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Chapter Text

Merlin’s feet slipped on the pebbles of the lakeshore, his legs trembling, his whole being weak with the disbelief of new grief. Kilgharrah looked on behind him, silent. He shook too from the fine mist of rain that was steadily soaking through his clothes. Disturbing the blank mirror of the water, he gripped the wooden boat at his side, but he could not bring himself to gaze upon the man inside it just yet, knowing it was the final time. 

Above, the clouds were a bright glaring blanket of grey and the treeline of alder and willow was deep green below it. Behind him was the grassy slope where it happened, where Arthur had drawn his last breath. That moment came to him again, visceral and unbidden, when those desperate, too bright, too flat eyes locked with his. All too late Merlin knew that he was finally, truly seen; for just a few precious seconds, Arthur saw Merlin’s magic, his devotion and his love. The king had used his last moments to thank him, and ask, for once, to be held, for the comfort his station in life had so denied him. 

With his gaze he traced a line from the slope to the water's edge. They had almost made it. This lake was supposed to be Arthur’s salvation, instead it would soon be his grave.

Finally, he looked into the small boat. King Arthur lay on his back upon hazel rods, his cape was arrayed below him neatly, his hands clasped together over his middle. His regal features were marble-still and his skin was pale to match, stripped of its golden hue. Merlin had cleaned him carefully of the mud he had dragged him through, and of the crusted blood from his fatal wound, before placing him here. 

He came closer, ignoring the numbness of his toes, his boots long flooded with frigid water. It was reverence and fealty that made him pick up a heavy hand, slowly remove one of his gloves, and kiss those cold ringed fingers with closed eyes. Merlin never had cause nor station to do this while the man still breathed, but now he wished he could have done it, could have bowed before him in the fullness of his devotion. Arthur would have snorted and laughed at him, of course, he would have torn his hand away and teased him relentlessly, maybe asked his servant if he had gone funny in the head. With tears making his vision wave, he put that hand down again and interlaced it with the other once more, though not before squeezing it and running his thumb over his knuckles, slow to let go. 

It was fondness that had him leaning down over the gunwale, brushing back the pale gold of his hair and putting his lips to his forehead. He held them there, breathing him in. It was lake water he had cleaned him with, so it was ozone he smelled, but beneath it, there was something so familiar, metal and wood smoke and Arthur. He knew it from his chambers in the morning, from dressing and undressing him over and over. What a glorious prat, what a good man. Merlin had loved him. He had loved him more than a subject loves a king, more than a man loves his friend. He had loved him. 

It was love that guided him to Arthur’s lips. As he dipped further over, he searched his broken heart and felt no sense of wrongness, no sense that he was doing something he should not. A long time ago now Kilgharrah had said Arthur was his destiny, and here was the plain truth of it, a love never to be expressed beyond friendship, the duty of service and a hundred secret sacrifices. Even so, even with his foreknowledge of his love’s death by Mordred’s hand, Merlin had never imagined an ending as cruel as this for them both. Crying now, his lips touched Arthur’s and he kissed him carefully, sweetly, like he had always wished to. Sometimes his feelings had been a fervent, maddening thing inside his breast, giving him lurid fantasies of pressing the prat against a wall, but more often he wished to be tender, to wrap him in the love and care that should have been his due. 

With one final press he started to rise, intending to look once more at the king’s beloved face before sending him to his rest. He opened his eyes and was confused when an unexpected colour mixed with the others in his swimming vision. Before he knew what was happening he was tugged down by the neckerchief, his middle hinging painfully over the gunwale. His tears cleared just in time to see living bright blue eyes as lips came up to meet his on his downward journey. He cried high in shock against the other’s mouth, and Arthur, Arthur, continued to kiss him even as he fell. Legs in the air, Merlin was caught by strong arms that hauled him haphazardly in. Some hazel rods snapped and cold water sloshed into the boat as it teetered violently and scraped the lake bottom, the movement having launched the little vessel into the lake. Wet and lying half over Arthur’s body, a foot still dangling over the edge, heart banging in his chest and face presently pressed to wet chainmail, Merlin slowly tipped his head up.  

“Merlin,” Arthur’s hoarse voice cracked. His gaze was familiarly bleary, recalling hundreds of morning’s awakenings, of thrown open curtains and snatched bedsheets, of the quiet moments before pillows and curses were thrown in his direction.   

Merlin was unmoving with disbelief. The boat rocked and began to settle, water parting and rippling around them with a whisper. A robin called clear into the morning, colours that he had not realised were lost to grey, regained their saturation. His magic, having spent only a scant hour sheared away from the man it had chosen for itself, surged joyfully inside him. 

Arthur swallowed and suddenly looked determined. He pulled a still stunned Merlin flush with him, took hold of his face with his too cold hands and then their lips were upon each other’s once more. It was a soft thing, both surrendered and both tentatively took, careful but wanting, desperate but succumbing to it all like it was inevitable. It didn't matter that Merlin was confused and shaken beyond all measure, he had imagined this so many times, and something about gift horses and their mouths... 

They had rolled onto their sides with further snaps and woody thuds, entangled. In their caresses Merlin stroked the king’s slowly warming jaw and neck, in awe at the miracle of him. By accident he found his pulse, it was living and steady when so recently it had been thready, barely there before giving out. 

Merlin’s eyes roamed over the other’s form like he would find answers before they settled again on his face, there was a small, tired smile there, like it was all he could muster. His eyes, bright with life again, were wet with rare tears. “How are you back?” Merlin asked quietly, his hand travelling back up to cup his face. “Arthur, you… I-I don’t under-?” 

A booming laughter had them both jumping and Kilgharrah’s head loomed over them. Under the dragon’s huge shadow Arthur rose on one elbow and pulled Merlin to him protectively, looking ready to fight, how or with what after he had returned the sword to the lake, Merlin wasn't sure. 

Kilgharrah opened his maw. Arthur tensed. 

“True love, young warlock, that is your answer!” 

The usually unshakable warrior scrambled in surprise, clearly he had not expected words. The way he subsequently lost purchase and fell against the side of the boat, jarring it anew, also belied a lingering weakness from his ordeal. Still he clutched Merlin, taking him down with him. 

Kilgharrah laughed loudly and came ever forward, tipping his head in a very lizard-like way to assess them with a single, large eye. “Love so equal and true is a rarity, such as it is I had not considered the possibility,” he continued in his conversational boom.

Merlin wriggled free despite Arthur’s hissed protests. He put a hand on his arm and squeezed, hoping he looked and sounded reassuring. “Arthur, it’s alright, we’re safe. I promise we’re safe.” 

The revived man shot him a look of angry disbelief. 

Merlin sighed. “I have a lot to explain still, but do you trust me?” 

At that, hearteningly, his fear visibly melted away. “I do,” he swallowed, though he still eyed Kilgharrah warily. 

Merlin guided Arthur back down fully before turning his head upward to the dragon. “What possibility?” he demanded.

“That true love’s kiss may revive the king.” 

“True love’s..?” Merlin repeated, though his mind hadn't quite caught up. 

“You have been set on a path unseen,” Kilgharrah explained slowly, rearing back a bit, his great chest puffed. “You have a chance now to fulfil the fullness of your shared destiny hand in hand. It is a gift most precious, I beg you do not squander it.” 

Merlin could feel a challenge rising in Arthur, why should he listen to the monster that almost brought Camelot to her knees? But a quick glance had him deflating once more, maybe it was the lack of fear he saw in Merlin, or maybe it was the fat, happy tears on his cheeks.

Suddenly large feet were crashing into the water and the boat rocked bow to stern with the waves. Kilgharrah slowly brought his head level with the stern, causing Arthur to try and get between Merlin and the beast once more, which set off a small scuffle between the two that had them risking capsize. Then, the dragon pushed the boat with his nose and they were bound for the opposite shore. He rose again with a self-satisfied smile to watch them go.

Merlin watched their wake and the huge, retreating dragon upon the isle. Despite that moment of animation, he was diminished and slow now in a way that confirmed the sad truth, that his time was indeed coming. 

Goodbye, old friend. Merlin called in his mind. Their relationship had been so fraught and complicated, but faced with the end, ‘friend’ still seemed fitting. 

Goodbye, young Merlin, last of the dragonlords. Came the reply and the dragon began to beat his wings, taking to the skies and sending a rush of chill wind over them and across the surface of the water. Arthur was always your destiny. See that you take this second chance. 

Merlin watched him disappear into the white, then he lay down and held his destiny close.

Chapter Text

Even when their boat slid into the mud of the shore, the two stayed holding one another, half propped up and wedged at the stern. The mist had grown thicker during their travels from one shore to the other, short journey though it was. Now, the other side and the isle were detached smudges in the grey white.

Arthur was looking too, still watchful, expecting an attack, though by degrees he seemed to be losing energy even for something as basic as vigilance. His stoic shivering was barely concealed now and tipping his head back in concern to assess him, Merlin was faced with an exhausted, glassy-gazed Arthur, looking all too much like he had when he was dying. That wouldn't do at all. 

“Come on,” he said, patting his leg affectionately. “I want to get you warm and rested before we go home.”

“Mm, please,” Arthur hummed, voice somehow both soft and scratchy. “Home… home sounds good.” 

“I think so too,” he smiled. “Not used to you saying please.” 

Arthur frowned at him, looking like a sorry child. Rarely had he seen him look so vulnerable and Merlin wasn't about to cause him any more distress. He squeezed his arm. “Sorry. It's alright,” he reassured him.

Arthur didn't look entirely convinced but he allowed Merlin to move him as he sat fully up. Reluctantly he peeled away, shimmied over the gunwale and splashed into the shallows. With failing muscles (manhandling a limp Arthur Pendragon hadn't been easy) he pulled the vessel a little further ashore by the breasthook and skirted back around quickly to help Arthur, who had managed to get out of the boat and was making an attempt to follow him. 

“Shakier than a newborn lamb, sire,” he joked quietly, allowing Arthur to hold onto him as he got reacquainted with the basic mechanics of walking. 

“Of course I'm shaking,” Arthur grumbled, then his mouth quirked up. “Of course you’d be in the business of lambing.” 

“I mean, usually they can manage by themselves,” Merlin babbled as they set off on their rather wobbly journey. “But sometimes when they lamb down and they have trouble you have to-” he made a reaching gesture with his free hand. 

“Right, let's not discuss that any further,” the other cut him off, taking a few overambitious steps. “Get us somewhere we can light a fire.” 

Merlin laughed and caught him again, grabbing his arm, slinging it over his shoulder and pulling him close. 

They made their way up a grassy hill, slipping in the mud that oozed there. All of Merlin’s careful cleaning of Arthur before he laid him in the boat was quickly undone, and he didn't care one bit. Every step the man took was a miracle, even if he leaned heavily on Merlin to achieve them. He sensed this weakness was only temporary, nothing that couldn't be solved with rest. 

Woods filled with birdsong and a canopy shielding them from the harsh white light and wet of the day were their prizes once they reached the treeline.

They didn't go far but Merlin was sure that the lake was out of sight before making camp. On their way he had picked up the provisions he had dropped in his haste to get to the lake. He pointedly avoided the place where Morgana’s body lay, for now. 

When he deposited Arthur against a tree it called to mind their terrible journey and all it had entailed. It all seemed like a strange nightmare because now he was nodding off peacefully, colour returning to his face. 

He watched him for a time before reluctantly tiptoeing away, avoiding the louder detritus.

The king stirred anyway. “Where are you going?” 

“Not far, just need some firewood.” 

Arthur made a show of nodding and folding his arms, but there was vulnerability in the way he held himself and in the pull of his lips, he may as well have tugged at Merlin’s sleeve. 

“I’ll stay close, I promise,” Merlin reassured again. He began gathering up dead fallen wood, sure to keep him in sight. Sometimes he would peer through the trees only to see an eye cracked open, watching him. 

He crouched by the meagre pile of fuel, twigs and parts of a dead branch that he’d snapped easily over his knee, and glanced up. Arthur was alert and watching him again, his expression strangely expectant. Merlin’s heart sped up. He bounced on his heels and chewed on his lips. He raised his hand, then let it fall, he needed to be sure. His words came out tighter even than he expected them to be. “Erm, it’ll be easier with magic… I can make it warmer, burn for longer...” 

Arthur was silent for a while, as if considering, but somehow he knew he’d already made up this mind. He nodded with clear assent. 

Beneath his nervousness Merlin felt his magic sing at the silent request. He uttered a spell and flame came into life at the heart of the pile, pale in the daylight and licking around the sticks.

When he looked again, Arthur wasn’t watching the flames, but watching him with a sleepy ease, unafraid. Goosebumps rose on Merlin’s arms, the momentousness of Arthur’s casual acceptance not lost on him. As if to doubly confirm this ease, the king yawned widely and his head started to droop.

“Get some sleep, I'll be here,” Merlin told him.

“Protecting me?” Arthur smiled teasingly. Merlin tried not to tear up at yet another quiet sign of acceptance. 

“Yeah,” he gave a wobbly smile back. 

Arthur made a sound between a sigh and a chuckle, readjusted himself a little and was soon asleep, head bowed to his chest.

Merlin stayed there on his haunches, warming his hands. He wanted to come forward, confirm his suspicions that Arthur’s wound had been healed and let him sleep on his shoulder. But it was all catching up to him now. 

A second chance, a most precious gift. True love. 

He tried to cry quietly but the first hitch came anyway, turning his breath into a stuttering thing he had to stifle, pressing a hand hard over his mouth, tears and snot pooling at his fingers. Arthur didn't wake. He tried to let the emotion roll over him, allowing himself to cry in the hopes the tears would dry up. They did not, and just when the first wave had passed, a new one arrived to pull him under. He allowed himself to fall back onto his bottom and simply sob. It was two candle marks before he was able to crawl over and settle himself beside his love. Arthur's mouth was a little open and his loud breath sometimes veered into the territory of a snore. 

Merlin's heart felt achingly full in a way it never had before. 

The mist grew denser still, saturating the air until it fell all around as light drops from the canopy. Birds sang on, the last of the dawn chorus giving way to the general sweet chatter of the day. 

It was a further three candle marks before Arthur shut his mouth, breathed sharply through his nose and was awake. He took in everything around him blearily, the trees and the fire that had yet to abate despite its small size, and settled on Merlin. 

Arthur had yet to return to life when Merlin kissed his cold hand, but now Arthur picked up his, and kissed the back of it in a strange, sweet reflection. His breath was briefly taken from him by the gesture. 

Arthur smirked. “So it wasn't a dream,” he said thickly, a thumb playing over Merlin's knobbly knuckles.

“No, it wasn't.” 

Suddenly, his brows pinched together and he cleared his throat. “Do we have any water?”

Merlin, not wishing to get up, stretched and kicked at their pack with his legs until it was in hand’s reach. “Here,” he passed him a waterskin and the other drank like a man who had forgotten and rediscovered the stuff. 

It was strangely reassuring to see Arthur drinking sloppily like this. Merlin had grown up on the superstitions of the country folk; he had been warned that should he ever find himself coaxed beyond the veil, not to drink the proffered goats milk or eat the honeydew growing from the trees, consuming anything ensured your soul was lost to that place forever. Now, somehow, he felt the reverse must be true too, Arthur was Albion’s and Avalon had no claim to him. 

“Thank you,” he coughed a little, handing it back over. 

Merlin took a drink too, the last time he had properly attended to his body’s needs Arthur had been whole and hale and preparing for battle in Camelot. 

That battle had meant to be Arthur’s end, yet here he was, alive and wiping water from his chin, seemingly healed.  

“Merlin?” Arthur cut into his thoughts.

Merlin swallowed, he must have looked faraway, or else he must have been staring. He fidgeted with the waterskin, put it down on the leaf litter. “Sorry, jus’ thinking… Would you let me check on your wound? I need to just-”

“You don’t need to explain,” Arthur stopped him. 

Merlin shuffled over to sit on his calves. Arthur submitted himself quietly to his shaky-handed ministrations and the exposure of his skin to the cool air. The wound was pink, but closed. Healed. Merlin pressed his fingers carefully to the skin, feeling for swelling, for problems unseen. Arthur hissed and flinched.

“Sorry, did I-?” 

“No, your hands are cold,” he admitted gruffly.

“Oh, right... Oh ...” Merlin dropped his head onto his shoulder, emotion coming over him and pulling him under once more.

One hand wrapped around his back, another went into his hair, a thumb caressing there slowly. Never had he imagined Arthur was capable of such gentleness. 

“You’re alive,” he said, high and gasping. 

He felt a nod.  

“You’re alright.”  

The grip on him tightened. “Not the first time you saved my life.” 

“No, but it's the first time you died, I mean really properly died,” he mumbled into his pauldron. 

They were quiet, and heard only that patter of droplets over their breath. Arthur's cheek was warm against his ear, where he could hear the steady hint of his heartbeat. 

“I died with so many regrets, Merlin,” Arthur said eventually, his voice hoarse. 

He raised his head off his shoulder to look into his eyes, though Arthur’s hand found his, maintaining the contact. His earnestness surprised Merlin. Never had he imagined he would show him any affection beyond roughhousing, lung-emptying slaps to the back and the occasional, quiet admissions of friendship.  

“More regrets than I can count,” the king continued. “They were only doubled once I knew the truth… I always tried to fight on the side of what was right, to live and be prepared to die for my principles. I regret so many of the things I’ve done in the name of my beliefs, now. I don’t know what I could have done to deserve your faith in me.” 

“Arthur,” Merlin paled, distressed. “But you’re-!” 

“Listen for once,” he implored, squeezing his hand. There was no bite, only softness in his words. “I regretted not being the man you think me to be. I wanted a second chance to be that man. You gave that to me.” 

“I didn’t know kissing you would-” 

“Shut up, Merlin,” he pulled him forward and caught him in his arms and in a lingering kiss.

At first the angle was awkward, but soon Merlin found himself sitting on the other man's lap. Arthur tipped his head back to meet him and occasionally kiss his neck. Merlin’s fingers slipped into his hair and played with it, twirling it at his nape. With some passion giving away inevitably to playfulness, Merlin gave Arthur's bottom lip a single, quick suck, to which the king responded with a surprisingly high noise that he would likely deny was a moan. 

Eventually Merlin pulled away a little, causing the other to chase his mouth in confusion. He laughed at him and ran a hand through his hair again to soothe him. “Arthur?” 

“Mm?” he mumbled, kissed drunk, eyes hooded and lost in Merlin’s. 

“I want to hear you say it.”

Arthur closed his eyes and bumped their foreheads together, letting out a long breath. “I think that foul lizard made it abundantly clear-”

“Arthur. Please,” he begged quietly. “Please just let me hear it.”

“Are you making demands of your king?” he tipped his head back once more and cracked an eye open. 

“Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing.” 

Arthur grumbled. “I suppose there’s no denying it now.” 

That made Merlin pause. “Do you want to, to deny it, I mean?” 

“No... In truth... I never did.” Both eyes open now, a frown on this face. 

“Neither did I.” 

Arthur was silent but he didn't look away. 

“You still haven't said it,” Merlin pointed out.  

“Oh don't look like your heart is breaking, Merlin.” 

Merlin really must have looked like his heart was, in fact, breaking. 

“Idiot,” Arthur said in reprimand, using the same tone he might use when Merlin tripped over his own feet leaving his chambers with a bundle of laundry. He pulled him down for another kiss, fiercer than the ones that came before it. “I'll have you know it's been torture, being in love with you for so long.”

Merlin laughed wetly. “I think I might know how you feel... I love you too,” he told him, the words didn't leap out of his mouth, they felt easy, sweet, true, mundane.

The wet of the day turned to true rain, the fire crackled on and with exploring hands and lips, and whispered words, two sides of the same coin came to know each other more fully. 

Chapter Text

He was silently reluctant to let Arthur anywhere near the lake, lest Avalon try to take back what Merlin had wrenched from their all too greedy hands. Wading into the mud now, the water lapping at their boots as they tried to get the boat unstuck from the sandy mud, he had to tamp down an animal protectiveness that wished only to pull his love roughly back to land and to safety. But he recognised that look of duty on Arthur’s face, understood and shared, to an extent, the complicated loss that it belied. Soon the boat was buoyant once more. Arthur looked down at Morgana’s body and before Merlin could look respectfully away he saw his stony expression crack briefly into one of wet-eyed searching, like there was a part of him, perhaps a younger or more tender part, confused and looking for answers as to how he came to be standing here in the water looking down upon his sister’s corpse. A swift sniff told Merlin the moment was over, Arthur stepped away from the boat and nodded.  

Only magic could propel the boat and light the fire in this windless, wet weather. Too late, Merlin felt remorseful for having burned her, the pyre was something they had mutually feared in the days they had both lived in the castle. He kept this to himself. They stood and watched for a time, when they finally turned away the light of fire was a dark blot disappearing in his vision.  

“Thank you,” Arthur said as they picked their way through the bracken toward the horses they had abandoned. Not only had he set the fire, Merlin had helped to carry Morgana and, as an afterthought, had untangled her hair, returning it to a smoothness that also seemed to return her, uncannily, to an earlier state. 

“You would do the same for me,” he said, thinking about Balinor, of the stones they had placed over his shallow grave. He wrestled with himself, knowing, but not liking that soon it would be time to start telling more of the truth and keep telling it. For now he just walked by Arthur's side in quiet support, knowing he needed this moment of introspection. 

Camelot was close and the rain had abated when they stopped, preparing themselves not for the remaining journey ahead but the general stir that would no doubt keep them from their beds. There would be questions, Merlin could only imagine the hue and cry of the council in the wake of the magical intervention that had won them the battle. 

Riding had been difficult, most particularly for Merlin. Arthur was right to call them to a halt, exhaustion had left him slow, addled and frequently slipping into the realm of daydreams.  

The place they had chosen had the signs of having served as a campsite before, perhaps by Camelot’s patrols or maybe even their little company, King Arthur, his loyal knights and of course, his manservant. Looking around now, at the position of the beech trees and the stones protruding from the compacted earth, Merlin was sure of it. Phantoms from another time, friends now gone, pushed from the threshold of his memory and projected themselves into the scene. He saw Elyan, laughing noiselessly and helping himself to seconds and Lancelot, collecting bowls from those who had finished their meal to quietly alleviate some of Merlin’s workload. Even Mordred was there, standing out beyond the campfire light, his back to them as he stroked and tended to one of their horses.     

A low growl had them all vanishing like snuffed out flames, leaving only Arthur reclining against one of the stones, an arm’s reach away. He froze, reason and any knowledge of his power overridden by simple human fear. Had it been a beast it would have been upon them by now, but it wasn’t a beast, the sound ended in a rolling bubble, and it came from the general direction of Arthur.

“Are you alright?” Arthur eyed him.

Merlin dropped the hand he had half-raised. “M’fine,” he groaned at himself. 

“Mm, I'm sure.”   

He ignored him. “You’re hungry. I’m sorry, I don’t have any more food.” 

“It’s fine. Reassuring to know your magic has its limits.”

Merlin winced.

“You're joking,” the other said flatly after a beat, not moving.

A thin-lipped shrug was all he could offer in reply. 

Then Arthur seemed to be thinking. 

“...You want me to-?” 

“No… You’re tired.”  

He couldn’t help but hear the note of aborted curiosity in the response. Heart speeding up, he mustered a mischievous look. “Not that tired.”  

Arthur mirrored his smile and Merlin had the sense of being held to a challenge. Without speaking, he leaned forward expectantly, his arms on his knees. 

Merlin raised his hand palm up, his fingers an approximate width apart and spoke. “Plūme.” 

Perhaps he had been too tired because from his fingers fell not fruit but white-pink plum blossoms. Others spilled up from his palm and were stolen by the barest breeze, strewing the old campsite appropriately with flowers. 

Arthur barked out a surprised laugh, a beautiful sound, there was no hint now of fear, betrayal or disgust in it. 

Like a child showing off to an audience, Merlin’s magic responded by producing yet more. The king was clutching his middle now in bewildered laughter, and the skin of Merlin’s face felt like it could combust. But Arthur’s smile, a true one, was all worth it. 

Finally, a plum rolled from his hand. He caught it midair in a shower of petals and still red faced, he passed it to Arthur who squeezed it, sniffed it, then hesitated. “Is it safe?” he asked.

“Of course it's safe!” the warlock flapped. 

Arthur raised his hands like he was staving off a fight, the plum pressed into his palm by his thumb then tentatively, he brought it to his lips. His features scrunched up. “Mm, sour,” he said, collecting the excess juice on his lips with his finger.

Merlin watched him take a second bite. If by consuming the food and water of the world he was Albion’s, eating this made him- 

He slid toward him, too intent on the other's lips to be self-conscious about his sudden neediness. Arthur raised his eyebrows and laughed a little, holding the fruit aside. Merlin kissed him and Arthur laughed again when he leaned in for more.

“Can’t conjure up some roast capon, or maybe some pork ribs?” he asked, though his eyes were on his lips.

“'fraid not,” Merlin said, closing the gap a third time. 

They set out again, this time both on foot and leading the horses. Soon, Camelot came into view in a break in the trees, its white walls were lilac in the vanishing light, growing dark against the sky.  

By Merlin’s side Arthur took a breath, looking at this, the centre of his kingdom. “When I’m before the council I’ll order a halt to all executions for magic, except when it is used to kill, or otherwise cause great harm,” he said without looking at him, his blue eyes running instead along the parapets and the towers. “It’ll take time, but I will repeal the laws. Magic was part of the court once and it can be so again. Knowledge of it may have been wounded, but it's not gone. You said you were born with magic, if that's the case my father, I, have made a grave mistake.” He turned and looked into his eyes, earnest and unguarded. He picked up one of his hands as he might a lady’s, but Merlin dared not tease him or protest. “Until then, and after, I would have you by my side, but I can't force you, your life is in danger in Camelot. But if you choose to stay, Merlin, I'll protect you with my life as you have protected me, I vow it.” 

Merlin gripped hard in distress. “No, not with your life, Arthur, please!”

The king was unswayed, sure. “You said you'd die for me, or else die by my side, unless I was sick with fever-”

“You never had a fever… You just got colder,” Merlin said miserably, looking at the ground. 

Arthur took his chin so they were looking in each other’s eyes again. “Let me finish please. You have protected me, allow me to do you the same honour.” 

Merlin shook his head and smiled tearfully. Two sides of the same coin, love so equal… He should expect nothing less than the other half of his heart to be just as recklessly protective.

Chapter Text

Once they were before the gates, Merlin gripped the reins and fell behind. Arthur threw him a long frown over his shoulder, expressing that he’d rather continue as they had been, walking shoulder to shoulder. Both horses threw their manes at the sight of home and Merlin patted the nearest's flank to soothe her excited nickering. 

Their appearance caused a general hubbub on the ramparts. As they passed beneath the arch, a heralding trumpet sounded out, and was echoed further ahead.  

“The king has returned!” the cries went up. Guards converged on them from their various stations. Cheers sounded out alongside the trumpet, raising and falling as they passed.

The lower town was already half in shadow, with the exception of the beams of sunlight from the side streets leading west. Soon it would slip below the walls and leave everything cold. 

They gained a train of followers, some red-caped, holding their heads high, others townsfolk expressing their joy at the king’s return. Further still, already retired to their houses, leaned out of their doorways to witness the triumphant procession.  

Just as they came upon the forge, its chimney currently free of smoke, a figure in a celandine yellow kirtle, like the relief of spring personified, raced to intercept them. She all but collided with Merlin, hugging him tightly.  

“You're back, both of you, you're safe!” Gwen cried into his ear. She held on for a few more moments and seemed to catch her breath, then, whispering with that same breathlessness, she said, “thank you, Merlin, for everything.” And dizzily, he understood that she had worked it all out. He laughed happily at her cleverness and they rocked playfully from side to side in the street.  

Once she had stopped squeezing the life out of him she remembered herself, smoothed out her skirt and gave a short bow to Arthur, though in her relief it was obvious she wished to pull him into just the same embrace. 

She looked between them rapidly before settling on Arthur, her hands tangling anxiously in her clothes. “You’re healed?” 

“I am,” he answered her, to her relieved, skyward smile.

From one moment to the next however, that smile slipped. “I’m sorry. I should tell you both… It happened yesterday, after the battle… It’s Gwaine, he’s-”

“No, he can't be…” Merlin shook his head, only realising he had taken a few steps back when he stepped on the foot of an innocent citizen behind him in the crowd. 

Arthur pulled him back by the neckerchief with an apology to the woman whose foot he flattened. 

Gwen continued. “It was Morgana…It’s just like Elyan, back then,” she gasped, her eyes seeming to focus elsewhere briefly, re-witnessing horrors only she could see. When she found him again her distress was clear. “He’s with Gaius now. It's bad, Merlin.” 

In a panic, Merlin looked to Arthur. 

“Go,” he said, grim-faced.

Merlin gestured for one the guards following them to come forward, which he did without question. He handed him the reins. “Take them back to the stables,” he asked of him, and the guard complied just as readily as though it had been a command from the king.  

He ran full sprint through the lower town, people with carts half-full of wares packed up for the day moved swiftly aside for him, smells of meat pies and hearth fires passed by, wagtails and starlings picking at crumbs in the streets flew up out of his way. He could hear Arthur following behind in his armour, accompanied by the audible confusion of the crowd. He passed under the barbican and planned to swing himself into the outer door to the physician's office, but instead he collided heavily with the chest of someone exiting. 

“Leon!” he exclaimed windedly at the sight of his messy curls.

“Merlin! Arthur, I heard-!” 

“He’s safe, Leon,” he told him hurriedly, attempting to push him aside. “I came to see Gwaine, I need to-!” 

Leon stopped him, holding Merlin’s shoulders at length. “Before you do, you should know that Gaius says there’s little that can be done, he’s-” 

A clattering of armour came to a stop behind him. “Stand aside Leon, let him in,” Arthur’s voice bid breathlessly. 

“Sire!” the knight exclaimed and Merlin seized the opportunity to slip past him, their conversation quickly growing indistinct behind him.  

In the castle’s shadow, night had already come to Gaius’ office. Two familiar faces turned toward him when he entered, as pallid as ghosts in the candlelight, before each washed with surprise. 

“Merlin!” Gaius exclaimed, rising stiffly out of his stool by the bedside of a prone man, indistinct in his still adjusting vision. 

Percival stood too, expectant of news. 

They met in the middle, Gaius gripped Merlin’s hands fiercely with his own, age-worn ones. “Have you succeeded?” 

Merlin allowed himself a wobbly smile. “He’s alright.” 

“He’s healed?” 

“Yes,” he gave him the simplest answer, though Arthur’s voice reached them now from the stairwell, living proof. 

Percival threw his head back like he was thanking the gods. He rose and left with a glance at his ailing friend to go and greet the king. 

“Well done, Merlin, well done,” Gaius said, sagging in his relief to the point Merlin had to catch him and guide him back down onto his stool.

“Gwaine,” he said, coming forward and assessing the blanket-swaddled man in the cot. There was a damp cloth over his forehead and eyes; when Merlin removed it, he found a haunting, unseeing stare, made doubly disturbing by his friend’s usually lively nature. There was a crust of something at the corner of his mouth smeared in a line like someone had tried to wipe it away. When he smoothed back his sweat-stuck hair, his skin was clammy and hot. He replaced the cloth with shaking hands.    

"There is no wound,” the physician explained gravely. “Morgana used a nathair on him, the damage is internal.”

“A nathair,” Merlin whispered.   

“His pain was surely beyond all of our imagining. I believe at this point all we can do is ensure his comfort,” the other shook his head, not mincing his words. Gaius reached up to place a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m terribly sorry.”  

“No, no I’m not letting that happen,” Merlin sniffed, curling his fists into the rough wool blankets. He wasn’t going to lose another friend.

The voices of the others grew louder and the king and his knights were abruptly in the room.

Gaius tried to rise again. 

“No need, Gaius,” Arthur held up his hand. “Sit down, all of you, I have no doubt you’re all tired.” 

The old physician got to his feet anyway and bowed to Arthur. Prompting the others around the room to do the same. “Sire, allow me to welcome you back.” 

“Thank you, all of you,” he nodded at Gaius and his knights before turning his attention to the cot. “How is Gwaine?” 

“Morgana tortured him,” Percival spat, finding a counter to lean against, his expression, already twisted into one of sickly anger, was exaggerated by the shadows. He was cradling his wrists and Merlin saw the marks there, he had no doubt he would see matching ones on Gwaine. “Gaius doesn’t think he has long left.”

Leon took a seat at what was ordinarily the dining table, covered now with potions and half-made medicines, and hung his head miserably. 

“I’m sorry to say Sir Percival is right,” Gaius confirmed.  

“Is there nothing that can be done?” Arthur asked, coming forward.

Gaius went to answer but Merlin cut across him. “I think there’s something left I can try.” 

Arthur stopped, his eyes shifted over to the knights. He seemed to consider something for a time. “Leon, Percival, please convene the council, they will want to-” 

“There's no point, Arthur,” Merlin stopped him, his hands flat by his sides. “If it works they’ll know, or guess.” 

Arthur swallowed, and suddenly his gaze on Leon and Percival took on something more cautious, as though these, his closest friends and allies, could perhaps turn on them. They shuffled under his scrutiny, at this strange shift in their king. Arthur had vowed to protect Merlin, but neither of them had anticipated just how soon he might be called on to do so. He continued across the room and came to stand between them and Merlin, his back tense.

“Sire?” Leon asked in confusion.

Arthur looked over his shoulder and Merlin caught the fear in his eyes, not fear of him, but for him. “Do what you need to,” he told him.

Merlin dove for the shelves to hastily wrap some incense. Gaius, taking his cue, set about handing him all that he might need.   

Standing over his friend, he took a long breath to steady himself. He removed the cloth once more and replaced it with his own hand, steadying the incense above him with his other hand. He didn’t know a spell that would fix this kind of damage but he remembered what the shade of his father had told him, that he was magic itself, and like the language of the dragons seemed to well up from his very blood, this spell came deep from that which he was inseparable from. When the words came they were mostly ones he recognised, he had learned different combinations of them from the book below the floorboards of his room, but the power behind them was different and seemed to heat and crackle in the very air. “Druté… Ic þe þurhhæle þin þrowunga ond þin sáwol. Gestricaþ þis lic forod. Ic þe þurhhæle þin þrowunga ond þin sáwol. Gestricaþ þis lic forod. Ic þe þurhhæle þin sáwol!”

The incense lit of its own accord, its acrid smell stinging his nostrils and eyes. He kept chanting. The smoke, grey-blue, left lazy upward trails in the air as he passed it over Gwaine’s form. At length, he removed his hand from his eyelids. Briefly, the knight’s eyes, previously unseeing, focussed on him before they fluttered and slipped, finally, closed. Alarmed, he checked Gwaine’s pulse, but it was now strong below the pads of his fingers. He made a sound of relief, handed the incense to Gaius so that he could continue the work of cleansing, and dropped to his knees to lay his head on the blanket and feel the rise and fall of his friend’s chest. 

“Magic, Merlin used…” Leon’s voice came to him, high and pinched. He had been so absorbed in the spell he had forgotten about his audience.  

“Stand down, Leon,” Arthur gritted.

As far as Merlin could tell without looking, Leon hadn't even stood up. 

“You’re the king, sire… We’ll do as you order,” Percival said slowly.  

“Then I order you not to speak of this, for now,” Arthur commanded tightly. “Know that Merlin is under my protection, no harm should come to him for this.” 

“Yes, sire,” they said together.

“Gwaine, is he..?” Percival asked cautiously after a beat, his concern clearly elsewhere. 

“He’s okay. He’ll be awake by the morning,” Merlin answered, surprised by the confidence in his own voice. Beside him, Gaius pretended to be focussed on the incense but was clearly trying to bury the pride on his face. He stood back up, wiping tears from his eyes and came to stand beside Arthur, who put an arm around him and held onto his opposite shoulder, equal parts protective and affectionate. 

Leon glanced at Percival and they seemed to have a silent conversation before Leon took a breath and stood. “If Merlin is under your protection, then he’s under ours,” he said decisively.

“Thank you, both of you,” Arthur said with an air of formality, but Merlin felt the tense line of his shoulders already softening with relief. Arthur jostled him a little and pulled him in closer. “And thank you, Merlin, we might have lost a friend today without your help.”

The others said their thanks too to show they shared their king’s sentiment. 

“He should know about it,” Merlin said, glancing back at Gwaine, who was now sleeping peacefully. 

Gaius, Leon and Percival all nodded, one of them would be there to inform him of what occurred, who had healed him. 

Arthur’s hand slipped from his back and Merlin had the urge to catch it and hold it, but he did not. “I have to go,” he said remorsefully. “Wash up and rest. You haven’t slept or bathed in days.”  

“Smell that bad, do I?” he tried to laugh, but he felt depleted and wrung out.  

As he left, Arthur pointed at him like he’d hit the nail on the head, but he wore a private smile just for him. Leon said a small goodbye to both of them before leaving, still looking more than a little stunned. 

Before following, Percival came forward and wrapped Merlin in a hug. “Arthur’s right, you need a wash,” he said when they separated. 

“And you smell like honeysuckle in the summer,” he huffed.  

“Thank you, Merlin,” the big knight said from the doorway.

And then they were alone and it was quiet enough to hear Gwaine’s steady breathing. 

Gaius left Gwaine’s bedside and patted him on the back, “I’ll fetch you a basin.” 

“Gaius!”

Chapter Text

Even with the water magically heated, Merlin shivered deeply the whole time he washed himself. The soapy rag passing over his skin, rinsed out and passed over it again, left a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Sitting at the dining table, his hair drying in the warmth from the hearth, Gaius walked up beside him and draped a familiar, pilling blanket over his shoulders. He hoped it would banish the last of his shaking but he suspected that only sleep could cure him of it. A hand settled on his shoulder too and Gaius urged him to eat. When he tried it, the simple pottage brought warmth to his belly, the care brought warmth to his chest, and all of this and everything that had happened summed up brought tears to his eyes and a drip to his nose. Gaius tutted as Merlin leaned close to him.  

“Dear boy, you’re a little long in the tooth to be crying into my skirts,” he complained softly, but he embraced him tightly all the same, rubbing his back and shushing him gently when sobs wracked him. “It was a marvellous thing that occurred this day, I am honoured to have witnessed it.”

“Had to do it,” Merlin said miserably. “Couldn't let him die.” 

“And yet you had the support of the king and his loyal knights.” 

He nodded, his chest heaved involuntarily. How many times would he cry today? 

Gaius hummed. “I presume that sometime before or after he was healed, King Arthur accepted your magic?” 

Merlin shook his head. “We didn't get to the lake in time, it was right there, Gaius. He thanked me for everything I did, and died in my arms.” 

Gaius’ hand stopped its motion on his back. “Died?” 

“I cleaned him, I… I was going to send his body out on the water, I wanted to say goodbye…” he trailed off, bringing his fingers to his own lips. His face heated and yet more tears washed over his eyes, thinking of what might have been, Arthur torn cruelly from the world and his heart both. 

“There are stories,” Gaius began, treading carefully. “Ways someone may be freed of a curse or be brought back from the very clutches of death… I trust you know them too.” 

“I wasn’t thinking of that when I…” 

“So it was as I suspected,” the old man said, a smile in his voice. “I’ve long known your bond ran far deeper than either of you, in your stubbornness, could admit. Tell me, then, why are you crying? Shouldn't you be happy?” 

“M’happy, m’scared too,” he mumbled, rolling his head against his old friend’s robes. “Jus… s’a lot.” 

“I see, I see. I can only imagine, my boy.” 

After dinner, Gaius baked an apple for him and soon thereafter sent him to bed.  

But even as the lack of sleep seemed to pierce his skull, his heart beat too loudly in his ears to give him rest. He needed to set his eyes on Arthur, confirm for himself that this had all been real. He waited, his mattress feeling like stone under his tense muscles, until he could hear the familiar snoring.  

Dressed in his sleeping clothes he walked through the castle in a daze, exhaustion making him feel as though he were wading through water. Outside the night had etched everything in changing shades of charcoal. Through each of the windows he was afforded views of Camelot brightening and darkening, the work of clouds shifting over the now waning moon, though the moon itself remained out of sight. When he let himself onto the little gangway overlooking the round table, it finally made itself known in the stained glass window. The chandeliers above were dark, and the candles hastily placed on the table couldn’t soften the coldness of that light, which robbed the window of its colour. Nor could the candles defend against the light’s occasional retreat, which left faces illuminated and little else. But Arthur’s form was clear. He was dressed in a loose white tunic while the knights and guards he had passed on the way here were wearing armour, still battle-wary and fearing unseen retribution. Merlin could only imagine the tense conversation with whoever had dressed Arthur in his stead, but he knew him and knew that when he wanted out of his armour, he wanted out. When the king shifted, Merlin saw that a sword was slung over the back of his chair on a belt.  

Arthur didn’t see him, he was wholly focused on his task, speaking clearly. 

“-we cannot deny that we have a powerful ally, an ally that won us the battle.”

One of the council members thumped his fist down onto the table. “I refuse to believe that someone with such power would choose to align himself with Camelot! What we have is yet another threat, a sorcerer with motives unknown, that will no doubt rain destruction on this kingdom in time. Removing the threat of the pyre will leave the kingdom without the only protection it has left.” 

“As much as I agree,” another said. “The pyre is surely no threat to one such as him. We must keep the laws and plan for the worst.” 

At this, Merlin allowed himself a smug smile. 

“He is an ally, not an enemy,” Arthur repeated himself calmly, and Merlin marvelled at his temperance in the face of their prejudice and fear. “You both talk of the next threat, but further threats are what I hope to prevent. The sorcerers meaning us harm who have darkened our door time and again in my lifetime have been motivated by revenge.” 

“Perhaps revenge has played a part, but did not the witch Morgana lust for power when she seized your father’s throne?” 

“Had the laws not existed, she may never have turned against us,” Arthur answered.  

“You sympathise with the witch?!” 

“My sister is dead, she holds no power over me. I ask that the sentence for magic is lifted. I will pull anyone who’s put to the flame from the pyre myself if I must.” 

Merlin suddenly found the height a little dizzying. As the council guffawed and objected loudly, he lowered himself down on wobbly legs and propped himself up against the low wall. 

“These things cannot be changed overnight!” someone objected.

“They cannot,” Arthur agreed, his voice still steady. “But I am king and by my vested powers I order a suspension to the prosecutions until further notice, that further notice being new laws, fully drafted and given due consideration.”

The pride and love that came over Merlin at the words and the strength of them had him feeling dizzy all over again. 

There was a general murmuring. 

“The problem of the sorcerer who felled the Saxon forces still stands.”

There was a pause, Merlin cocked his ear to the wood, thinking he must have missed something. But then Arthur’s voice came again, deep and clear. “This sorcerer, gentlemen, is known to me.” 

There was uproar. 

“Known to you?!” one council member repeated, incredulous.

“What do you mean by ‘known?’” another questioned.

“Speak!” someone demanded. 

“That is no way to speak to your king!” someone else stepped in to defend Arthur.  

“And what if my king has been ensorcelled? Must we sleepwalk to our destruction because we are forbidden to speak against him? This is madness!” 

“Enough!” Arthur shouted. “I will tell you that this man has defended Camelot in secret for this past decade.” 

“A decade?! So much has befallen us in that time! If that were true then-!” 

“Is this what he wants, your ally? That we lower our defences?!” 

Merlin felt sick, of course the power he wielded would frighten these men. He wished he could rescue Arthur from this mess he had landed him in, but he knew him as well as he knew himself and Arthur would die in the name of his principles, if he had to, or else defend his point until the sun rose, set and rose again. Even so, it didn’t escape his notice how quickly Arthur had seized and acted on these new principles. As Merlin got up, what he said next summed up just why.

“I know I shock this council with my words,” Arthur said, he was on his feet now, leaning on the table and looking between the people seated around him. “But I trust this man with my life and I tell you again that Camelot is not under threat, far from it.”  

The response of the council echoed and merged, indistinguishable as Merlin left.  

He didn’t go back to Gaius’ office, his feet led him instead to the king’s chambers. 

He cringed, pained when he entered, reminded immediately of their last conversation in this room. It looked half-torn apart, chairs had been toppled and documents dashed off the desk. Among the mess, there was evidence that Arthur had eaten, bathed and been dressed. Merlin wasn’t sure if the room having been left largely untouched in this state spoke more to the fact that the castle staff had been redirected to other tasks such as bandage making, or to their understanding of his own, undisputed dominion over everything Arthur Pendragon, most of all his messes.   

As though he were unable to do anything else, he set about tidying, and didn’t stop until all was in order. Once he was finished he piled the braiser with logs and tinder and lit it with flint and steel. 

He shuffled backwards and settled himself into Arthur’s high-backed, padded chair, drew up one knee, rested his face on it and waited.

Eventually, the door latch and hinges sounded. Arthur stopped in the doorway to look around at the newly clean space before finding Merlin. 

Whoever had accompanied him shut the door and he stepped nearer. “I asked you to get some rest, not-” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Merlin interrupted him, not moving from the seat.  

Arthur nodded and paced a little as he fiddled with his sword belt, though he glanced in Merlin’s direction as he did so. His hair, while clean, looked hand-tussled, he supposed his must look much the same.

“Let me,” Merlin said, making to rise.  

“No, stay by the fire. I’ll work it out,” he stopped him. Then he strode back to the door, opened it and spoke to the unseen person. “No one should disturb us 'til noon unless our attention is expressly needed.” 

Merlin raised his eyebrows once the door was closed and he heard footsteps leaving down the corridor. “Us? Our?” 

Arthur stopped dead and scraped a hand over his face, groaning at himself. 

“That has to be the best way to get the rumour mill going.” 

He returned to his belt, shaking his head with a small smile, both sad and fond. He pulled it off. “I always thought it was to tell Gwaine a secret.”

“Second only to that… He’ll wake, Arthur.”

“I have no doubt he will,” Arthur told him. In his lingering look, his eyes took on a shine from the firelight before he padded in the direction of the wardrobe, laying the sword on the table as he went.  

Soon, frustrated grumbles sounded in the reaches of the room. 

“Sleep breeches are in the bottom left,” Merlin informed him.  

“Ah,” came the reply.  

He reappeared in loose linens. Curiously his torso wasn’t bare as Merlin had expected, perhaps throwing off his shirt in the middle of the night wasn’t something he did purely to spite him, but something he did in his sleep. 

He came forward as if to warm himself but instead he pulled Merlin from the chair and led him gently in the direction of the bed. He threw back the quilted blankets and settled him down. Being tucked into bed by Arthur Pendragon was something that rivalled even his most lewd fantasies. 

Arthur got in on the opposite side and was soon sliding towards him.

They both closed the distance and met in the middle. Arms slung around each other, legs tangled. Arthur kissed the side of Merlin’s nose where new tears were already making their tracks before kissing him again in earnest, salt upon his lips. 

“I heard you speaking to the council, just for a few minutes,” Merlin told him when they had settled down. 

“Mm, I saw you leaving. You know then. Messengers will be sent at dawn. Those who use magic in peace will be safe in our kingdom.” 

“There’s that word again.” 

“Shut up, you’re dreaming.” 

Merlin frowned.

“No, no you're not dreaming,” he corrected, looping his arm between the curve of Merlin's neck and the pillow to pull him closer. As an apology, Merlin got the most tender kiss and in turn he cradled Arthur’s head protectively, his hand buried in his hair. He was solid to the touch, heavy upon the mattress, radiating warmth. He rolled onto his back and pulled Merlin onto his chest. “Sleep,” he told him. And feeling a peace that he had never known, like the world had always been spinning but here, together, was the first place it had ever stood still, Merlin had no trouble doing as asked. 

Over the night they rolled from each other and came back together. Awake briefly, hearing birdsong, Merlin was met with a warm expanse of bare skin and laughed quietly through his nose, the shirt had come off and was no doubt lying somewhere on the ground. When he came close, Arthur turned in his sleep and settled, as naturally as anything, on his shoulder, his arm slung over him. Merlin enfolded him and pressed a kiss to his hair. He would give this man all of the care and touch he deserved, hold him like he was meant to be held. In the morning, alive and whole, he would wake to find himself held in Merlin’s arms. 

Chapter Text

They didn't hear the horses leaving, nor the castle waking up around them. They didn't hear the chatter of the people who had emerged from their homes to the news of change. 

The sun made its clockwise way across the floor of Arthur’s chambers, finally bringing a sliver of light to the bed. The sharp pain in Merlin’s eyes when he cracked them open let him know that he’d failed to close some of the curtains last night. Arthur stirred in his arms, one of which had long gone dead. He made a petulant noise and nuzzled closer to Merlin’s neck, denying the waking world. On a normal day, Merlin would have dashed any hopes the king had of falling back asleep by tearing away his sheets with sadistic cheer, but today he ran his untrapped hand up and down the line of Arthur’s spine, easing him gently to wakefulness. He found a stiffness at the base of his neck and worked the muscles there gently until he mumbled something about it feeling good and readjusted himself to face him.

“Good morning,” Arthur croaked. Merlin knew that morning voice so well, knew the little peacock fan of his sleep-pressed hair, he even knew the smell of his bed-warmed skin, but being with him here like this was the start of Merlin being known by Arthur in turn. He wished all it took to be known was this. 

“Good morning,” he echoed simply, he didn’t have the words to convey his feelings.

During the ensuing silence, Merlin tried to subtly flex his fingers, both numb and prickling. 

Arthur noticed. “Is your arm dead?”

“Yeah but don’t you dare move.”

The king breathed out a laugh and remained where he was.

“Can we stay like this?” 

“Mm?” 

“In bed, nothing to do, no laws to rewrite… No difficult conversations to have.” 

“I’m guessing there are a few of those left.” 

“Yeah.” Merlin could feel the briars he had tried to keep at bay beginning to ensnare his heart. Maybe this was all he would get, this peace, maybe after he disclosed all of his carefully held secrets Arthur would flinch from him, banish him. Even true love, if that’s really what this was, must have its limits. He would treasure this moment when it all came crashing down and Arthur came truly, finally, to know him.

“I can hear you thinking,” Arthur grumbled.

“Sorry.”

He took a breath, preparing to say something but a knock at the door interrupted him, the sound resounding around the room. 

Arthur huffed, Merlin sighed. The briars retreated a fraction, for now. 

“Must be midday.” 

“Must be.”

The knock came again.

They extricated themselves from one another reluctantly and Merlin rolled from the bed into the cold air, rubbing life back into his hand. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t-” Arthur started to say, too late. 

George was at the door and Merlin immediately realised his mistake, but if George had taken any note of Merlin’s sleep clothes and mussed hair, he was doing a very good job of hiding it. In a strange world where he was afforded the chance to gamble with the man, Merlin reminded himself not to, though he struggled to imagine him playing anything at all. George straightened. “The court physician and Sir Percival wish to inform you that Sir Gwaine has woken.”

Arthur came up behind him in a creased, hastily donned night shirt of his own, and put his foot in it, right alongside Merlin’s. “We’ll take our food in Gaius’ office. In fact, bring multiple servings, cured meats, pies, anything.”

“Of course, sire,” George nodded once. “Will that be all?”

“Yes George, Merlin will see to the rest.” 

“Very well sire,” he said curtly, turning on his heel and leaving with his hands clasped behind his back.

Merlin closed the door, turning on his own heel. His back against the wood, he yet again raised his eyebrows at Arthur. “We, ou-?”

“Don't you say another thing,” he pointed at him.  

Merlin shut his mouth but an involuntary smile crept onto his face, defying his earlier worries. His cheeks filled with words that tried to escape. 

“Merlin,” Arthur warned, taking a step forward. 

He couldn't help the low closed-mouthed laugh he made either. 

The king levelled his gaze at him, daring him to continue, and Merlin liked that dark look, the ready muscles very much. 

“Our,” he burst out. 

“Right,” Arthur said, and tackled him, pinning his arms to his sides and wrestling him across the room.  

He threw him onto the bed and caught his cry of surprise with his mouth. The fierce way he kissed him made that cry turn into a whine. Flush like this, their bodies quickly reacted as was expected, reminding them of the things they had yet to do. Merlin’s heart didn’t slow down even as their kiss grew sweeter.  

Suddenly the weight he’d been so enjoying was gone and Arthur was on his feet and pulling him up. “Come on.” 

“Wha-? Cruel, Arthur Pendragon. Whoever says you’re a fair king is a liar,” he lamented on his upward journey, which he helped with as little as possible, letting the other take his weight. 

“I'll make it up to you later.”  

“Don't tell me that! I need to be able to walk through the castle-” he interrupted himself with a groan, thinking about the journey ahead. He pulled at his clothes, hiding himself. “Won’t help that I’m in these either.” 

Arthur opened and shut his mouth like he hadn’t considered that. “Just borrow something. You’ve filled out in the last year, I’ll have ones that fit you.” With that he turned in the direction of the wardrobe as though the problem was solved.

“Think that’ll send the same message!” Merlin called after him.

“Well, you’ll just have to keep clothes here then.”

“Just-? What?” 

The physician’s office was bright and catching the sun when they opened the inner door. 

“Gwaine!” Merlin exclaimed and ran ahead into the room. A little crowd made up of Gaius, Percival, Gwen and Leon all made way for him.

Gwaine was awake, propped up and smiling in his cot. He looked notably pale and he was due a wash, but he seemed otherwise alright. 

“Hi Merls,” he drawled, accepting the hug Merlin bent to give him with a small laugh and a few back pats. Then he spied Arthur behind him. “Well well, look who’s back from the dead.” 

Arthur smirked and crossed the space. “You have no idea… but I could say the same to you.” 

They gripped forearms. “Something about pots and kettles, I'm guessing?” 

“Something like that.”

“This one have something to do with that too then?” he thumbed toward Merlin, who had settled at his side on the cot. 

“You heard.” 

He shrugged. “Some common folk never stopped, magic I mean, couldn't afford not to take risk. Countryboy like him from across the border? Shouldn't be too much of a surprise. Anyway, I’d always thought there was something special about our Merl-” 

Merlin dug his knuckles into the man’s scalp, greasy though it was. 

“Hey!”

“S’what you get.” 

“You tell him,” Percival egged him on from a corner and there was a happy ripple of laughter through the room. 

He batted him away. “Anyway, I’ve a bone to pick with you. I woke up all fine and dandy with nothing to show for it. You could have had the decency to leave me with a good scar.”

“You weren’t wounded,” Merlin pointed out, and standing above him Arthur also crinkled his nose in bewilderment. 

“Still could’a had the decency.” 

Merlin scoffed and accepted the veiled thanks, but he saw it now, there was a well-disguised edge to his smile that hadn't been there before. His ordeal had, in fact, left a scar. 

It was there and gone again as Gwaine looked between him and Arthur, but particularly at Merlin and what he was wearing. “So the rumours about you two are true.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “How is it that you're cooped up in here but you're still…” 

“Ah you see, the Arthur I know would deny any false accusations of the romantic kind.” He gestured at Merlin. “Wasn’t a hard to guess. He wasn't in his room, he came here with you and look how he’s dressed.” He turned his face to Sir Leon, who was sitting in the same chair he had been in yesterday. “Leon, I owe you a drink.” 

The tall knight sat up and became visibly panicked, his hands out in front of him placatingly. “What? No you don't! Sire, I didn't-!” 

Percival was clutching his stomach and wheezing. Gaius paid them no heed and began preparing potions and poultices for the still wounded now dotted about Camelot. Gwen had a highly scandalised smile on her face, but a knowing glint in her eye told Merlin she wasn’t surprised. 

Gwaine reclined, enjoying the chaos of his little joke. “It’s not as though they weren't both completely obvious about it for years, years. It's about time you two did something about it, I say. Go on, tell us, who made the first move?”

“Gwaine!” Leon protested again.

Merlin went shifty eyed and pointed discretely to Arthur, only to glance up and see Arthur’s head tipped, indicating towards him. They locked eyes and stared at each other in confusion. 

“You weren't… when I…but then you…” Merlin tried to explain haltingly. 

“But if you hadn’t…” 

“Like that huh?” Gwaine’s grin was wide. Across the room, with the news confirmed, there were whoops and laughs.

Merlin slunk off to finally dress himself. When their food arrived Percival helped a still weak Gwaine to the dining table and they all crowded around on what chairs and crates could be found. 

Merlin noticed that Gwaine hid his lack of appetite with idle chat. But he managed to eat what amounted to a small meal over the course of their long stay at the table, during which, thankfully, no one came looking for Arthur. 

“So I guess that could only have been you up there,” Gwaine said eventually, pointing a spoon at Merlin. “Big beard, lightning shooting from your fingertips?” 

He reached over and broke off some of the crust of Leon’s pie, narrowly avoiding Gwen who tried to lightly slap his hand, and ate it before leaning back with a sigh. He looked tired but he was putting on a good show. 

Merlin swallowed.

A silence settled over the table.

“You look good for an old man,” Gwaine broke it.

“I’m not an old-” 

“Wait, if Merlin is a-” Percival started.

“I’m not!”

“You didn't deny it was you though, you two even fall for the same tricks… And I heard another thing.” 

“More rumours, Gwaine? Good grief,” Arthur lamented. 

“I heard the ban on magic has been lifted.” 

“Not lifted,” the king admitted quietly, his expression changing instantly. “Suspended until new laws are drafted.” 

“Lifted for all intents and purposes, then.” 

“Yes,” he confirmed.

Another silence settled over the table. 

“I have so many questions,” Percival said in a rush to Merlin like he’d burst. 

“And they’ll be answered, but in time,” Arthur rescued him with a stern look at all of them, staving off their entering into what would likely prove thorny territory. Under the table, a hand gripped his thigh in reassurance.  

In time. But when? Tom and Uther’s faces passed across his mind’s eye, Camelot on fire as Kilgharrah rained terror on them; some territory may prove just too thorny. He broke out of his ruminating to find that Gwaine was giving him an assessing look, Merlin could only offer him a thin smile in response as the conversation moved on with great difficulty.  

Seeing his patient start to droop after the meal, Gaius began to herd them all out into the corridor. 

It was Merlin, this time, who helped him back to the cot, Percival having already said his goodbye. 

Once settled and tucked in he indicated he wanted to say something. Merlin tipped an ear toward him. “Pinch yourself any more, mate, and you’ll bruise,” he said, low to him.

“What?” Merlin whispered back. “I'm not-” 

“Looks to me like Arthur's smitten for you and we’re all coming to terms with you being a magical old man.” 

Merlin looked over his shoulder to see Arthur, Leon and Gwen in conversation through the open door. He craned closer, lowering his voice even more. “There’s some things I have to tell them, Gwen, Arthur, all of them… Don’t think it’ll go well.”

“I hate to say it but the royal princess has the right idea, no need to explain it all at once,” he grimaced then, his smile slipping like he might be in pain, but before Merlin could reach out to him he stopped him. He indicated Arthur with a tip of his head. “Not very fair of you to be thinking he’ll turn his back on you now, is it?”

“I… No, but-”

“There are no buts about it, loverboy. Here’s how it is from where I’m standing, these are the only words of wisdom you’ll ever hear from me so you best listen, alright? The man who rode out of those gates before Camlann believed that sorcery was dangerous, he made hard choices to protect his people from it and paid sorely for them. But the man who returned? He hasn’t been back for a day and he’s already lifted the ban, what does that tell you?”

Merlin sagged, his friend was right.

“He’ll have his own demons to face too, I’d say. He’ll need you.”

He remembered Arthur telling him that if it were true he and others were born with magic, that he and his father had made a grave mistake. He sighed. “Thank you, Gwaine.” 

The healed man shook his head. “You’re the one who deserves the thanks.” 

Before he could protest, Gaius was admonishing him for keeping his patient awake. 

“Thank you, Merlin,” Gwaine took his chance.

“Get some sleep,” he told him, patting his shoulder. 

In the corridor Arthur and Gaius were obviously talking about him “-I hate to put him to work, sire, it’s only- Ah, I was just explaining that I require your help. The wounded will require medicines, their bandages changed.” 

“I’ll do it,” he agreed, though he had hoped to be Arthur’s silent support in the inevitable difficulties of the day. He winced at him but the king for his part waved once dismissively, he could handle the council, he seemed to say. 

Arthur hesitated, eyes going to his lips like he wanted to reach forward and kiss him goodbye, but they were both new at this. “Leon, you’re with me,” he said instead and made to move.

“Sire,” the knight replied, but before following he quickly took Gwen’s hand and kissed it. 

Merlin and Arthur met eyes, that’s new.  

Gwen smiled and looked away. 

The physician’s office wasn’t the only place news had been circulating. Someone had clearly been busy at work telling the whole of Camelot just who was responsible for their king’s safe return. Everywhere he went, to halls within the citadel walls given over to the injured, to homes, to the streets themselves, he found himself the recipient of bows, curtsies and outright thanks. People moved for him in the castle corridors like he was someone worthy of moving for, they offered to carry his bags and they smiled at him and brightened when they saw his approach. Many a guard shook his hand and some minor knights even tried to commandeer him in the direction of the Rising Sun for a tankard on them. 

Weary with the attention, he filled up and shouldered his last bag of provisions and made his way around via the lesser used corridors.  

Trying his best to keep his head down, he had to stifle a bad tempered groan when someone politely called his name.

He found himself face to face with George. “Master Merlin,” he greeted, with a bob of his head. 

“I’m not- I’m just Merlin.” 

George shook his head like somehow Merlin was wrong about this, and went on. “You brought his royal highness to be healed. I understand we have you to thank for his survival.”

“Well er-” he began to try and correct any notions that the other servant might have about him being Arthur’s saviour but then he considered something. “George, would you tell me, where did you hear about that?” 

“King Arthur himself gave his account at the council meeting, sir, I was attending to the council members there alongside a number of servants. There were guards also in attendance.” 

“Ah, that would do it… And I’m not a sir either.” 

Again the odd man looked like he disagreed. He opened his mouth, peering at the bag hanging from Merlin’s shoulder, clearly surprised to see him carrying it at all, he seemed to share the opinion of many others he’d met that day that king saviours should be lauded, not seen to be labouring.  

An eerily astute look came over the servant’s features then. “You might wish to know, I served his majesty his meal alone in the library this evening, I imagine you’ll find him there.” 

“Uhm, thank you, George,” he said awkwardly.

“Of course,” George bowed deeply once more. 

Merlin continued on his bewildered way, but he picked up the pace, eager to be finished.  

The last person to accost him was Gwen. He had just three visits left and his bag was deflated, the last of the potions, for patients with only minor complaints, clicked together as he hurried along the streets. It was a heavily clouded night and he made his way via a weak lantern and the light cast out of the neighbouring windows.  

She approached from behind him, her short steps quickening until she was upon him. “Merlin! I hear word that you’re a hero,” she teased, bumping his hip affectionately.

“I noticed,” he grumbled, as they continued together toward his next charge.

“You don't look too pleased.”

“I'm not. I’d rather there was no word. I did it for Arthur, not to be bowed at, called a hero and have things carried for me.” 

She laughed brightly. “Who’s doing that?” 

“George, the other servants, some of the wounded, guards, some citizens.” 

She shook her head at him, smiling. “That's just about everyone. Of course you don’t think you deserve thanks, but you do, you deserve that and more, not just for what you did at the battle but for everything.” 

“Gwaine said something similar to me, so did Arthur… When he was dying.” 

“Are you going to tell us all we’re wrong?” she challenged, swivelling and walking backwards to face him.

“Gwen-” he started, strained.

“Bask in the light a little,” she said, stopping in front of him, eyes shining. “For us.” 

He stopped too and gave up. “Fine.” 

“Good. Now,” she said, prying his bag from him with gentle fingers before he even realised she had done it. “You best be on your way to Arthur, I heard he’s had a long day.” 

He chased her hand as she slung the strap onto her own shoulder. “Wait a second, Gwen, you don’t need to-!” 

“But I want to. Take this as my thanks for saving him. Now, tell me where I’m taking these.” 

He huffed and relented. He gave her instructions and handed her his lantern.

“Wait! Tell me about you and Leon!” he shouted after her when she was already halfway down the street. 

Leaving, when she turned a corner she threw him a wide smile, the lantern swinging. 

The library was lit softly, all around shadows flickered or else gathered heavily in the many corners of the room. He found Arthur in what would usually be Geoffrey’s seat. Geoffrey himself was nowhere to be seen, presumably dismissed for the evening.  

He looked tired, his face drawn in hard lines as he scanned the pages before him, but those lines softened when he saw Merlin, like it brought him genuine relief to see him. Merlin felt himself relaxing too. He found a big, deep wooden chair and picked it up, waddling with it to Arthur’s side. Once settled, their legs fell naturally together, the small contact comforting him further.

He recognised some of the tomes and scrolls spread out and open on the table, they were the magic texts that Uther had locked away here. He counted himself lucky that the king had not picked up anything cursed or hadn’t unsealed some unpleasant creature. He made a mental note to demand that Arthur touch no more of the forbidden items without his being present, but now didn’t feel like the time. The king was pensive; whatever it was, it was heavy in the air.  

“Today I was told how many we lost in the battle, and how many wounded,” he said finally, his voice was a little hoarse.  

Merlin was respectfully silent beside him and waited for him to continue. 

Arthur swallowed. “Before we rode out I knew lives would be lost. I weighed it, their deaths against probably countless more, the loss of the kingdom itself. I was prepared to have them fight and die in the mud, mortal and without any more help than their own skill, armour and weapons. They’ll prepare the pyres in the morning, but thanks to you -” with this he turned to him, looking him steadily in the eyes- “their numbers were far fewer than I could have ever hoped. There are men whole and alive because you intervened. I was sure to point this out to the council, but it seems they would rather see ten times as many pyres burning than lives spared by magic.” 

“They’re scared,” Merlin said quietly. 

“They’re fools,” Arthur disagreed, throwing one arm down on the table and kneading his brow with the other, making the candles almost flicker out. “I needed to understand it, I needed to tell them how else we can use magic to fight and defend the kingdom from future threat, minimise our losses. I came here for answers, instead I found this.” 

Arthur slid a bound, illuminated book closer to Merlin. Upon it, in the margins, were hosts of poorly reproduced cattle, sheep and wolves, as though the artist had never looked upon an animal in his life. Arthur tapped the open page with his finger. 

“These are spells all dedicated to animal husbandry,” he continued, his index finger first on a yellow-headed shepherd of odd proportions, then the neat text itself. “This tells of how to find sheep that have strayed from the herd, and how to deter hungry wolves… There are others-” he moved vellum and books around feverishly now- “spells to ease fever and childbirth, charms and protections against sicknesses and blights… This one is a spell against grain rot, there’s others here for lice and fleas, yet more to keep vermin from the stores. Can you imagine how we can spare the kingdom from suffering?” He fell back into his chair and breathed, his fervour over. “This was what was taken from them. It’s not as though I didn’t know magic might have its uses, it’s just…”

“You can’t be blamed for how you saw it in the past, not with your…” He was going to say father. But Uther was dead under a cairn and he decided against invoking him, lest his spirit return to haunt them a second time. 

“Did you and Will use spells like this, in Ealdor?”

Merlin’s chest panged at the unexpected mention of his late friend. One of many, now. He would never forget the way the young man left the world, butchered yet protecting him, clever to his last breath. “I didn’t know many spells back then, I just sort of, did things, moved things about… I should tell you, Will wasn’t a sorcerer, it was me. He was dying and decided to protect me.”

Arthur nodded, taking in this news. “Protecting you from me… Is this one of your difficult conversations?”

“One of them.” 

A heavy silence preceded Arthur’s next words. “Can I hear another?” 

Now it was Merlin’s turn to flop back into his chair and sigh, as though letting out the tension. In truth, his heartbeat was already quick in his chest. In Arthur’s tone he’d heard the right to refuse, but he did not take it. He started with who he was. 

“After we sent off Morgana’s body I said you would have done the same for me, but you’ve already done it.”

Arthur scrunched up his face in confusion, clearly this hadn’t been a direction he was expecting.

Merlin fidgeted with his own fingers. “You should know, you helped me bury my father.” 

“I… Your father?! The only person we ever buried, Merlin, was…”

“I didn’t know who he was before then, mum never mentioned him, that was the first time we met.” 

“Are you sure, very sure that he was your father?”

He nodded. “When he died his power became mine.”  

“What, are you saying that the dragons on the battlefield and on the lake were under your thrall?” 

“My what? No!” he threw his hands up before rubbing at his closed eyes. “Well… Yes? But-” 

“I thought you said you were born a sorcerer.” 

Merlin winced at the word, it stank of fear, even now when he could detect none from Arthur. Rather than face him directly he instead looked down at the spellbook, specifically at the unsettling grin of one of the misshapen wolves. “I was born with magic, but the power of a dragonlord is inherited.” 

“That was the same dragon, wasn’t it? The one that attacked Camelot.”

Merlin took a sharp breath. “I have so much to tell you.” 

“And you’re frightened.” 

“Yes I’m frightened! I made mistakes, so many of them to save you, sometimes others, I-” 

“Merlin.” 

“I didn’t know-!”

“Merlin.” 

He was embarrassed to find that his eyes were burning and the stupid wolf was blurring. 

Arthur moved and scraped his chair loudly to better face him. “These mistakes, did you make them because you had no other choice? Did you understand what you were doing or what the consequences might have been?” He reached for him, but Merlin shrank away. “I’m right, aren’t I? If you’re worried I’ll hate you, I tried that, believe me.” 

For a time Arthur allowed him to breathe his shaky breaths before offering him his hand, palm up.

This time, Merlin took it.

“I’ve done things in the name of my father and of my values… I have blood on my hands, not just of enemies, but of innocents. Do you hate me for what I’ve done in the past?”

“No, Arthur, never.” 

“Then it seems we understand each other. I have much to think about and my own confessions to make.” 

Merlin leaned forward slowly and kissed his cheek. “I’ll hear them, when you’re ready.” 

“Good, then I'll hear yours,” he kissed his hand in turn. 

There was a pause in which Merlin was deciding whether or not to tell him that he loved him again.

“Will you help me with all of this?” Arthur gestured to the full table, interrupting. 

“Of course I will, clotpole,” he smiled. 

When they entered, Merlin lit all of the candles in Arthur’s chambers with a thought. The king’s breath caught to see it, his vision snagging on the flames multiplied in the black windows and then on Merlin himself. He took on that darkened look from earlier, but this time he looked helpless, like he was being drawn inexorably forward. Merlin backed up against the closed door, willing him toward him, and was soon pressed against it, locked in a kiss and then another and another and finally Arthur made good on his earlier promise. 

Tonight, briars, thorns and smiling wolves were all kept at bay. 

Chapter Text

Merlin watched relieved from their bedroom window as Arthur and his retinue rode in, their breath and their horses' breath making regular clouds in the chill air. Autumn had turned to winter early in the few days that Arthur was away from Camelot and Merlin had fretted to see the fern fronds of ice on the windows each morning. His alarm had only increased when his love had failed to arrive yesterday as planned. During the cold night he couldn't help but reach out to him with his magic, he found him safe and dreaming and though no magic flowed in the king's veins he felt an answering warmth, just as though he had curled around him naturally in his sleep.  

Behind Arthur, Gwaine and Percival rode, and behind them was the small druid delegation, the honoured guests that they had ridden out personally to escort here. For the druids’ protection, further knights made up the rear. Their usual dress was accented with robes, shawls and scarves of bright, festive colours of mostly yellows and greens, and some pale blues, like spring had come already. This was not the dress of a people in hiding but in celebration. It was not the druids, but someone riding virtually beside the king that caught his eye, a small hooded person sporting Arthur’s dark furs. King, knights and guests all came to a stop and the grooms rushed to help everyone dismount. But, putting up his hand to stop them, it was Arthur himself who helped the figure down from her horse. They spoke and Arthur pointed up at the very window Merlin stood at. That hood came off and looking up at him was Hunith, her cheeks wind-burned but her smile warm even from this distance.

He rushed through the castle but by the time he reached the galleried stairway Arthur was gone, as was the druid delegation. No doubt they had much to discuss. Anxiety was doing whatever it willed to his gut at the thought of it, but today, he tried to remind himself, was a huge step forward. At the base of the steps, there was Hunith and Gaius, kissing each other’s cheeks in greeting and already babbling to one another, as good friends do. She was still in Arthur’s furs and Gaius was brushing off the ice and moisture that had gathered on them when Merlin ran down to close the gap. She only had a moment to see him coming before he enfolded her. 

“Oh my baby boy,” she cooed happily, holding on tightly. 

“Mum,” was all he could say. He hadn’t meant to leave it so long, so much had happened since he had seen her last, the surprise of it all was stupefying him.  

“You look well,” she told him, leaning back, assessing him and giving his arms a squeeze. “Very well. Happy.” 

He laughed tearfully and nodded to which Hunith cooed once more and wiped his face with her thumbs. The guards posted at the door suppressed chuckles, they seemed to enjoy watching Merlin be coddled by his mother. 

A cold wind sang through the open arches and prompted them all to seek warmth further inside the castle. 

Seeing his friend shiver and lean close to her son, Gaius smiled reassuringly. “I have tea and warm food waiting for you in my office, my dear.”

“You knew she was coming then?” Merlin asked. Thinking that of all things Arthur was, he hadn't thought him sly until now.

The old physician’s eyes twinkled and he exchanged a look with Hunith. 

“Thank you, Gaius, I could do with warming up,” she said. She took Merlin’s arm. “You’ll join us, Merlin, it’s a big day you have ahead.” 

Hunith fussed at him, brushing his shoulders for the third time this evening as though there was something to brush. He was wearing a rich blue robe that George had to wrestle him into because he had flat out rejected its finery and the silly embroidered dragons on the hem and the cuffs. Only the triskelion pin of twisted reed at his chest was to his liking, a gift, he guessed, from the delegates. 

His relationship with the druids had been more than harmed, and many had rightfully renounced their belief in Emrys as their saviour. But in recent months, a change in their dreaming and divining had brought crows to his and Arthur's windowsill and brave representatives to their door. The dreams had shown them that magic was forging a new path for itself and that path was this, Emrys and the King of Camelot, side by side to see the golden age come to fruition. 

They had joined them now in the minor hall that had been given over to them, and they stood or sat in wait for the procession through the castle. They proved uncharacteristically unsure of themselves in the face of Emrys’ earthly mother. Hunith for her part wasn’t meeting them half-way either, she quickly rejected their attempts to give her honorifics or treat her with any particular reverence. 

“I can see where you get it from,” Gwaine came forward and elbowed him. He was in his armour, a sword at his side. Officially, he had joined them to send a clear message that the little group had the king’s protection, unofficially he was here for moral support. 

Merlin shrugged and smiled.  

“Ready?” the knight asked, smiling along with him.

“Yeah,” he said nervously. 

Hearing this, the druids formed rows behind him. 

He had warned his mother, but she still let out a little cry when his hair grew, turning wiry then white, and his face and hands became wrinkled and liver-spotted. She clasped her hands over her mouth and examined him in shock. 

He didn't say anything, fearing his aged voice would startle her further. But then, brave as ever, she shook her head at herself and pulled at him so she could kiss his forehead. “For a moment as you changed, you looked just like your father,” she explained, tears in her eyes. 

The double doors to the throne room were before him now and he didn’t hesitate, only stopping to wait for the guards on either side to open them. He strode in, the druid leader at his side. His mother and Gwaine, in step with each other, led the rest of the delegation, their robes swishing over the growing voices of the crowd, council members, citizens and friends that gathered to witness the occasion when they would meet the famed Emrys. Arthur was upon his throne, resplendent in his full regalia and crown under the chandeliers and the vanishing light of the day, watching them approach. His expression was carefully schooled but Merlin could see it all in his eyes, the anxiety, the pride, the love. 

Geoffrey was waiting off to one side and at the front of the crowd, Gaius, Gwen, Leon and Percival stood. 

When he came to a stop all went silent until Arthur spoke, projecting his voice so that all in the room could hear. “You are welcome in Camelot, all of you.” 

“Thank you sire,” the druid leader said with a small bow of her head. “May we present Emrys, protector of Camelot and magic both, though I trust you know each other.”  

“We do, Emrys is one of Camelot’s own, and someone I trust above all others,” Arthur said, blue eyes crinkling just slightly as he met Merlin's. “Until this moment, unknown to us, you have saved Camelot, and my life, countless times. Thank you, Emrys, for all that you have done.” 

The murmuring started up once more, but Arthur raised a hand to stop them. 

“Come forward, Emrys.”

Merlin stepped foot on the dais and knelt at his feet, his head bent low in a bow.

“By now, this court knows that I intend to see our people united, therefore, in the name of this ambition I ask that you pledge yourself not to me or to Camelot, but to all of its people, regardless of creed, magic or no. Do you pledge your loyalty to them?”

“I pledge it.” 

“The people wish to know you. Will you stand by my side, not in hiding, but as you truly are?”

“I will.” 

Arthur extended his hand and Merlin did what he had imagined the day he placed a still Arthur in a boat upon the lake, and kissed it. As he did so, and as they had rehearsed, he let go of the silent spell that had transformed him. To the audience, his back lost its aged curve and his hair shortened and became black once more. Gasps sounded all over the hall. He held his lips against Arthur’s fingers for just a beat longer, preparing himself, before they rose together and turned, hand in hand. If the people had not already recognised him, they did now, for here was the hero who had delivered their king back to them many months ago, the man who, in the intervening time, the king had made his favourite. Simultaneously, Arthur had worked hard to ensure that when Camelot received Emrys, he would have a hero’s welcome, and now they learned that these men, Emrys and Merlin, were one and the same.   

A clamour of voices and cheers rose up but none were louder than their friends’.

Geoffrey and the druid leader placed themselves on either side of the throne to give the rites. Arthur and Merlin faced them. In short order, their dual pledges were made official and Camelot had a new court sorcerer. When it was done they had not planned to kiss, but seeing each other's joy and unwilling to resist devotion’s pull on them, they did so now for all to see. 

There was still the barest line of blue in the sky in the west when they made their way to the ramparts above the castle, finally, gratefully alone. The air was cold and clear and Camelot and the land beyond glittered under the stars and a gathering layer of ice both. They huddled to watch the light leave. Magic seemed to sing in the earth and on the breeze and Merlin felt, from the easy swell of his chest and the bright hope in his eyes, that Arthur could feel it too.

“I love you,” Arthur said suddenly by his side.

Merlin laughed lightly, rarely did he say it so directly, but day by day he had been softening, having exhausted all action now, all that was left, seemingly, were words. “I love you too, Ar-” but he stopped because in Arthur’s hands there was his mother’s sigil. He was tracing the lines to the bird at the centre, turning it over and tracing them again. He turned to him. 

True love was made known not just in a single kiss but in a hundred thousand, and not just in kisses, but in every action and every word. And here it was made known again in a single question, the answer to which was always, inevitably, yes.