steadiness he needed to continue.

Elyan looked to be in shock, mouth parted and eyes wide. His arms had fallen loose from his chest. Like for Leon, Arthur had been Elyan's prince since boyhood. An ever-present truth of the world, a promise for the future. He hadn't gotten to know Arthur until a few years ago, but Leon knew they'd grown close in that time. Through Gwen, and through the bonds of knighthood and friendship, Elyan had come to see Arthur almost as family.

Gwaine's jaw clenched, and Leon could see the ferocity of his loyalty rise in him on a tide of anger. Arthur had never been Gwaine's king out of respect for his crown or royal blood, and their stubborn tempers had clashed more often than not. Arthur had bristled at Gwaine's lackadaisical attitude and disdain of authority, and Gwaine had chafed at Arthur's entitlement and expectation of obedience. But Gwaine never would have stayed in Camelot or pledged his service to Arthur if he hadn't respected him as a worthy leader and a good man, and Arthur never would have kept Gwaine as part of his closest council if he didn't trust Gwaine's judgment and reliability.

Percival hadn't known Arthur or Camelot as long as the rest of them. He accepted the news with a bowed head and dry eyes. His hands fisted at his sides, making his bared arm muscles tense. He was the first to recover and speak.

"You don't trust this with the rest of the knights, or with the court," he stated. "Why? Who else knows?"

Leon looked at Elyan. "Guinevere found him."

"No," Elyan murmured in weak denial, crestfallen.

“She brought me to his chambers to see the body. I sent for Gaius so he could perform a thorough examination and give us as much information as possible. As of now, the only people outside this room who know of his death are Gaius, Gwen, and Merlin,” Leon continued, noting the way Gwaine’s head lifted in concern for his friend at Merlin’s name. “I had thought to inform Lord Agravaine, but Gaius told me he and Merlin have been harbouring suspicions of him for some time now.”

“What suspicions?”

“They believe he may be in league with Morgana,” Leon said. “Even if their concerns prove to be unfounded, we cannot risk letting him know the kingdom is vulnerable before we are certain he can be trusted.”

“Then we need to get certain, don’t we?” Gwaine concluded, sliding off the table to stand, determined and ready for Leon’s orders. Or, at least, ready to be given an official excuse to tear off after their one lead and possibly try to shake the answers out of him.

Leon needed a bit more tact and subtlety for the investigation of Agravaine’s intentions.

“Gwaine, Elyan, go to Gaius. Help with whatever he needs, and look for anything that could give us information on the assassin. Percival, you and I will look into Agravaine’s activities and search his chambers. We’ll meet here again afterward to share what we’ve found and plan our next moves. Understood?”

The others nodded in assent.

“Good. Remember, no one else can know of this until we have more control over the situation.”

With that, Leon dismissed what remained of the Knights of the Round Table to avenge their fallen king.