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Chapter Text

It was an ordinary day in Camelot. 

The sun squeezed between fat clouds to shine what light it could. The people went about their work without much thought of the past. The birds chirped as they looked for food, and the laundry flapped gently on its line. 

A perfectly ordinary day. 

But Arthur, seated at his desk in his chambers and smiling faintly, knew otherwise. 

The door opened, breaking him from his contemplation, and Arthur looked up to see Merlin step inside. The man carried a basket of laundry, fresh off the line and stacked with just enough sloppiness that it was evident Merlin had folded it. 

Merlin was whistling, and only stopped long enough to send Arthur a smile and a two-fingered wave before resuming the tune as he stepped across the room to the clothes cabinet. The doors slid open on their own, and the clean clothes soared from the basket and to their proper places. Merlin barely waited for all the clothes to exit the basket before he turned away, leaving the laundry to sort itself as he returned the hamper to its proper corner. 

Magic, Arthur thought, feeling particularly in awe of the easy performance, and said, “Show me magic, Merlin.” 

The whistling stopped, and Merlin turned from the basket with the brilliantly happy, slightly shy expression he always adopted upon such a request. Really? it said. You want to see magic? 

You want to see me? 

“Now?” he said, curious. “Why?” 

Arthur blinked at him, surprised. “A year ago today,” he said, “Magic became legal in Camelot.” 

Merlin’s jaw slackened, his eyes growing distant, though not sad. 

Arthur shook his head fondly. “You forgot about it, didn’t you?” 

“A year,” Merlin breathed, running a hand through his hair with a short laugh. 

“A year,” Arthur repeated. “Should we celebrate?”

Merlin grinned, then leapt toward the desk. Halfway there, he reined in his excitement and slowed down, but still, he was smiling ear to ear. 

“Give me your hand,” he said, eyes sparkling. 

Arthur eyed him, feigning suspicion, but stretched out his hand palm up. Merlin curled Arthur’s fingers down, creating a loose fist, and cupped his own hands over it. 

“Bryne−wylm, yfel tôstihtan êower niman wlite,” Merlin said. 

Arthur watched the glow of Merlin’s eyes fade, then glanced down. Merlin pulled his hands back, and as he moved away, Arthur felt something inside his fist. He opened his hand. 

On his palm, an impossible creature flickered. Six tiny legs, formed of sparks that glowed and faded like embers, rested against his skin, tickling faintly. Two eyes, as beady as a real, living insect, shone up at him. And on the creature’s back, two little wings rose and rubbed against each other, creating the perfect imitation of a cricket’s chirp. 

Merlin murmured something, and Arthur raised his head. A second cricket was taking shape on Merlin’s palm, and a moment later, its chirping joined the first. Merlin stared down at it, his expression pure joy. 

“It can be terrible,” he said quietly, with the seriousness of a person who had seen the proof. “But it can be beautiful, too.” 

Awestruck, Arthur used his index finger to stroke the head of the cricket he held. The sparks didn’t burn, only prickled like grass against his skin. Shaking his head, Arthur looked up again to meet Merlin’s eyes, knowing that Merlin’s thoughts echoed his. 

Though a year was not long enough for the novelty of blatant magic in the king’s chambers to have worn off, the fact that neither of them had any reason to fear was still the real novelty. 

“A year,” Merlin said again. 

Arthur gazed at the magical creature he held, struck by all that it represented, and raised his hand in a slight salute. “Here’s to many more.”

Chapter Text

Carefully, Merlin pressed his back against the door to Arthur’s chambers. With a little extra concentration, he set a charm on the hinges to ensure they wouldn’t creak and pushed backward, slipping noiselessly into the room. Still keeping hold of the charm, he moved out of the way and let the door fall shut before turning around. 

He sighed. 

Arthur was slumped over the desk, using a quill to painstakingly cross a piece of parchment with his neat handwriting. His left hand was holding the paper in place, as well as grasping a soiled handkerchief. Even from across the room, Merlin could see him squinting, clearly fighting through a headache. 

With another sigh—this one very pointed—Merlin moved to the wardrobe. Opening it, he deposited the clean linens he carried, all the while watching Arthur out of the corner of his eye. 

The king didn’t give any indication that he noticed. 

“I thought you agreed to go back to bed,” Merlin said, closing the wardrobe. 

Finally, Arthur looked up. “I have things to do, Merlin.” No biting remarks. No puffed up pride. 

Just exhaustion. 

Briskly, Merlin strode across the room and took the handkerchief from Arthur’s hand. He tossed it to the laundry basket in the corner. “Well, it’s too late now,” he said, his voice coming out cheerfully uncaring. “You’ve got a council meeting.” 

“Gods, no,” Arthur swore under his breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose, stifling a throaty cough. 

Merlin stepped around the desk and pulled Arthur’s arm a little. Obediently, Arthur painfully rose to his feet, using his hands to steady himself on both Merlin and the desk. 

“Are you sure there’s a meeting?” he asked. “I don’t remember there being one. Not for a few days.” 

“No, there’s one today,” Merlin insisted. He moved back slightly, letting Arthur go at his own pace, and the king slowly started around the desk, heading for his changing screen under the impression Merlin was going to tidy him up. 

Instead, just as he passed the bed, Merlin steered him toward it. Before Arthur processed what was happening, Merlin pushed him onto the bed. He knelt and began removing Arthur’s boots. 

“What are you doing?” Arthur said. “I don’t need different boots for a council meeting.” 

Merlin set the boots aside and stood again. “There’s no council meeting.” 

Arthur made a face, his eyebrows coming to meet over his nose. “What—” He stopped, finally understanding, and sighed, moving to get up. “Merlin—” 

A year ago, Merlin wouldn’t have even considered using magic. He would have argued and cajoled and bodily shoved until Arthur finally submitted, but he would never have used a spell. 

Now, he didn’t hesitate as he let his eyes glow gold and stopped Arthur in his tracks. “You need to rest,” he said firmly. 

Arthur glared up at him, his longing for rest just as evident as his anger at being, as he called it, magicked. “I have things to do!” 

Rolling his eyes, Merlin pushed his limp sovereign onto the pillows at the head of the bed. He yanked the covers out from underneath Arthur, then pulled them over him. “You’re sick, Arthur. You’re congested, and coughing, and you have a headache, and hunching over your desk can’t be helping your fever aches.” 

He released his magic and handed Arthur a clean handkerchief. 

“You tricked me,” Arthur said, the faintest note of petulance in his voice. 

“Just a few hours,” Merlin said. “Camelot won’t collapse in the time it takes you to nap.” 

Arthur sighed, long and loud, making it very clear what he thought of Merlin. “Fine,” he said. He closed his eyes and shifted to a more comfortable position. “Just a few hours.” He already sounded half-asleep. 

Merlin sighed, too, this time out of relief. “Sleep well, sire.”

Chapter Text

It was late when Arthur realized Merlin had disappeared. 

He fell silent, letting those around him continue their conversation, and carefully scanned the room from wall to wall. 

The hall was loud and joyous with activity. Shouts and laughter melded together, and the air was thick with body heat and the smell of good food. The feasting itself had died down, leaving the diners to mingle and talk over empty plates and half-finished platters that the servants were beginning to clear away. 

Arthur smiled at the group around him, laughing as he caught the end of a joke, and turned to Gwen seated beside him. He leaned close to kiss her cheek, then murmured, “I’ll be back soon.” 

He rose and left the table, disappearing from the hall with little more notice than Merlin had received. Instinct and knowledge of Merlin’s habits pulled him toward the library, and he made his way slowly through the empty halls. Through the windows he passed, he glimpsed the night sky, its cold darkness a contrast to the brilliant white stars that pricked the black velvet. Under its silence, the torches of the lower town burned loud and long, proof that the people of Camelot had planned their own festivities to last far into the night. 

The library was quiet but well lit. The entry was abandoned, Geoffrey being at the feast chuckling merrily with the other elderly noblemen. But further in, surrounded by half-melted candles and dusty books, Merlin sat on the floor with his journal open to an empty page. He’d clearly meant to work on his records, the copies he was painstakingly making of the few magic books left after the Purge, but judging by the quill laying untouched by the inkwell, he’d lost track of his purpose. 

Instead, he sat with his head against a bookcase, turned down and to the side to stare without moving at the wooden carving he held reverently in his right hand. 

The carving of a dragon. 

Arthur’s heart ached, the familiar but still painful longing for his own lost father rising instantly at the sight of Merlin’s. Because of course. 

The day the battle against Kilgharrah ended had also been the day Merlin watched his father die. 

Arthur stepped over a book and knelt down, sliding a candle out of his way before he settled on the floor next to Merlin. Their shoulders touched, and at the contact, Merlin let out a trembling sigh and finally looked up from the carving. 

“If you could change the past, would you?” Arthur asked. 

Merlin stared at him, his eyes so full that Arthur felt he couldn’t move. The moment stretched, on and on, warm yet fragile with the depth of Merlin’s emotion, until finally he confessed, “I would, if I didn’t love the present so much.”

Arthur heard what he didn’t say, everything that couldn’t be put into words. He gazed down at Merlin’s dragon, and the pain in his heart eased slightly. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

It's late, and Guinevere is asleep, a peaceful smile still warm on her face, when Arthur slips out from beside her and onto the floor. He presses a careful kiss to both dark heads, then eases into a pair of boots and creeps across the floor.

He leaves the cozy royal chambers and makes his way through the near-empty hallways, the torches guttering in the wall sconces the only sound in the nighttime stillness. He climbs the stairs to Gaius' tower, and as he nears the top, he smiles to hear the merriment echo down toward him.

He enters without knocking, and there's a hush and then a babble of chatter as everyone talks over each other. Anyone holding a flagon of ale (which is pretty much everyone) raises it in a cheerful, uncoordinated toast.

"Arthur!" Merlin cries, jumping to his feet. His eyes are bright with excitement, his face red with happiness (and alcohol), and when he claps Arthur on the shoulder, his fingers squeeze tight with more meaning than a thousand words. "How are they?"

"Perfect," Arthur says. It's emotional and even dramatic, but it's so utterly, completely true he doesn't give a damn. His chest swells up with pride. "Absolutely perfect."

Gwaine whoops, and more chatter breaks out as everyone starts clamoring to their neighbor, to Arthur, or to someone across the room.

Hunith stands up from where she'd been sitting next to Gaius and approaches Arthur, beaming. She takes his hands, and under the cover of overlapping sound, she says softly, "I'm so very happy for you, Arthur."

She raises on tip toe, giving him a quick hug, and kisses him on the cheek, whispering, "You'll be a wonderful father."

Arthur feels his face flush, something warm and wonderful rushing through him, mingling with the indescribable joy and relief the day had already brought. "Thank you," he chokes out, and she squeezes his hands before retreating.

Merlin knocks into his shoulder, making Arthur stumble to the side before shoving him back. He's laughing, and Merlin is laughing, and then Elyan appears next to them and shoves a flagon of ale into Arthur's hand.

"Join us, brother," he says, a broad smile on his face. He toasts Arthur's drink with his own, takes a huge gulp, and shouts, "I'm an uncle!"