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Chapter Text

Queen Elena's coronation would be spoken of for some time to come. People revelled in the streets of Gawant's citadel, love for their kingdom made clear by the banners they strung from their doors and windows. King Godwyn, Elena's father, had been a much-adored figure, known for his kind nature and generous spirit; Arthur had no doubt Elena would live up to the same example.

Inside the palace, the newly crowned queen sat at the head of a table which creaked under the weight of an enormous feast. In a marked departure from tradition for a female monarch, Elena was dressed in full ceremonial armour.

"I detest wearing gowns," she informed Arthur and Gwen matter-of-factly, leaning over the table to serve herself more wine. "So impractical!"

Gwen nodded her agreement. "I can't believe how heavy some of my new dresses are."

"But you wear them so well," Arthur chimed in with a loving look and squeeze of her hand.

"Let us toast to that." Elena raised her goblet and took a hearty swig. "How are you finding royal life, Guinevere?"

"Oh very pleasant, but so far it's all been feasts and celebrations. I expect harder work awaits us upon our return."

"I'm sorry I couldn't attend your wedding. Things in Gawant have been so hectic since my father passed. Tell me, how were the celebrations?"

As Gwen chatted with Elena about the ins and outs of wedding planning, Arthur's attention drifted down the table where Hunith, mother of Camelot's Court Sorcerer Merlin, was finishing up a story.

Arthur had heard this particular tale before. Merlin, at just four years old, had climbed a tree that stood on the outskirts of his village Ealdor, intending to cut some branches for a game of make-believe with his childhood friend Will. Too small to reach the branch he wanted, he had tried to use his magic to do so and accidentally sent the whole tree toppling over - directly onto another villager's home.

"-right on the roof of poor old Simmons, and Merlin broke his arm in the process too!"

Merlin caught Arthur's eye as a raucous laugh rippled down the table. "Simmons never did trust me after that."

The feast passed pleasantly, but when the dancing began the Camelot contingent were swift to excuse themselves. Arthur and Gwen had been married only three weeks when the invitation to Elena's coronation had arrived and were eager to return to their kingdom as soon as possible.

"Your mother looks happy," Gwen said to Merlin as they departed the dining hall with Elyan and Percival in tow. Hunith was being twirled on the dancefloor by one of Elena's knights. "How long do you think she'll stay in Gawant?"

Since the legalisation of magic, Hunith had dedicated her time to assisting with the education of Camelot's Druid children, providing a space where all magical youth could learn to harness their power responsibly. On Queen Elena's request she had come to Gawant to replicate the set-up.

"Until Samhain, all being well."

"I'm sure you'll be glad to have a break from the tree-felling story for a little while," Arthur chimed in. "That must be the third time I've heard it."

Merlin smiled indulgently. "Well, she never had anyone but me to share it with before."

The next day they set off before the sun had fully risen.

"We could have taken Kilgharrah," Merlin grumbled at the early hour. "We would have been here and back within a day, and had a lie-in too."

"Not with your track record."

A recent incident where Merlin, sick with a fever, had fallen from the dragon mid-flight was still far too fresh in Arthur's memory for the king to have allowed such a thing. That and he had never really trusted flight as a safe method of transportation...

They pushed the horses hard and by lunchtime had crossed over into Camelot's border. They had only one scheduled stop in their journey, in a small clearing where they could feed and water the horses.

Arthur frowned when he saw Merlin grab the feed bags.

"That's not your job any more."

"Well I know that, but she doesn't." Merlin proffered a handful of oats to Arthur's mare, who munched upon it happily. "Llamrei's used to a certain standard of care."

"Why did you become such a good servant the instant I made you a noble?"

Arthur never heard Merlin's reply, for just then a crossbow bolt zipped past his nose and landed with a sickening thunk in the flank of Percival's horse. The poor creature reared upon its hind legs with a pained whinny and, as it fell, its dying screams spooked the other horses. Merlin tightened his hold on Llamrei's reins and Elyan had not yet dismounted his own steed, but the other two horses galloped into the forest before anyone could stop them.

More crossbow bolts followed the first, but a swift spell from Merlin made them drop in mid-air.

"Go, take the others into the trees. I can hold them off."

"Even if that weren't a terrible and needlessly self-sacrificing idea," Arthur drawled, pulling his sword from its sheath. "We've only got two horses."

A wave of men flooded from the forest and into the clearing. They weren't bandits, Arthur realised as they approached, but mercenaries; someone from the Camelot council must have leaked their route. Merlin's eyes glowed and the forest around them came to life. The clearing swiftly filled with the panicked shrieks of men who were suddenly upended by the movement of the roots beneath them or knocked off their feet by branches from above.

"Sir Elyan, Sir Percival - protect the Queen," Arthur ordered his men. "One of you take her on Llamrei while the other rides behind. Be sure you aren't followed."

Gwen bristled at her husband's command. "Not without you and Merlin."

"I'm sorry Guinevere." He was sorry too. Sorry that she had barely been queen a month, and already she would be forced to step into the role without his guidance. "I swear that Merlin and I will follow as soon as we can, but Camelot cannot be without a ruler."

"But I could-"

"Please, Guinevere." Arthur took her hand and squeezed it. "It's your duty."

"Alright," she conceded, eyes glistening. "But just don't do anything stupid."

"That's usually more Merlin's forte than mine."

"Hey!"

Gwen managed a watery smile, then turned to mount Llamrei. Soon she, Percival and Elyan had thundered from view.

Arthur turned to Merlin. "Any bright ideas for how we get out of this?"

"One. Forbearne."

This was one of the few words of the Old Religion Arthur recognised, the one Merlin used to light fires on cold winter's evenings. Evidently the spell had greater potential than just this, for a tower of flame bigger than any of Uther's pyres shot from Merlin's hands and set the forest clearing alight.

The mercenaries who were not instantly burnt alive started to retreat. All but one, that was, who had taken Merlin's momentary distraction to level his crossbow.

"Look out!"

Arthur leapt at Merlin and searing pain exploded in his gut.

Through a haze of agony he registered the forest floor beneath him. Somewhere above Merlin bellowed - "Ic þé wiþdrífe!" - and then the warlock was knelt at his side.

"What did you do that for?!"

If doing so wouldn't have tugged at his already tender abdomen, Arthur might have laughed at his friend's indignant tone. "Next time I'll just let you get shot, shall I?"

"Yes, yes, you're very brave and heroic." Merlin peered anxiously to the clearing around them. The air was swiftly filling with smoke. "Can you stand?"

Arthur nodded, but as Merlin helped pull him up his vision swam.

"Arthur?" Merlin's voice was edged with panic. "Arthur!"

Regretfully, he let the darkness take him.

Chapter Text

If, like Gwen, you had known Arthur as a teen, you would have assumed he took nothing from the various tutors and councilmen Uther had assigned to teach him what was required of a monarch. In those days Arthur spent as much time as he could shirking his lessons and either sparring with his knights or terrorising whatever poor manservant had the misfortune to serve him that week.

Yet, against all expectations and with the influence of those closest to him (Merlin and Gwen most of all), Arthur had grown into a formidable ruler. In the lead-up to their wedding, Gwen and Arthur had spent many hours discussing the responsibilities that a ruler had to their kingdom. He spoke to Gwen of everything, from the knights' battle formations to the levy on farmers' crops.

"The prophecies refer to me as the Once and Future King," he had informed her, embarrassed, after a long discussion about the Druids and their history within the kingdom before Uther's Purge. "I suppose that will make you my Once and Future Queen. Are you certain you want to accept such a heavy burden?"

He had spoken in jest, but Guinevere sensed a lingering fear beneath the question. What if she grew to regret her decision? She loved Arthur, of course she did, but marrying him meant more than that. It meant loving his kingdom, loving it even more than she loved him.

"Absolutely certain," she had answered firmly, and they had moved onto other topics.

Now, however, she couldn't deny a little twinge of regret at her choice. It had been two days since she, Elyan and Percival had been forced to abandon Arthur and Merlin, and she was chairing her very first council meeting.

"I still say we should devote all our resources to locating the King," Kendrick, a particularly irritating lord who Gwen had heard Merlin complain about on multiple occasions, spoke fervently. "If we were to be attacked..."

"If we were to be attacked, we would want our garrison at full strength." Gwen felt almost heady to speak in this way to a nobleman. Not so long ago she had been pouring him wine and calling him 'my Lord'. "We have sent search parties, but the King would not want to leave Camelot undefended for his sake."

"But this is my point. Without King Arthur to lead them, his strategy guiding their movements, what use is an army?"

"I hope," Sir Leon interjected sharply, "that you are not suggesting our Queen is incapable of leading her own men?"

"Of course he isn't," Alaric, another lord Gwen had heard Merlin speak ill of, hastened to Kendrick's defence. "But surely none can argue that King Arthur is unparalleled when it comes to battle? Not to mention we are without a Court Sorcerer now as well..."

"We have sent search parties," Gwen repeated wearily. They had been arguing circuitously for over two hours. "But the mercenaries who attacked us were sent by someone who knew our route. Whoever was behind the attack wanted to weaken Camelot."

"That makes no sense," Kendrick scoffed. "No one but the Council knew of the King's route."

She ignored his purposeful omission of her and Merlin in favour of responding, "Indeed. Which leads me to suspect there is a spy in our midst."

Instant uproar.

"A spy!" one man - Lord Riverten - blustered, his cheeks flaming red. "Really, you mean to accuse us of treachery? You a mere-"

"The Queen is right, Riverten," Gaius cut across the nobleman before he had the chance to say the words 'serving girl'. "Only the Council and a few select Knights knew of the route the contingent was planning to take. Whoever sent those mercenaries will have a bigger plan in mind."

"Even more reason to send more men to search for King Arthur and the sorcerer," Kendrick concluded triumphantly. "Now we are without either a leader or a magical protector. We are vulnerable."

"You are not without a leader," Gwen snapped back, patience finally wearing thin. "And I have made my decision. Our men will remain on high alert and we will not be increasing the search parties. This meeting is adjourned."

A few of the councilmen looked aggravated at her sudden dismissal and she wondered if she should have tried to be more diplomatic. She held Gaius and Leon back as the others filed out.

"Well done," Leon told her warmly once they were alone. "I think even Arthur would struggle with Kendrick, Riverten and Alaric all ganging up on him at once..."

"You did very well," Gaius agreed. "Particularly under such circumstances."

"I don't know how I'll ever get them to respect me. Kendrick would never dare interrupt Arthur like that."

"I know Merlin has struggled with such disrespect too." Leon's lips twitched. "Ever since Arthur told him off for not addressing Merlin by his proper title, Kendrick's been avoiding using Merlin's name. I think Arthur and Merlin find it quite funny seeing all the creative ways he manages to avoid it."

"I don't suppose there's a chance that he might be the spy?" Gaius asked. "It would be an easy way to be rid of him once and for all."

Gwen smiled at the comment, but then her expression turned thoughtful.

"Perhaps there is a way we could find out..."

Arthur had received his fair share of battle wounds. Some were worse than others and there were a few in particular which left aches and pains that still lingered to this day. A spot on his shoulder, scarred from where the Questing Beast had bitten him, twinged painfully every morning before he had the chance to stretch it. Another muscle in his leg, hurt in one of his earliest patrols, had the tendency to spasm painfully if he didn't treat it with particular care. These things were so much a part of life he barely noticed them any more.

The complete and utter absence of any twinge or spasm was rather strange though. In fact, he realised with surprise as he blinked awake, there was no pain whatsoever - not even in his stomach where he knew for certain he had been hit by a crossbow bolt. He reached down to feel where the wound should have been, but sure enough there was nothing save for a rip in the fabric of his shirt and the familiar roughness of dried blood on cloth.

"Merlin?"

Another oddity - no fussing warlock. Arthur sat up, feeling more refreshed than he could ever remember, and took stock of his surroundings.

He was in the main cavern of what looked to be a network of caves. Not far from where he lay there was an entrance, covered by a wall of foliage, vines, and the root of a gargantuan elm. It was, Arthur realised, the perfect place to have hidden from bloodthirsty mercenaries.

"Merlin!" He got to his feet, still marvelling at how good he felt. "Where are you?"

His words echoed back at him. He stomped over to where his scabbard and sword had been haphazardly abandoned. As he bent to pick the items up, he heard something skitter behind him. The sound reminded him of the enormous spiders which had once pursued him in the cave of the Mortaeus flower, and he spun around with Excalibur raised high and ready to strike.

The sword nearly dropped from nerveless fingers, however, as he found himself staring into bright blue eyes that seemed very familiar - save for the fact they were embedded in the face of a boy who couldn't have been more than three or four years in age.

His moment's hesitation cost him. The blue eyes blazed gold and an unnatural gu st of wind blew through the cave and knocked him off balance. In the seconds it took to right himself, the young boy - young Merlin? - had run off down one of the tunnels.

Arthur took just a moment to bemoan whatever misfortune had brought about this set of circumstances, before swiftly following his de-aged friend.

"You asked to see me, Your Highness?"

She wanted to tell him to drop the formalities, but knew the devoted servant would not be persuaded. Merlin had been trying for long enough without success.

"Come in, George, and please close the door. I have a special task for you."

If he was surprised, his face showed no sign of it. As a servant he was, always, impassive, polite and amenable. Which was exactly what Gwen needed of him.

"There is a spy among my Council," she told him without preamble. "I want you to find out who it is."

His brow creased almost imperceptibly. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Your Majesty."

"You serve all the lords of the Council, is that right?"

"Save for Lord Endill. He has his own manservant."

"I doubt Lord Endill is the spy." Endill was nearing his ninetieth year and due to retire from the Council any day now. "Though I will be thoroughly impressed if he is."

George did not smile, but then Gwen hadn't really expected him to.

"I believe the spy is someone who is unhappy with Arthur's recent reforms," she continued. "The more traditionalist men like Lord Kendrick. The exact men who would pay no heed to a servant such as yourself, George."

"I see. So you want me to... monitor the lords of the Council?"

"And report anything suspicious back to me. Make yourself invaluable George, but remain completely invisible and unseen by them. Do you think you can manage that?"

His quirked eyebrow seemed to say, well obviously.

Chapter Text

Merlin had always been fastest even among the knights, and apparently this was a trait he had been born with. His swift turns through the twisting tunnels left Arthur dizzy in his wake. It didn't help that it was almost pitch black, the only source of light a faint, ethereal glow from runes of the Old Religion which had been etched into the stone walls.

To Arthur the language was incomprehensible, except for one word he recognised from Merlin's old magic books, and which cropped up on the walls again and again. Hǣle - to heal. That explained the miraculous disappearance of his stomach wound; Merlin had always admitted himself to be terrible at healing spells. Something about this place must have healed him, and all his old scars and battle wounds too. But what exactly had it done to Merlin and, more importantly, how did they go about undoing it?

A snuffling noise echoed down the tunnel, interrupting Arthur's train of thought. For a moment he thought it might be Merlin - miserable and crying, but at least locatable. As the noise grew closer he recognised it for what it actually was - a Wilddeoren hunting for food.

Arthur went perfectly still. The Wilddeoren's movements were slow and it sounded as though it was alone. Perhaps it was old, shuffled off from a pack somewhere to live out its last days. As quietly as he could, Arthur edged back down the tunnel he had come from.

A child's shriek split the air, followed by the Wildeorren's harsh squeal. Arthur's blood went cold and he barreled towards the sudden commotion.

Wilddeoren hunted by smell and sound, so he did his best to be as loud as possible, hoping to guide the beast away from Merlin. The tactic worked a little too effectively, for by the time he made out the Wilddeoren's outline through the dim light he was practically on top of it. He ducked just in time to avoid the creature's sharp claws and called out,

"Merlin! To me!"

The little boy scrabbled to Arthur's side, apparently deciding it best to risk his luck with the king rather than with the giant baby rat.

Once he was certain Merlin was out of harm's way, Arthur thrust his sword into the Wilddoeren's side. With a pained screech, it slumped to the floor.

"You alright?"

Merlin nodded silently, pale face glowing in the light of the walls. It suddenly occurred to Arthur that he really had no idea how you were supposed to talk to a child.

He grabbed Merlin's hand and then, deciding better, hauled him up into his arms. Merlin yelped at the sudden shift in perspective.

"Who're you?"

"Arthur. I'm a friend," Arthur answered shortly, doing his best to remember which tunnels he needed to take them back to the main cave. "How old are you, Merlin?"

Merlin raised four fingers up. "One, two, three, four! How old're you?"

"Much older than that."

The little boy nodded sagely. "Like a hunned'n'one."

"A hundred and one? I'm not that old."

Merlin's brow scrunched and he kicked his feet in Arthur's grip. "I wanna walk!"

"Hey- stop that!" Arthur quickly lowered Merlin to the ground. "Just don't run off again, alright?"

Merlin didn't answer, distracted by the glowing walls. It may have been Arthur's imagination, but the etchings seemed to shine even brighter when the little boy drew near to them.

"What'sat?"

"Magic. I'm not sure what kind."

Merlin ducked his head.

"You don't like magic?"

His eyes darted to the Camelot-red cloak hanging from Arthur's shoulders. "Magic's bad. Evvyone knows'at."

Though he would never admit it, Arthur's heart shattered at the little boy's subdued mumble. Neither Merlin nor Hunith spoke much of his younger years, save for the odd funny story at the warlock's expense, and now magic had been legalised it was easy to forget the impact of Uther's Purge. It was one thing to be told someone had been forced to hide their entire life - quite another to see it for yourself.

"I like magic." Arthur's bold statement made Merlin's jaw drop. "A lot."

"S'you got magic?"

"No. A good friend of mine does though."

Merlin smiled shyly. "I like magic too."

He giggled then, and the word adorable flashed through Arthur's mind before he quickly quashed it. This experience was bound to be strange enough for him and Merlin both, without getting attached to this new, younger version of his friend.

They made it back to the main chamber, dappled sunlight shining through the foliage at the entranceway. Now that he had the chance to properly look in the light, Arthur realised that Merlin was wearing only his older self's shirt, so oversized on him that it more resembled a dress.

"Here." Arthur knelt down and used his sword to carefully trim down the overlong sleeves. "What's the last thing you remember? Before you came here?"

"'Was playin' with Will in the tree. Then..."

"Then what?"

Merlin fidgeted with a thread left trailing from his roughly-hewn sleeve. "Was just playin'..."

A sudden thought occurred to Arthur. "You knocked down the tree, didn't you?"

Merlin's eyes shone with childish despair. "You gonna tell my mum? I din't mean to! Was 'n accident!"

Arthur pretended to consider this for a moment, face serious. "I tell you what. I won't let your mum know what happened, if you show me some magic."

He thought the suggestion would cheer the little boy up, but instead Merlin shrank in on himself. He turned his head to and fro, as if searching for an escape route, and for a moment Arthur feared he might run off again.

"Not'posed to. 'S not safe. Mum says."

Not safe.

Arthur had watched his first execution when he was eight, standing by his father's side as an elderly Druid woman was burnt to death in Camelot's palace courtyard. He had lain in bed for hours that night, the acrid stench of burnt flesh pungent in his nostrils. What did Merlin understand, even at this age, of the consequences of using his magic openly?

The cloak at Arthur's shoulders felt suddenly constricting, the Pendragon crest upon it no longer a proud badge but a heavy burden. He removed the offending garment and tossed it to one side.

Merlin tilted his head curiously. "Whaddya do that for?"

"I don't want people to recognise me," Arthur said, not quite lying. He wasn't sure how much time had passed since the mercenary's attack, but chances were they were still out there searching, and the Camelot cloak would make it only too easy for him to be spotted. "Now come on. What's your favourite thing to do with magic? And by the way, I know it was you that knocked me over earlier."

Merlin started to chortle. "You lann-ed on your bottom!"

Arthur rolled his eyes theatrically, making Merlin laugh even harder.

Much better, he thought to himself and began to plan their next steps.

George loved his work. The other serving staff judged him for it, laughed behind his back when they thought he couldn't hear. Even the Steward had started to roll his eyes every time George volunteered himself for new responsibilities, but the dutiful servant remained unaffected. Was taking pride in your work something to be embarrassed about? Absolutely not, in his opinion. Really the only thing that ever phased him was Lord Merlin's repeated attempts to get him to 'loosen up'. Still, Merlin had never been cruel, as a servant or as nobility, and so George forgave him easily.

The newly crowned Queen Guinevere, too, was as kind a royal as she had been as a serving girl. As a rule George wasn't one for gossip, but he particularly disliked when the maids in charge of the dining hall started whispering unseemly theories about why the king had married Gwen. He had reported them to the Steward immediately, but to no avail. Now the rumours had taken an even nastier slant, whispers that the Queen herself had ordered the recent attack on the King and Merlin so that she could take the throne for herself.

So it was with some relief that he had accepted Gwen's unusual assignment. Once the true culprit of the attack was found out, the rumours must surely calm down.

He found that being a good spy wasn't so different from being a good servant. For example, he had always noticed that Lords Silvan and Kendrick whispered together during council meetings; he had to be on high alert for the moment they stopped their conversation, for that was sure enough when one or the other of them would want a quick top up of their drink. Now though he stood a touch closer than usual to ensure he could actually listen to their conversation.

Just a few minutes and he stepped back again, for it was nothing of import - snide jokes about Queen Guinevere's hands and the signs of servitude upon them. Thankfully the Queen herself was too immersed in discussing the upcoming harvest to take any notice.

Lord Riverten's movements, too, had always been curious to George. Every Thursday evening he would sneak from his chambers after the evening bell rang, not realising that this was the precise time George was departing his duties in the armoury. This particular Thursday, the evening after Gwen had assigned George his special task, the servant decided to follow Lord Riverten. Could it be he was going to meet whoever he was working for, so he could feed them yet more information that might bring about Camelot's downfall?

George followed the furtive noble all the way to the Lower Town and watched him dart into one of the houses. He crept up to the window, peered in, then swiftly looked away. Riverten, it transpired, was quite the hypocrite. For all his criticisms and sneers that King Arthur had dared to marry a serving girl, Riverten himself was bedding one.

George traipsed back to the castle, feeling put out that his suspicions so far had come to naught.

"Here, hold on!" A guard stopped him at the palace gates. He nudged the man beside him. "Go on, give it to him. Save you losing it."

George waited politely for them to explain what they were talking about.

"A letter." The other guard produced a scroll sealed with wax. "Delivered not too long ago, fella said it was for Lord Alaric. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not." George took the scroll, but hesitated. A good servant asked no questions. A good spy was an altogether different story. "Do you know who sent it?"

The guard shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest. The man who delivered it looked like he whipped his horse into a right state getting it here though."

George continued his journey, the letter heavy in his pocket. He was a servant, the very best! He couldn't look at a nobleman's letter.

Back in the palace, he turned the scroll over in his hands. It was the Queen's request, after all...

Chapter Text

Arthur felt guilty leaving the mysterious cave behind. It felt wrong to depart when he still hadn’t figured out why Merlin had been transformed into his four year old self or, more importantly, how to turn him back. Unfortunately the only person he knew with sufficient magical power and knowledge to investigate further was the same person who was at this very moment singing a very annoying song about flowers.

“Daffodiiils... Bluebells... Daisiesss,” Merlin sang tunelessly from where he was perched atop Arthur’s shoulders. He had refused to be carried, while Arthur had refused to let him walk through the forest with no shoes on - thus, this compromise. “Toolipppss... Awfur?”

“ Ar thur,” the king enunciated with as much patience as he could. “What is it, Merlin?”

“Where we goin’?”

Arthur winced as tiny feet kicked his shoulders. “To find you new clothes and shoes.”

Blessed silence for just a few seconds, before,

“Arfur?” 

“ Yes, Merlin?”

“How d’you know where you’re goin’?”

A tug at his hair. “Ow! Stop that!”

Chastised, Merlin stopped his fidgeting immediately and mumbled, “Sorry. Din’t meanna hurt yew.”

Arthur sighed. He was not used to interacting with children and, try as he might to deny it, he missed Merlin. His Merlin - goofy, annoying and most important of all right now, grown up (no matter how often Arthur called him a child).

But things were what they were. And this was Merlin, to some extent; Arthur owed it to his friend to at least keep him entertained while he was in this state.

“Look, do you see that river?”

Merlin squinted over to where Arthur was pointing.

“And up there is the sun - don’t look directly at it,” Arthur intervened quickly as Merlin tilted his head up. “But in the morning, the sun rises over there.” Arthur pointed to the east. "And in the evening, it sets over there." He pointed to the west.

“Why?”

“Because... uh... well, I don’t know.” Arthur wondered that the question had never occurred to him before. “But rivers will head towards larger bodies of water, like lakes or seas. The nearest to us are the Seas of Meredor, in the west, which means the river is flowing west too. Now, if we follow this river upstream," Arthur continued, pointing in the direction of the river's flow, "it will eventually lead us home. That’s east of here, beyond the forests and the hills. Do you understand?”

“Uhhh...”

“It just means that if you’re ever lost and you want to get home, you follow the river upstream. Like we’re doing now.”

“Oh! Okay.”

Arthur doubted Merlin really understood, but anything was better than listening to the stupid flower song. “Now, what do you know about tracking animals?”

“Lord Alaric? What an absolute git.”

While she might not have expressed herself in quite those words, Sir Gwaine’s sentiments fitted Gwen’s quite aptly. 

She had not been entirely surprised when George had passed on Alaric’s letter - he had never kept his dislike of Arthur’s reforms a secret - but she was surprised to see that it was signed by none other than Alined, the King of Deorham.

“According to the letter, Alined plans to use siege tunnels beneath the citadel to invade Camelot,” she explained to her innermost circle. “Gaius, do you know anything about these?”

Gaius nodded slowly. “They haven’t been used in many years. I confess I thought them to be bricked up, but as I recall Alaric has always been quite the scholar in such matters. He will have known where to look to find the necessary information for planning an invasion.”

“I thought Alaric was unpleasant, but I never thought him a traitor,” mused Percival, covered in grime from a days-long patrol searching for Arthur and Merlin. “Why would he turn against Camelot now?”

“Perhaps Alined spoke to him at the last Summit, tempted him with money or some higher position of power?” Gaius suggested, expression grave. “He can be persuasive when he chooses to be.”

“Regardless,” Gwen pushed on. “Neither Alined nor Alaric know that we are onto them. We must take advantage of that. I need you and the knights to spread a rumour - a rumour that Arthur and Merlin have been discovered dead.”

Around the table, the knights winced. This, after all, was what they most feared. It had been nearly a week of patrols now, and still there was no sign of either the king or his court sorcerer.

“I want to make myself clear,” Gwen said, sensing their unease. “I do not believe they are dead. However, the serving staff and the majority of the council believe I was the one who ordered the mercenaries to attack. I think we should continue to let them believe it.”

“Why?” Elyan was still adjusting to his sister’s new position, somewhat impressed to see her strategic mind at play. “What will that achieve?”

“Although Alined might know I didn’t send the mercenaries, I can still convince him that I had much to gain from Arthur’s demise. If I write to him, ask him to visit Camelot to offer his help and guidance, he’ll think he can manipulate me. The whole while we can have George monitor communications between him and Alaric to find out exactly what he’s planning.”

A slow smile was spreading over Gwaine’s face. “Get him to Camelot, give him a false sense of security then catch him in the act. Very smart, Your Highness.”

Gwen turned back to Gaius. “Before we left for Gawant, Merlin mentioned some magical defences around the citadel. Do you think we could make use of them even without him here?”

Gaius looked thoughtful. “Perhaps. I’ll reach out to Iseldir and the Druids, see what they can discover.”

“Please do. And Leon, ready our men as quietly as you can. I don’t want anyone to catch wind that we are preparing for battle.”

“Of course.” Leon hesitated. “And what of the search parties?”

Gwen hated herself for what she had to say next. “Recall them. Why have a search party when there is no one to search for? It would look too suspicious. Neither Arthur nor Merlin would want Camelot put at risk for their sake.”

Steeling herself, she cleared her throat and stood, looking around at her closest friends. “Arthur and Merlin will return to Camelot,” she told them firmly, “of this I am certain. But for now, we must ensure there is a Camelot for them to return to.”

Chapter Text

The sun was low in the sky by the time Arthur and Merlin reached the next town. Eldermoor, if Arthur remembered correctly.

“Tha’s where I live!” 

“That’s Ealdor, ” Arthur corrected him absent-mindedly. A few of the townspeople were already casting curious looks at the shoeless Merlin perched atop Arthur’s shoulders. “Now, if anyone asks, who am I?”

“My dad,” Merlin answered promptly, Arthur having schooled him on the journey here. It had taken quite a bit of back and forth, for Merlin at this age had apparently been deeply interested in the identity of his father. He kept asking questions Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.

“Is my dad comin’ too?”

“D’you know my dad?”

“How comes Will’s got a dad and I’ve not got one?”

Fortunately, four year olds were quite easy to distract, and so Arthur had turned their fake cover into a game. It was odd to see what a deft liar Merlin could be, even at this age.

“I fell in a river!” he babbled to the local seamstress, who chuckled along to his enthusiastic retelling of an entirely fake scenario. “My dad had to come in ‘n’ get me, but my clothes was ruined! ”

She smiled as Arthur helped Merlin into the new set of clothes. “Quite the adventure you’ve been on!”

“We’ve go on lotsa adventures,” Merlin said proudly, voice muffled as he tried to find the head hole in his new shirt. “One time-”

“Alright Merlin,” Arthur interjected hastily, no idea what the little boy was about to make up. “Time to go.”

They went to the town’s shoemaker next, a man with a stall up at the very edge of the market. 

“There you go young sir,” he said as he slipped the new shoes on Merlin’s feet. “Let’s see how they feel.”

Merlin wiggled his toes, stomped about a bit, then beamed up at Arthur. “They fit!”

“Good.” Arthur rubbed ruefully at his shoulder, still aching from where Merlin had been sitting for the past few hours. “Stay close, alright?”

Arthur went to talk to one of the merchants about purchasing camping supplies and Merlin cast his gaze over the hustle and bustle of the market. At this age he had never left his tiny village and he was quickly enthralled by the sounds and smells all around him. He wandered through the square until his attention was grabbed by a heated interaction between a trader and his customer.

“I’m telling you, I didn’t break it!” The customer, a blonde woman in hunting leathers, was close to yelling. “ You jolted the table when you were turning to collect my change.”

“Absolutely not!” the merchant blustered. “You’re just making excuses.”

“Give me what I’m owed!”

The argument grew louder. The item they were talking about, a small earthenware jug, lay shattered into pieces upon the floor. Without thinking, Merlin’s eyes flashed gold and the pieces flew back together.

The merchant and his customer stopped talking immediately, both stunned into silence. The woman was first to recover. She turned and saw Merlin, watching them with wide eyes.

“Was that you?”

He tensed, thinking of his mother’s repeated warnings not to share his secret - but the answer was written clear on his face.

The woman turned back to the merchant triumphantly. “May I have my change now?”

He dropped several coins into her palm, but his gaze was fixed on Merlin, watching the young boy with fascination.

“I owe you thanks.” The woman crouched in front of Merlin so they were at eye level. “What’s your name?”

“Merlin.”

“Do you live here Merlin?”

“Nuh uh.”

“A traveller like me, hm?”

Before Merlin had the chance to respond, he heard his name being called. Arthur came pushing through the crowds, panicked expression softening when he spotted Merlin.

“I told you to stay close!”

Merlin shuffled his feet guiltily. “I forgot...”

“Excuse me!” The pottery merchant hurried out from behind his stall, eyes gleaming. “Is that boy yours?”

“He’s my dad,” Merlin chirped happily. “We’re on an adventure!”

The merchant pulled a heavy purse from his belt. “How much?”

Arthur stared, uncomprehending. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve got fifty gold with me now, but I can get more.”

Arthur’s mouth twisted in disgust as the merchant’s meaning sunk in. “What are you, a slaver?”

“I’ve never seen such power,” the merchant said admiringly, eyeing Merlin as one might a hunting dog. “One doesn’t have to be a slaver to know you could pick up a fair price for him.”

Arthur saw red. He probably would have run the merchant through there and then, but a hand on his arm stopped him. It was the woman from before, her voice low as she warned,

“You don’t want to make a scene. There are others like him here who would happily steal your son if they had the chance.”

Arthur took a deep breath. He looked back to the expectant merchant and managed to grind out, “The answer is no. We had best be going.”

He grabbed Merlin by the arm and dragged him away. 

“Ow! Tha’ hurts!”

“Stop whining,” Arthur snapped before he could stop himself. He regretted it immediately, memories of his own childhood rearing their ugly head.

They returned to the shoemaker’s stall and Arthur finished up the last of his purchases. Merlin stomped after him, grumpy that he had been forced to leave the nice woman who had spoken so kindly to him.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Arthur eventually said, prompted by the ferocious scowl that was eerily reminiscent of the little boy’s older self when Arthur had done something particularly prattish. “But you have to be careful. Your magic-”

He stopped. How was it that he was about to tell a four year old boy that he needed to keep his gifts a secret for his safety? Magic was legal now - weren’t things supposed to have changed?

“Never mind. Do you want to help me choose a horse?”

The answer was, of course, an enthusiastic yes and as the traders started packing up their stalls, Merlin and Arthur departed Eldermoor on a newly-purchased mare.

“Where we goin’?” 

“We’ll find somewhere to make camp. How about you try to sleep?”

“I’m not tired!” Merlin protested, but soon enough the gentle motion of the horse beneath them had lulled the boy into slumber against Arthur’s chest.

Gwen was still not used to her new chambers. Without Arthur there they felt so big , so empty. She missed her little house in the town, the house she had grown up in and known her whole life. That house, too, had felt far too empty after her father had died.

A knock at the door interrupted her sombre thoughts and she went to answer it.

“Elyan? What are you doing here?”

“I thought you could use some company.” He raised a bottle of mead. “We’ve not yet toasted your marriage.”

“I think Gwaine toasted it enough for all of us.” Gwen stood aside to let her brother in. “I was surprised there was any mead left to be found in Camelot the next morning.”

They sat together at the table and Gwen fetched two goblets from a cabinet. She had dismissed her servants hours ago.

“I still can’t quite believe it,” Elyan said once they’d toasted. “If you’d have told me my little sister was destined to be Queen of Camelot...”

“You would have laughed in their face.”

“Would you have blamed me? I saw you eat dirt once.”

“Only because you dared me to!”

They laughed together at the memory, but the atmosphere soon turned serious.

“Have you written to Alined yet?”

“One of the hardest letters I’ve ever had to write.”

Her plan was a good one, but she hated having to play the part she had cast for herself. In the letter to Alined she had hinted her relief at Arthur’s disappearance, then begged the crooked king to come and assist her in planning out strategy for Camelot’s future. Just thinking about it now made her sick to her stomach.

“You’re doing the right thing.” Elyan set aside his drink and leant forward to wrap her in a hug. “I’m proud of you. Proud to be your brother and proud to be a knight of a kingdom with you as its queen.”

She hugged him back fiercely, finally letting the stress of the past few days course through her. “What if we’ve lost them?”

“You just have to stay strong and see this through until they find their way back to us.”

“I hope you’re right,” she murmured against his chest. “I’m not sure if I can keep doing this alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he reminded her gently. “We’re all with you, even without Merlin and Arthur here right now. Don’t forget that.”

They chatted a while longer and, by the time Elyan left, Gwen’s soul felt lighter. That night she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Chapter Text

“Arfur?”

Arthur jolted awake. It was dark and quiet, save for the soft hoots of the owls in the trees or the occasional rustle of a woodland creature passing by. And, of course, the tiny whisper of the little boy who tugged anxiously at Arthur’s sleeve.

“Merlin,” Arthur groaned, scrubbing a hand at his eyes. It felt like only moments ago he had finally managed to drift off into a fitful doze. “Go to sleep.”

“Somethin’ feels wrong. Feels bad. ”

As tempted as Arthur was to ignore this, Merlin’s funny feelings had always served as a reliable omen of things to come. With a final grumble of displeasure he cast aside his blankets, shivering in the cool night air, and reached out for his sword.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The cold, familiar point of a blade needled at Arthur’s back. He cursed the merchant from earlier, who had no doubt taken it upon himself to spread word of Merlin’s abilities.

“I don’t want any trouble.” Arthur did his best to keep his voice steady. “I have plenty of money and supplies you can take.”

“I’m not interested in that. I want the boy.”

“I’m sure we can come to some agreement-”

Something struck Arthur’s head and he staggered to the forest floor.

“Gerroff him!” Merlin yelled and the slaver went flying through the air.

“You little bugger!”

Arthur reached again for his sword, but his vision was fuzzy and reactions slow. As his hand finally grasped Excalibur’s hilt, a heavy boot came crashing down upon it with a painful crack. He bellowed in pain.

“Arfur!”

“Don’t try anything.” The slaver’s sword dug cruelly at Arthur’s nape, forcing the king face-first into the dirt. “No magic or I’ll run him through.”

“Merlin,” Arthur choked out, wishing he could raise his head just a little so he could see the young boy for himself. “Run!”

“You try to run and I’ll kill him. I swear it. Now, you gonna be good?”

Arthur heard Merlin sniff. When he finally spoke his voice was small, defeated, and watery with tears.

“I’ll be good.”

“You’d better,” the slaver growled and, with another brutal blow, Arthur was sent spiralling into oblivion.

The reply from King Alined came swiftly. He would of course be glad to visit Camelot and advise the queen following her poor husband’s disappearance. As Gwen read these words, George entered with another letter (also from Alined) which had arrived for Lord Alaric. While Alined distracted the Queen, Alaric would sneak away to grant access to his army through the palace vaults. Camelot stood no chance.

Of course, thought Gwen smugly as she handed Alaric’s letter back to George so he could reseal it, Alined did not realise that his soldiers would be met in the tunnels by the full force of Camelot’s army.

The rumours around Arthur’s death were growing too. George was most apologetic as he told Gwen this, but she herself rejoiced and began arranging for lavish preparations in advance of Alined’s arrival. She spent hours coordinating a feast with the steward, loudly demanding the best decorations and food that money could buy. She wished Arthur was there to see her playing the part of a spoilt noble and, in the moments where she felt disheartened, she pictured what his face would look like when she eventually recounted this all to him following his safe return to Camelot.

The day before Alined’s arrival, Iseldir arrived. He bowed deeply to Gwen. Gaius had warned him what to expect, but he couldn’t help but look amused as the queen loudly asked him whether he knew a spell that would help brighten up the castle for King Alined’s visit. 

“I will do my best, Your Highness.”

“Very well. You are dismissed,” she told him rudely, then flounced off to find some other trivial task she could make a fuss out of. 

Arthur awoke with a pounding headache. A face swam into view above him. 

“You... you were in Eldermoor...”

“Your son helped me out of a tight situation. I’m Isolde.”

“Merlin!” Arthur bolted upright, regretting it when his vision twisted. “Where is he?”

“Take it easy a second. Drink this.” Isolde held out a tincture, but Arthur ignored it in favour of scanning their surroundings. They were in the same campsite, but the sun was high in the sky. The fingers of his left hand - broken he realised ruefully - had been wrapped into a splint. “Slavers usually take magical children to Helios’s stronghold.”

“Helios? Who’s that?”

“Drink,” Isolde insisted, pushing the tincture to Arthur again. He gulped it down, the taste reminding him of Gaius’s potions. “Helios is a warlord. Ever since magic was legalised he’s been trying to get more sorcerers in his ranks. Your son would be the perfect asset.”

There was rustling in the trees nearby and Arthur tensed, worried for bandits. Isolde placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

“It’s just Tristan.”

A man emerged from the foliage and, seeing Arthur awake, eyed him appraisingly.

“Feeling better?”

The answer was no, but there was no time to concern himself with that now. Arthur pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the loud buzzing in his ears.

“Woah!” Tristan hurried to one side and Isolde to the other as the king’s legs buckled. “Slow down, alright? That was quite a blow you took. We weren’t sure you would wake up.”

“I need to find Merlin.”

Tristan lowered Arthur back to the ground, the king too dizzy to try and stop him. “Trust me, you’ve got a better chance of finding him with us helping you.”

Arthur looked warily between the two. Tristan’s hand was in the small of Isolde’s back, and Arthur realised they must be a couple.

“Why would you help me? You don’t even know me.”

“If it were up to me perhaps we wouldn’t. But Isolde has taken a liking to your son.”

Isolde’s eyes darkened. “No child deserves what Helios would subject them to.”

A shudder ran through Arthur at the thought of Merlin in the hands of such a monster. “Very well. Thank you both. I’m Arthur.”

Isolde tilted her head, amused. “Arthur and Merlin? Like the King of Camelot and his Court Sorcerer?”

“May they rest in peace,” Tristan added with a smirk. “I forgot to tell you earlier Isolde - word is that the search parties found them dead near the Gawant border. Only took the idiot knights a week and a half of searching....”

Arthur’s mouth went dry. A week and a half ? He had assumed he and Merlin had been missing for only a day or two. How long had the cave taken to work its magic? And why exactly did Guinevere and the knights believe them dead, when he knew for a fact there was no body to be found?

Isolde watched Arthur’s expression curiously, perhaps seeing some of the turmoil reflected there. “You and your son... you don’t look alike?”

“He takes after his mother.” Arthur had foreseen this question when he had made up their cover story with Merlin the morning before. “She passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tristan said, but his expression remained doubtful. Arthur longed to ask for news of Guinevere, but decided not to push his luck. Given Tristan’s evident distaste for knights and nobles, it seemed wise to keep his true identity hidden.

“We had best go.” Isolde rose to her feet and went to fetch their horses. “If we ride fast we may even have you reunited with Merlin before nightfall.”

Chapter Text

“What do you do?” Perhaps it was ill-advised to strike up conversation, but Arthur needed something to distract him from the pain in his head and hand as they rode back to Eldermoor. They travelled slower than he would have liked, as riding with only his left hand proved a unique challenge. “What’s your trade?”

Tristan and Isolde shared a look, so quick Arthur almost convinced himself he had imagined it. Isolde replied airily,

“We get things where they need to go.”

It took Arthur a few moments to piece this together. “You’re smugglers?”

Tristan raised an eyebrow. “Have you got a problem with that?”

“It’s forbidden. By edict of the king. If you're caught, you could be killed.”

“Caught?” Tristan barked a laugh. “Tristan and Isolde? I don't think so. We're too quick and too smart for the halfwit king in Camelot.”

“Queen,” Isolde interjected. “The king is dead, remember?”

“Right you are. The queen used to be a serving girl, didn’t she? Clearly she actually has a brain in her head. They say she’s invited King Alined to visit the palace.”

“Alined?!” Arthur said before he could help himself. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? She must have had a hand in King Arthur’s death. Convincing a king to marry a lowly serving girl and then turning against him to take the kingdom for herself... I must say I admire her cunning.”

“You have no proof of any of that.”

"Oh? And what proof do you have? Is there something you’re not telling us, Arthur ?”

Arthur bit his tongue, searching for a response that might satisfy Tristan’s curiosity without revealing too much. 

“Nothing of any interest,” he finally answered, voice steady. “Just a friend of mine who works in the palace as a servant. He says the king and queen are a true love match.”

“Your friend sounds like an idiot,” Tristan said matter-of-factly. “All nobles are only looking out for themselves.”

“That’s quite something coming from a smuggler.”

“Well I wouldn’t have to smuggle if not for Camelot’s damn taxes, would I?”

“Tristan.” Isolde’s voice was laced with warning. “We’re here to help, not to argue politics.”

The rest of the ride passed in stony silence.

Gwen was nervous. The preparations had been made and every servant in the palace was on high-alert for when Alined arrived with his contingent. The knights had successfully spread the word of Arthur’s apparent-death and the rumours of her involvement grew ever more outlandish.

It was the waiting that drove her mad. Too much time to sit and think of all that might go wrong, not to mention time to imagine all the horrible fates which may have befallen Arthur and Merlin. In search of distraction, she went to visit Gaius in the Physician’s chambers.

“Ah, Gwen.” He sat opposite Iseldir at the dinner table. “It’s just as well you’re here. Iseldir was explaining the defences Merlin has put in place.”

“Quite ingenious, my lady,” Iseldir said enthusiastically as Gwen sat beside Gaius. “Of course I would expect nothing less from Emrys. He has used the fabric of the castle itself, much as Cornelius Sigan once did. Unlike Sigan, however, this enchantment can be triggered by anyone with just a magical command.”

“By anyone?”

“Well,” Iseldir amended, “anyone with magic, that is. Not even any great magic either. The merest spark alone would do the trick.”

“You mean to say that any magic-user could turn Camelot to their own purpose?”

“No, for you see that is what’s so ingenious. Regardless of who speaks the magical command, the effect is always the same. The castle itself will spring to the kingdom’s defence. Even were King Alined to trigger the spell, he would only doom himself!”

“Remarkable indeed.” A smile tugged at Gwen’s lips. “Iseldir, I know it might be a long shot... but what would it take for me to trigger the enchantment?”

They made it back to Eldermoor before nightfall and as they rode into the town, the seamstress who had made Merlin’s new clothes came running up to them.

“Oh, sir!” Her expression was pinched with worry as she approached. “I saw your son just a few hours ago. He was with an unpleasant looking gentleman, a slaver I think.”

Arthur hopped off his horse without hesitation. “Where is he?”

“They were heading for a tavern, it’s called The Silver Stag. Just two streets away, past the blacksmith’s.”

Arthur drew his sword, glad for his late father’s insistence he be able to fight just as well with either his left or right hand.

Tristan’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as he saw the blade. “The only place you find workmanship of that quality is the royal forge of Camelot.”

Arthur ignored him, cover be damned, and strode off to find Merlin.

He spied the slaver immediately, one of the only patrons of The Silver Stag at that time of day, nursing a pint of ale in a dark corner. He sported a black eye and there was another bruise darkening on his chin. When he clocked Arthur, staring murderously at him from the entrance, he leapt to his feet in panic.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” The man shoved himself up against the stone wall behind him as if hoping he might disappear into it. “I thought he was asleep as we came into town but he used his magic, knocked me off my horse in the street. I don’t know where he went. He’s so bloody quick!”

“Oi!” The sudden ruckus had drawn the barkeep from a back room. “Take it outside gents, I don’t want no trouble.”

“Please,” the slaver begged Arthur, dropping to his knees. “I swear, I’ll never do something like this again. Please just don’t hurt me.”

“Leave Camelot,” Arthur growled, voice low and dangerous. “If I ever see you here again, there will be consequences far worse than a black eye and a bruised chin."

The slaver nodded frantically. "I swear! I swear!”

He scrabbled away through the back entrance and, with a frustrated sigh, Arthur sheathed his sword.

Tristan and Isolde were waiting outside, their weapons drawn.

“You’re a knight of Camelot,” Tristan said, voice hard. “You lied to us. Is the boy even your son?”

“I’m not a knight.”

Tristan scoffed. “Only a knight would have a sword like yours.”

“A knight,” Arthur inclined his head in agreement. “Or a king.”

Isolde’s mouth dropped open. “You mean to say... you really are King Arthur? And that little boy...”

“ Is my court sorcerer.”

“But he’s so young ?”

“It was some kind of magical mishap, one I don’t entirely understand myself.”

Isolde looked behind Arthur, realising Merlin wasn’t with him. “He wasn’t with the slaver?”

“He used magic to escape. He can’t have gone far.”

“You’re going after him? What about your kingdom?” Tristan sneered. “Don’t you need to return to your precious Queen?”

“I trust my wife,” Arthur said firmly. “Whatever reason she has for inviting Alined into Camelot must be a good one.”

“He was a commoner too, wasn’t he?” Isolde questioned. “Merlin, I mean. Like your wife. I heard he was your manservant long before you made him a noble.”

Arthur smiled faintly, thinking of long hunting trips spent bickering back and forth, evenings discussing the future of Camelot. “He was always more than just my servant. He has helped me become the man I am today. A better man, I hope.”

“And you’d risk your kingdom for him?” Isolde probed further. “Your throne?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Tristan and Isolde exchanged a long look. They lowered their swords.

“Not many nobles would give up so much for the sake of an erstwhile servant,” Tristan admitted grudgingly. “We’ll help you find him.”

“But where do we start to look?”

They all fell silent, trying to think of a solution. It was Arthur whose eyes finally lit with an idea.

“The river,” he grinned. “I taught him how to follow the river to find his way home.”

Chapter Text

“Your Highness.” Alined bowed low, and Gwen had the very unqueenly thought as she stared at the back of his head that he had lost more hair since his last visit. “A pleasure to see you.”

Gwen dropped purposefully into a curtsy that she knew was a flagrant misunderstanding of court etiquette. As queen, she curtseyed to no one - that was only something a peasant would do. “Such a relief to have you here, King Alined.”

Condescension dripped from his lips as he smiled at her. “Of course. I’m sure that, working together, we can ensure the strength of Camelot for many years to come.”

They went into the palace and Gwen waved at the serving staff to see to Alined’s men. He only travelled with a small contingent but that made sense - even now the bulk of his men must be preparing to storm Camelot.

“I am sorry to hear the king is missing.”

“Are you? I’m not.”

“My lady!” Alined glanced furtively around. “You must be careful. There are ears everywhere.”

She gasped as if the thought had never occurred to her. “You see King Alined, this is exactly why I need your help.”

He placed his hand - cold, clammy, very unpleasant - upon hers then smiled another of his simpering smiles. “And help I shall gladly give.”

It didn’t take long to find Merlin’s trail alongside the river, proving Arthur’s theory right. However darkness was drawing in quickly and as the moon rose it was Isolde who timidly suggested they make camp for the night.

“We can’t.” Arthur’s broken fingers throbbed in time to the pulse echoing in his head, but he pushed the pain aside resolutely. “He’s a young boy walking and we’re on horseback - we must be gaining on him now.”

“He’ll be alright for one night,” Tristan tried to convince him. “He’s got magic, hasn’t he? And you really should try and rest your head for a while...”

But Arthur remained resolute. “We aren’t stopping.”

And so they pressed onwards, Tristan and Isolde growing more and more anxious as Arthur sagged lower into his saddle. Isolde was beginning to consider knocking the king out again, just to get him to rest a while, when they spied a bright light up ahead.

Tristan slowed his horse, cautious. “What is that?”

Arthur wasn’t sure, but he did recognise the sound that rang out over the gushing river water. It was a child’s laughter, bright and joyous. He spurred his horse onward, Tristan and Isolde close behind.

The sight which met them was, simply put, beautiful. Merlin stood in the middle of the river, his blue eyes bursting intermittently with gold sparks as he giggled and played. Surrounding him, pale skin glowing ethereally under the moonlight, the fractured fragments of beautiful women danced on the water’s surface.

“What in heaven...” Tristan murmured, taking it all in. “What are they?”

“Vilia,” supplied Isolde, a smile spreading across her face. “Water spirits. My grandmother used to tell me tales of them, but I didn’t realise they truly existed.”

Arthur heard none of this, for he had already dismounted his horse and made a beeline for the river.

“Merlin!”

“Arfur!”

The little boy sprinted out of the water and flung himself around the king’s legs, squeezing tight. He spotted Arthur’s bandaged hand.

“You’re hurt,” he said mournfully. “Can I fix it?”

“I’m not sure...” Arthur started to protest, but too late. Merlin’s eyes flashed and at once the pain in Arthur’s fingers disappeared. He flexed his digits one by one and shook his head in disbelief. How was it that Merlin at just four years old was a better healer than he was at his proper age?

Merlin took Arthur by his freshly healed hand and pulled him to the riverbank. “These’re my new friends. They’re called Vill-ee-la. They been playin’ with me!”

“Greetings, Arthur Pendragon.” 

A woman’s face stared up at him from the water, the voice that issued from it soft and melodious.

“Thank you for looking after Merlin,” he told the spirit sincerely. “I owe you a great deal.”

“You owe us nothing. We are pleased to serve Emrys and the Once and Future King. Stay here tonight and rest. We will tend your wounds and keep you safe until the morning.”

Now that he knew Merlin was safe, Arthur could not deny the thought of rest was a welcome one. He pushed stubbornly on, “Have you any idea how Merlin came to be like this? Or how to turn him back to his proper age?”

The expression in the water turned regretful. “We do not have the power or the knowledge you seek, Arthur Pendragon.”

He tried to respond, but his limbs were growing heavy. Behind him he could hear Merlin talking excitedly to Isolde and Tristan, but already he was sliding down towards the forest floor.

“ Sleep. ” The Vilia’s words reverberated in his mind. “ All will be well .”

His dreams that night echoed with Merlin’s laughter and his bright, golden eyes.

Entertaining Alined was a task Gwen would wish on no-one, and she marvelled at Arthur’s skill in keeping the king occupied during his last visit. She, at least, could play into the image of a brainless, selfish ruler - Arthur had no such privilege. It was with great relief that she finally bid the king goodnight that evening and retired to her chambers. 

On her way through the palace corridors she pretended not to notice the stares and whispers that followed her. It suited her plan to be so hated by her subjects, but her skin crawled when she gave thought to the rumours flying around. She would be glad when all this was just an unpleasant memory.

Back in her room, she fetched an unlit candle, and thought on Iseldir’s advice from the night before.

“I suspect,” he had told her apologetically in Gaius’s chambers as she tried and failed for the fifth time to cast a basic fire spell, “that you do not have any great magical ability, my lady.”

She waved off his concern. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else. But if I have anything, the tiniest spark, just enough to trigger this enchantment, I must try it.”

“It will prove effective,” Gaius agreed. “I think if you manage to pull this off, you’ll have successfully gotten the whole court on side.”

“The only question is if, ” Gwen worried. “There’s really no way to test the enchantment before the feast?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Iseldir. “Not subtly, at least. If I understand Merlin’s spellwork correctly then the effect is rather... dramatic.”

Now, in her chambers, Gwen tried to clear her mind. It was difficult, thoughts of Merlin and Arthur and the fate of the kingdom swirling in her head.

“ Forbearne,” she whispered. Nothing. 

Iseldir had spoken of reaching inward, thinking of one’s magical power as a still pool in a clearing. When she thought of a clearing, she found herself back on Camelot’s border, mercenaries swarming as Merlin’s spells kept them at bay. How did he make it look so easy, she wondered, even in the face of such dire odds?

She took a deep breath and tried again.

When Arthur woke, it took him a few moments to remember where he was. Usually on trips out of the castle he slept lightly, quick to react in case of an attack. It felt nice, but very peculiar, to wake in such a leisurely manner.

As he stretched, noting happily that there were no more aches or pains from his encounter with the slaver, he realised that a small, warm body was burrowed into his side. He turned to look and there was Merlin, chest rising and falling evenly in peaceful sleep.

“He’s been there all night. I think you gave him a bit of a scare.” 

Arthur looked over to where Tristan was readying the horses.

“I told him you’d be up and about by the time he woke up, so thank you for not making me a liar.”

“Where’s Isolde?”

“Hunting rabbits.”

Arthur got to his feet. The water spirits were gone, the sun just starting to rise in the bright blue sky. There was a crisp bite to the air, the first sign of autumn and, all being well, he and Merlin would be back in Camelot by nightfall.

“Thank you for your help. Merlin would still be lost if it weren’t for you both.”

“Can I take it this means we aren’t to be put to death for our smuggling?”

Arthur smiled indulgently at the dig. “Perhaps it is time to review our import taxes. The last time they were looked over was by my uncle, back when I thought he had the kingdom’s best interests at heart.”

Tristan quirked an amused eyebrow. “A king who would lower his taxes? You truly aren’t like other noblemen, are you?”

Arthur was saved from having to answer that by Isolde, whose return to their makeshift camp jolted Merlin into wakefulness. He blinked blearily, rubbing his eyes with tiny fists. 

“Issit b’eakfast time?”

Arthur rolled his eyes while Tristan and Isolde laughed. “Glad to see your priorities are back in place, Merlin.”

“Here.” Isolde handed over some dried fruit from her pack. “Though I expect you’ll be eating better than this when you get home.”

“You could come with us,” Arthur offered, as Merlin tucked gleefully into the fruit. “You’d be very welcome.”

“We have business to attend to.” Isolde grinned wryly. “I won’t tell you what kind of business, but I’m sure you can imagine. I’m certain our paths will cross again at some point though.”

She came and knelt in front of Merlin, eye to eye as when they first met back in Eldermoor. “Fare thee well Little Sorcerer. May we meet again when you’re big and tall.”

Indignantly, he protested, “I’m already tall!”

“My mistake,” she apologised with mock solemnity while Tristan, behind her, piped up,

“He’s the tallest sorcerer I’ve ever met!”

The smugglers departed on horseback, and Merlin watched them leave morosely.

“Where’s they goin’?”

“I’m not sure.” Arthur lifted Merlin onto his horse and made sure he was secure before mounting up behind him. “Another adventure I expect.”

“‘N where’s we goin’?”

“Home.” 

Arthur urged the horse into a steady trot, already picturing Camelot’s familiar turrets looming in the distance.

Chapter Text

Merlin was singing the flower song again. 

“Toolips... daffodils... daisieesss...”

“What is that?” Arthur demanded, for he was starting to run out of ideas to distract his young friend.

“A song!”

“Well I know that .”

“It’s’bout flowers. Sometimes...”

“Sometimes what?”

Merlin flung his head back so that he was staring up at Arthur. He whispered loudly, “Sometimes the fores’ gives me presents.”

Arthur tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Merlin beamed, bright and beautiful, and started singing his tuneless song. “Daffodils...” A patch of yellow daffodils burst out from the forest floor. “Toolips..!” Purple tulips. “Daisieeees!” White daisies. “Di’yew see it?”

“Yes Merlin. I saw it.” Perhaps the flower song wasn’t quite as annoying as he’d thought. “Any other tricks you can show me?”

“Loads!” Merlin squealed excitedly, but then clamped a hand over his mouth. Through his fingers, he whispered, “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Menna be a secret.” Merlin craned his neck overdramatically from left to right, checking for observers. Seeing none, he said, “Phew!”

“You don’t have to keep it a secret any more,” Arthur reminded him. “No need to whisper.”

Merlin looked unconvinced, but Arthur counted it as progress he was willing to show off his magic at all.

“Lookit this one!”

A gentle breeze wafted through the woods, stirring up the first of the leaves that had started to fall for autumn. They swirled through the air and reformed into the shape of a butterfly, complete with moving wings.

Merlin’s affinity for butterflies and flowers was something Arthur often teased him for, but secretly he loved to see this kind of magic. It was so gentle, so utterly good ... this was the sort of magic that had convinced Arthur to cast off his father’s teachings.

They pressed on to Camelot, Merlin showing off more tricks with glee and Arthur watching on in amusement. Never before had the forest felt so alive to him, each leaf and branch humming with latent power. He wondered if this was how Merlin felt all the time.

The feast was well underway, but there was an undeniably subdued atmosphere that lingered in the air. Gwen was not surprised, given the circumstances, and it took all of her willpower not to stare at Lord Alaric seated at the far end of the table. Once he slipped away, she would at last be able to set her plan into motion and reveal her true intentions to the kingdom. 

“Are you listening, my lady?”

Guinevere jumped, turning back to Alined, who had evidently been trying to get her attention.

“Forgive me, my Lord. I didn’t sleep well last night. What were you saying?”

He waved imperiously to a nearby servant, who sprang forward to refill his wine goblet. “I was just asking about your plans for Camelot’s forces. You will need to be on high alert, lest any neighbouring kingdoms take their chance.”

“Indeed...” From the corner of her eye, she spied George where he was positioned by the dining hall entrance. He nodded firmly to her; Alaric was on the move. “What would you suggest?”

“You will want to reassess your alliances. Forgive me for saying so, but King Arthur was not the most talented when it came to diplomacy...”

Gwen forced herself to breathe deep through the sudden rage that pounded through her veins. How dare this snake suggest such a thing?

“Perhaps you’re right,” she managed to answer, voice stiff as iron. “Or perhaps I should begin by shoring up Camelot’s defences.”

Catching neither her meaning nor her shift in tone, Alined stuffed a mouthful of venison into his mouth and asked, “Defences? What do you mean?”

“Some information has come to light recently. Apparently there are siege tunnels beneath the citadel.”

Alined nearly choked.

“I was surprised too,” Gwen said with an overly sweet smile. “Even more surprised to discover that this information was leaked by none other than a trusted lord among our council. Lord Alaric. But then you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Not waiting for a response, Gwen rose to her feet and waved to the guards. They drew their weapons and aimed them unwaveringly at the Deorham contingent.

“My lords and ladies. May I have your attention?”

She did her best not to waver under the collective gaze of all those in the dining hall, projecting her voice as Arthur had taught her before their wedding.

“As we speak, King Alined’s forces are invading Camelot.” A panicked gasp travelled quick as lightning through the dining hall and Gwen smiled to herself. After all she had been through recently, she had earned the right to a little dramatic flair. “Or I should say, they are attempting to. For they will be met by Camelot’s full army, headed by our own knights of the Round Table.”

Alined made to stand. “Your Highness, there must have been some kind of misunderstanding-”

“Sit. Down.”

Alined paled and dropped back into his seat. 

“You believed me to be nothing more than a pawn in your game, Alined," Gwen continued, her voice ringing with authority. "But you underestimated me. You underestimated Camelot."

Her eyes swept across those assembled, finding Iseldir. The Druid leader smiled encouragingly.

“It matters not if we are without a king or without a court sorcerer. Camelot is defended, always. ”

She closed her eyes and tapped into the calm she had discovered late last night when, at last, that damned candle had lit in her chambers.

“ Hrīsan ūp, burg, tō fēohtanne! ”

The fire spell the night before had left Gwen exhausted, which was a side effect Iseldir had warned her of. This spell acted differently. She felt a warmth spread over her, a warmth that felt familiar and undeniably like Merlin. The sensation made her eyes water as she thought of her dear friend and how much she missed him.

The incantation worked quickly. All around the dining hall and castle corridors beyond, empty suits of armour, stone gargoyles and other statues burst to life and stood at attention, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. The same noblemen and serving staff who had whispered of the Queen’s inability to rule now stared at her in complete and utter astonishment. Alined sunk lower into his chair.

“Take them to the dungeons.”

She had meant it as an order to the palace guards, but instead it was the suits of armour who frogmarched Alined and his men from the hall. As they did so, Leon burst into the room.

“Your Highness!”

“Leon. What news of Alined’s army?”

“Oh, yes, all fine,” Leon stammered, unusually inarticulate. “But Your Highness - King Arthur has returned! He’s outside right now!”

By the time they had made it to the castle’s front steps, Merlin had fallen uncharacteristically silent. Arthur, so excited to see Guinevere and ensure his kingdom’s well-being for himself, didn’t notice. He hopped off the horse eagerly, taking a moment to pull Merlin down too, and it was only when he felt a tiny hand gripping his trouser leg that he realised something was wrong.

Before he could ask Merlin anything though, he was distracted by a disbelieving shout of his name.

“Sir Leon!” Arthur ran up to his old friend eagerly, clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly greeting. “It is good to see you. Where is Guinevere?”

Leon blinked at him as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “She’s hosting the feast.”

Arthur couldn’t deny that stung a little. “A feast? Celebrating what exactly?”

“It’s a long story.” Leon’s expression shifted into concern. “What of Merlin, Sire?”

“Also a long story. It would be better to tell it when Guinevere is here too.”

“I’ll fetch her for you. She shall need an update on the battle anyway.” 

“Battle?!” Arthur exclaimed, but Leon was already hurrying back inside. 

Deciding he would be informed soon enough, Arthur turned back to his horse - and swore loudly.

Merlin was gone.

Chapter Text

When Arthur had told Merlin they were going home he had assumed that meant Ealdor. As they drew closer, however, he realised Arthur had lied. He didn’t mind going on another adventure, for he had enjoyed Eldermoor a great deal, but then he saw the red pennants lining the streets, each one embossed with a golden dragon.

Knights in those colours often passed through Ealdor. Usually they came with cages, carrying men, women and even some children. Once, they commandeered the village square to light a pyre and execute one of their captives. Merlin’s mother made him stay inside during the event, but Ealdor was a tiny village and you could smell the smoke and hear the screams no matter where you were. His mother held him tight that evening, stroking his back and whispering soothing words in his ear. The knights were from Camelot, she explained, and that was far, far away. If ever Merlin saw those knights when she wasn’t there to keep him safe, he must run away as fast as he could and find somewhere to hide.

Merlin liked Arthur, or he thought he did. At first, back in the cave, Merlin had seen Arthur’s red cloak and done exactly what his mother said - run at full pelt in the opposite direction. But then Arthur had saved him from the giant rat and even said he liked magic. Knights of Camelot didn’t do things like that - did they?

Merlin wasn’t sure, but he was sure he could trust his mother. So when he saw another man in a red cloak, who Arthur treated like a friend, he remembered the execution and his mother’s warning and ran. 

Camelot was much bigger than Ealdor, bigger even than Eldermoor. He ran through empty streets, heart pounding as he tried to navigate back to the city gates. The longer he ran, the more upset he got. It was dark, he was alone, and he had no idea how to get back home. He careened around a corner and headfirst into something solid and soft.

The force of the impact sent him tumbling to the ground (thankfully at his age he didn’t have far to fall), and for a few moments he was so shocked that all he could do was blink up at the man he had pelted into. Then he burst into tears.

“Oh! Oh dear. Are you alright?” The man was old, older even than Old Man Simmons. His wrinkles furrowed in concern. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Merlin shook his head, sobbing.

“Do you live around here? What’s your name?”

“Merlin.”

The old man’s eyebrow flew up to his hairline. “ Merlin? ”

“I wanna go home ,” Merlin wailed plaintively. “ Please? ”

“To Ealdor?”

Merlin nodded. He didn’t care who this man was or how he knew where he was from. “C’nyew take me there?”

The man tightened his arms around the tiny, trembling body that had wrapped itself around his legs. “Perhaps you don’t remember me Merlin, but I’m a good friend of your mother’s.”

Merlin hiccuped. “M- my mum?”

“That’s right. I think we ought to get back to the palace.”

“Wossa ‘palace’?”

“A big castle in Camelot. It’s where I live.”

Merlin tensed. “I don’t wanna go Cam’lot. Mum says’s’not safe.”

“I know, my boy.” Gaius, for that was who this man was, smiled as Merlin cuddled into him. “But don’t worry. I’ll not let any harm come to you.”

Anyone who had ever doubted the truth of Gwen’s feelings for Arthur was proven resoundingly wrong as she pounded down the palace steps and flung her arms about his neck with absolutely no regard for decorum.

“ Guinevere .” He embraced her without hesitation, breathing in her familiar smell and feeling instantly at ease. “I’ve missed you.”

“Where have you been? Where’s Merlin? He’s not-?”

“He’s alright.” Arthur pulled away, frowning when he beheld the nobles spilling out onto the castle steps and - was that a walking suit of armour? “What’s going on?”

“Some creative diplomacy,” Gwen answered with a sly smile. “We have King Alined in our dungeons and Deorham’s army fleeing through the city’s siege tunnels beneath our feet.”

Arthur stared at her. “I’ve not missed much then?”

“Your Highness!” Gwaine pushed through the crowds towards the queen, then stopped short when he saw Arthur. “Princess! You’re back! Where’s Merlin?”

“I’ll explain everything soon. In the meanwhile-” Arthur gestured to the growing crowd of people. “-can you get everyone calmed down and inside?

Gwaine clearly wanted to ask more, but nodded his assent. “Alright. And uh, Gwen- my lady I mean - Alined’s forces have all fled. We caught a few of them, turns out they were just mercenaries he’d hired from a man called Helios.”

“Make sure that the captured men are taken to the dungeon. It might be worth questioning them later.

“Consider it done.” With a quick salute, Gwaine darted off to corral the chaos.

Arthur was full of questions, but it seemed that Camelot was safe for the time being. There were more important things to focus on.

“We need to find Merlin,” he said to Guinevere. “He’s been changed into a younger version of himself. That’s why it took us so long to get back here.”

“Younger? How much younger?”

“He’s four years old,” Arthur said with a self-deprecating shake of his head. “I should have realised seeing a knight of Camelot would be terrifying to him at this age. He must have spotted Leon and run off.”

“We’ll find him,” Gwen said firmly. “If he’s as young as you say, he can’t have gotten far.”

Gaius had been unable to attend the feast that evening due to a bout of lung fever starting to spread in the lower town. His apprentice Gilli, poor boy, had already caught the sickness and been confined to his chambers, which left only Gaius to see to the townspeople. He had departed the last house with some trepidation, hoping that Gwen’s plan had gone off without a hitch, but wary of what he would return to.

All seemed peaceful as he wound his way back up to the palace and so he let his mind drift to other things. Or, that was, one other thing that had been preoccupying him above all others - Merlin. His ward had been missing for nearly two weeks now and with each day that passed Gaius felt his hope drain further away.

Which, of course, was when Merlin came crashing into him. Healthy, alive, and barely four years old. Gaius wasn’t sure he had ever felt so relieved and so confused at the same time.

“How do you get yourself into these situations?” he murmured to the child nodding off in his arms. They were nearly at the palace now, just a few streets left to go. Gaius was not getting any younger and his pace was slow, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel even the slightest hint of resentment. He had long since thought of Merlin as more of a son than a ward, and he counted it an unbelievable privilege to gain this insight into his childhood.

Up ahead he heard yelling and at first he made to turn back - were they being invaded after all? But then the shouts grew clearer and he recognised the voice of their missing King.

“Merlin? Merlin, are you here?! Merlin!”

“Arthur?”

Arthur skidded into view, Gwen only a few steps behind, and sagged in relief when he spotted Merlin wrapped in the old physician’s arms.

“Oh Gaius. You found him.”

“Indeed. Though I must admit I’m curious to learn how he got to be in this state...”

“You and I both.”

Merlin stirred at the king’s voice. “Arfur?”

“What have I said to you about staying close?”

Merlin frowned angrily. “Yew said we was goin’ home .” He spotted Guinevere then, hovering at Arthur’s shoulder. “Who’ssat?”

“I’m Gwen.” She stepped forward. “It’s good to see you, Merlin. We’ve been so worried.”

“Why?”

“Because we all love you very much,” she answered him simply. “And we want you to be safe.”

“Cam’lot’s not safe. My mum tol’me so.” Merlin looked again to Arthur, expression deeply distrustful. “I don’t wanna go there.”

“Because of your magic?”

Merlin clamped a hand over his mouth. “Not sayin’!”

“That’s alright. You don’t have to go to Camelot.” There was a twinkle in Gwen’s eye. “But it is such a shame, because there are lots of exciting things happening there.”

Slowly, Merlin lowered his hand. “‘Citin’?”

“That’s right. We’ve got a whole feast . Do you know what a feast is?”

“Feast is food?”

“That’s right. The nicest food you can imagine. And -” she added, in a conspiratorial whisper. “-you’ll be able to see lots of magic.”

“Magic’s bad,” Merlin responded automatically. “Evvyone knows’at.”

“Well I like magic.”

Merlin tilted his head curiously. “Like Arfur?”

“That’s right. Gaius likes it too, don’t you Gaius?”

Gaius lowered Merlin to the ground. “I’ve got plenty of magic books I can show you back in the palace.”

Merlin’s eyes darted between the three adults, weighing up his options.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” Arthur said solemnly. “But I promise you’re safe here, Merlin. I’ve looked after you so far, haven’t I?”

Arthur would have liked to have thought it was his words that were the final ingredient to persuading the little boy to come with them - in reality he suspected it was more to do with the loud grumbles coming from Merlin’s tummy and Guinevere’s promise of delicious food. Whatever the reason, Merlin let Arthur pick him up so they could return, at last, to the palace.

Chapter Text

Gwen quickly caught Arthur up on everything that had transpired in his absence. As she spoke, his jaw dropped lower and lower - until a glaring Merlin poked it back closed with the top of his head, annoyed when it kept nudging him.

“You’re magnificent, ” he told his wife once she had finished the tale. He couldn’t take her in his arms, for they were currently occupied with a grumpy four-year-old, but he leant across to kiss her swiftly on the cheek. “Truly, Guinevere. No one on the council can doubt your capabilities now.”

“Not even Lord Kendrick,” Gaius added with a smirk. “I would have liked to have seen his face when you triggered Merlin’s enchantment.”

Merlin, hearing his name, asked, “Whassa enchan’ment?”

“ That is.” Arthur indicated a gargoyle clambering up the castle parapets. “And when you’re older, Merlin, you must remember to tell us when you’re planning on casting one.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind...”

They entered the palace and Merlin, catching sight of Elyan and Percival chatting in the entrance corridor, hid his face in Arthur’s shoulder. The two knights rushed forward when they spotted their newly returned king.

“Arthur!”

“Where have you been?”

“Wait!” Merlin clutched tighter at Arthur when he heard the king’s barked command. “Take off your cloaks.”

The knights frowned in confusion and Gwen, seeing this, added, “Do as he says. It will make sense I swear.”

Still confused, but always faithful to even the strangest of their king’s whims, they shrugged out of their cloaks. Arthur nodded approvingly and tapped Merlin on the shoulder.

“See?”

Merlin twisted around to look, relaxing when he saw no sign of Camelot red.

“Bring the other knights to the dining hall,” Arthur instructed briskly. “Tell them no cloaks.”

With this bizarre statement he strode down the corridor and out of sight, Gaius and Gwen smiling apologetically as they followed after.

“Where’s Merlin?” Percival said once they were gone. “And who was that child?”

“I don’t know,” Elyan replied. “But he looked familiar...”

Merlin had never seen so much food in his life . He was so distracted by all the delicious things on display, he didn’t even notice the other knights trooping in to the dining hall and barely acknowledged when Arthur introduced them to him. He was far too engrossed in breaking apart a large pie with a fork that Gaius had given him, fascinated when gravy came dribbling out.

“I don’t understand,” said Leon. With the attempted attack on Camelot, the statues, armour and gargoyles still roaming the castle (quite peacefully, which only made it stranger somehow), and now the sudden appearance of both the missing king and de-aged warlock - it had been quite a day. “How did this happen?”

“I can’t say.” Arthur was glad to be home. He clutched Gwen’s hand in his own, revelling in the familiar feel of her skin against his. “I woke up in the cave with my wounds healed and Merlin four years old. I assumed at the time we had been there just one night, but as it turned out it must have been over a week.”

Iseldir, who had come to join them at the king’s request, looked thoughtful. “Some spells, particularly powerful ones, can take a long time to work. A de-aging spell like this... I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

“But Merlin can turn himself old, can’t he?” Gwaine questioned. “Dragoon the Great and all that?”

Gaius shook his head. “Although we call it an ageing spell, he isn’t truly ageing but masking his appearance. To actually change someone’s age, revert them back and forth to a version of themself from the past or present... that is manipulating time, not appearance. One of the most powerful forms of magic there is.”

Iseldir frowned. “But King Arthur, you said the cave’s purpose was to heal?”

“It healed me while I was asleep. And there was a word repeated, etched into the walls, the only word I could recognise - hǣle. ”

 “Strange indeed... I have heard of healing sites before, powerful ones - but I can’t fathom how a healing spell could result in this outcome.”

“So what do we do?” Elyan glanced to Merlin, who had now moved on to licking all the icing from a large cake. “We can’t leave him like this.”

“There is someone who might know,” suggested Gaius. “Kilgharrah.”

“And how are we to call him?” Arthur demanded. “Merlin can’t do it.”

Those gathered stared at him incredulously.

“Why not, Sire?” 

“Well, because he’s- he’s-” Arthur flapped a hand towards the long dining table (Merlin was now busy lining carrots up like soldiers going into battle). “He’s little!”

Iseldir did his best to quash a smile, not quite succeeding. “King Arthur, a Dragonlord’s power is passed down from father to son. It does not matter what age the son is when that happens.”

Arthur groaned. “You’re telling me that all this time I could have just gotten him to call the Great Dragon to take us home?”

“Merlin’s right,” Gwaine commented unhelpfully. “You really are lost without him, aren’t you?”

“I don’ wanna bath!”

Arthur was on the brink of sending for a nanny from the Lower Town and making his tiny court sorcerer someone else’s problem. “You’re not sleeping in that state.”

They had decided to call the Dragon tomorrow, for it was late and Merlin was tired. He was also covered in icing, gravy, and a few other sticky substances that Arthur would rather not think about. In hindsight, perhaps they shouldn’t have given him free reign of the leftover feast.

Arthur had tried to get Merlin to stay the night with Gaius who, being a physician, had a great deal more experience with children. Merlin wasn’t having this however, and came the closest to having a tantrum that Arthur had yet seen.

“Wan’ Arfur !” he had insisted, clinging to the King’s trouser leg and smearing it with his runny nose. “Don’t wan’ yew. ”

“Merlin, don’t be rude,” Gwen had reprimanded, but to no avail, and the four year old had won out.

“Don’ wanna sleep. ‘M not tired.”

“ Mer lin,” Arthur growled. “Get in the bath, now .”

Sensing the shift in the king’s tone, Merlin moved cautiously towards the bath, which Gwen had gotten George to fill before she beat a hasty retreat to the antechamber.

“Where are you going?” Arthur had asked in a panic when he saw her leaving.

“This is going to be awkward enough for Merlin when he gets back to normal without me helping him bathe , Arthur.”

Arthur had to confess she had a point, but he would rather face the Afanc again than try to give an overtired magical toddler a bath.

Fortunately, Gaius chose that moment to show up. The physician smiled when he saw Merlin still filthy.

“I thought you could use some help.” Gaius pulled something from his pocket. “Merlin? I have a present for you.”

At the word ‘present’, Merlin perked up. “Wha’ issit?”

Gaius held the toy out for inspection. It was a dragon, carved from wood, one Arthur remembered was a gift to Merlin from his late father. 

Merlin reached his sticky fingers out, but Gaius pulled the dragon back with a shake of his head.

“Not yet. After you’ve had a bath and a good, long sleep. Alright?”

Merlin glared, but finally nodded and let Arthur approach to help him undress. The king frowned, realising there was something in the boy’s trouser pockets.

 “What’s this?”

“For mum’n’Will,” Merlin answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “‘S ‘portant to share.”

He had stuffed his pockets full with food from the feast. Cake, meat, fruit and, perhaps most disgusting of all, entire lashings of gravy. Somewhat charmed by Merlin’s kindness, but mostly revolted by the mush of food, Arthur resolved to have the trousers thrown away at the earliest opportunity.

Half an hour later Merlin was washed, dried, and a great deal calmer than he had been before his bath. Arthur, in contrast, was almost entirely soaked from what Merlin had dubbed ‘The Swimming Game’. Arthur still didn’t know the rules to the game and didn't fancy learning them. He perched on the end of the bed, utterly exhausted.

“‘S I good?” Merlin mumbled sleepily as Gaius helped settle him into bed.

“Very good.” Gaius pulled the covers up over the little boy’s shoulders. “Go to sleep now and tomorrow you’ll get your present.”

Merlin fell asleep within seconds, a contented smile on his face. Gwen popped her head in from the other room.

“Is he down?”

She had meant Merlin, but a deep snore revealed that Arthur had also fallen asleep, sprawled out on top of the covers. Gwen and Gaius shared a grin and left the boys to their rest.

Chapter Text

The next morning Merlin woke up shrouded in warmth. Arthur’s bed was very comfy and he may even have been tempted to stay there a little while longer - except that Arthur’s snoring was also very loud. Merlin rolled out of bed, carefully dropped to the bedroom floor, and padded from the room in his nightclothes. Gaius had promised him a present after all.

He got several confused looks on his journey through the castle corridors, and a few affectionate coos from the maidservants, but no one thought to stop him. Before long, Merlin spotted someone he recognised.

“‘Scuse me!” His mother had taught him that this was the right way to get someone’s attention. “C’n’yew help me?”

“Good morning Merlin.” It was Leon, the knight with curly hair, who knelt down to speak to him. “Are you sure you should be wandering about alone? And with no shoes?”

Merlin looked down at his feet and laughed - he hadn’t realised he was wearing no shoes!

“I gotta present,” he explained to Leon. “F’om Gaius.”

“A present? Important business.” Leon lifted the boy straight up and onto his shoulders. “I’ll take you to him now, how’s that?”

“Yes please!”

“Here you go, as promised.”

“‘Ank yew.” Merlin took the wooden toy from Gaius and turned it over reverentially in his hands. “Issit a d’agon?”

“That’s right,” Gaius answered, a little absent-mindedly as he moved his potions and herbs up high and far out of reach of curious young hands. “Do you like dragons?”

“‘S got magic.”

“Hmm?”

“‘S happy magic.”

Gaius turned from his task to look anew at the wooden carving. Merlin had told him the dragon was a gift from Balinor, something he had carved for his newly discovered son the night before he died. Could it be possible he had placed a spell on it, some kind of protective charm?

“MERLIN!”

Merlin jumped and clutched the dragon tight to his chest. The door slammed open and there was King Arthur, sloppily dressed and hair uncombed.

“ What have I told you about staying close?!”

Merlin hid behind Gaius’s legs.

“ Arthur ,” Gaius chastised. “He’s only small.”

“He has to learn Gaius!”

“Learn what? To fear you?” Gaius raised a disapproving eyebrow. “I must say I never subscribed to your father’s methods of parenting. As you may recall it was me you came to whenever you had a problem or got into trouble, not him.”

Arthur huffed, mostly annoyed because he knew Gaius was right. Grudgingly, he said, “I’m sorry, Merlin. I’m not angry. I just... I thought you’d run away again.”

Merlin peeked out from behind Gaius’s knees. “Sorry, Arfur.” He proffered his toy as a peace offering. “D’yew wanna play d’agons wi’me?”

Arthur shook his head and the little warlock looked crestfallen - until Arthur said with a sly grin, “I think I’d rather meet an actual dragon, if it’s all the same to you.”

Once Merlin was dressed and had eaten breakfast (none of which, Arthur double checked, had made its way into the young boy’s pockets), he went with the King, Queen and Iseldir to a clearing where he could call the Great Dragon.

Iseldir was tired, having spent most of the previous night researching how to undo Merlin’s protective enchantment. He had managed it, thankfully, and the castle was back to a relative normal. Now hopefully they might get Merlin back to the same.

“Where’ssa d’agon?” Merlin looked around the clearing as if it might be hiding somewhere in the trees. “Does he live here?”

“Well,” Gwen said falteringly. “We were hoping you might call him.”

“D’AGON!” Merlin bellowed, young lungs surprisingly loud. “Come out d’agon!”

“Not like that,” Arthur interrupted hastily, looking to Iseldir for help. The Druid Chieftain stepped forward.

“Merlin,” he said kindly. “We need you to call the dragon in a magical way. Can you feel your magic?”

Merlin nodded enthusiastically. “Alluva time!”

“Good. Now close your eyes.”

“No peeking,” Arthur added when he spotted the little boy slitting open an eyelid. “Do what Iseldir says, Merlin.”

This time Merlin squeezed his eyes tight. “Did it!”

“Now, focus on my voice and repeat after me. O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes. ”

Arthur had heard Merlin summon a dragon before, several times now. Iseldir spoke as if he were reading a book, but Merlin always spoke dragon tongue as if it came from his very soul.

“Ohh... d’agon... uhh...”

“That’s alright Merlin. Don’t think about the words too much. Just focus on your magic. O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes. ”

Merlin went quiet. His fists clenched. For a moment Arthur thought he might have given up - but then he whispered something. It was low, soft, and didn’t sound at all like what Iseldir said. It didn’t even sound like the dragon tongue Arthur had heard before. It did sound powerful though, even in the voice of one so young.

“Was that it?” Gwen asked after a few moments of silence. “Is he coming?”

The answer resounded through the air as distant wingbeats. Merlin gasped and pointed up at the sky, where Aithusah rocketed into view. The baby dragon roared in delight when she beheld her dragonlord and dropped towards him gleefully. 

“‘Thusa!”

“How does he know her name?!” Arthur asked incredulously.

“It is the Dragonlord’s way,” Iseldir answered. Kilgharrah’s enormous shadow had just become visible on the horizon. “They are kin.”

Kilgharrah landed and Merlin rushed forward. “‘Garah!”

Huge, bronze eyes softened as they looked down upon the little boy. “My my, young warlock. What, pray tell, have you gotten yourself into?”

Arthur relayed everything that had happened since the mercenary attack while Merlin played with Aithusah. 

“I know of this place,” Kilgharrah said once Arthur had finished his tale. “There was an enclave who lived there, dedicated to the healing arts. They were wiped out during Uther’s purge.”

Arthur winced involuntarily, resisting the impulse to apologise. Kilgharrah either didn’t notice or chose not to comment on his discomfort, continuing, 

“The cave’s magic was designed to heal any wound, mortal or otherwise. Many travelled there who could find relief for old battle scars nowhere else.”

“That makes sense. When I awoke it wasn’t just the wound from the crossbow bolt that had been healed. It was everything . It was like being reborn.”

“Indeed.” Kilgharrah, Arthur was amused to notice, flicked his tail like a cat when he was deep in thought. “Am I right to believe that Merlin was once wounded at the hands of the sorceress Nimueh?”

Since discovering the truth of Merlin’s magic, Arthur had learnt of many hidden injuries the warlock had gotten in the process of protecting him. The one story which had stuck with him most of all, however, was that of the Questing Beast. The idea that Merlin would trade his life for him... it warmed his heart and set it cold in equal measure. “He tried to use the Cup of Life, but Nimueh intervened. He still has a scar on his chest from the battle.”

“Then this might explain it. Nimueh was a High Priestess of the Triple Goddess. Her magic should have killed Merlin. He survived only because of his own, unprecedented power.”

Gwen frowned, not following. “What has this got to do with the cave’s magic?”

“The enclave will have written their spells to heal all , but the scar left by Nimueh’s magic cannot be healed unless by another High Priestess. The magic, unable to fix Merlin’s hurts in its usual way, adapted and found another method to rid him of his old wounds. Rather than repairing the skin, it transformed Merlin to an unblemished version of himself. A version from before the fight with Nimueh occurred.”

“But why a four-year-old? Why not the version of him before Nimueh’s attack?”

“Because he still had scars then,” Arthur realised, the pieces falling together at last. “Merlin said the last thing he remembered before waking up was playing in a tree with Will.”

“Right before he broke his arm,” Gwen finished, remembering Hunith’s favourite tale from her son’s childhood. “The magic reverted him to a version of himself with no injuries or scars. Not even a trace of a broken bone that healed long ago.”

They all took this in for a few moments, the only sound Merlin’s laughter as he chased Aithusah from one end of the clearing to the other.

“I only know of one being powerful enough to undo this kind of enchantment,” the dragon said eventually. “The Lady of the Lake.”

Chapter Text

Arthur waited three weeks before he took Merlin to the Lake of Avalon. Samhain was approaching, the time of year where the barriers between the mortal and spirit world were at their weakest, and Kilgharrah had told them this would help the Lady of the Lake to perform the magic needed to bring Merlin back to his regular self.

Alined remained in Camelot’s dungeons and Sir Gwaine joked that the former king could keep Agravaine, Arthur’s uncle and erstwhile advisor-turned-traitor, company while they both languished in captivity. Alined had no living heirs and this left the Kingdom of Deorham with a power vacuum. The closest kingdom to Deorham was Amata, King Olaf’s kingdom. Olaf wrote a few days after Alined’s defeat.

Dear King Arthur and Queen Guinevere,

I trust this missive finds you both in good health and spirits. I write to you concerning the recent developments in Deorham following the incarceration of Alined. It is a matter of great concern, particularly given the delicate balance of power in the region.

It has come to my attention that a warlord by the name of Sarrum has been eyeing the throne of Deorham with keen interest. His intentions, I fear, do not bode well for the stability of the realm. He is a violent man, brutal in his dealings with all he conquers, and his opposition to magic is well-known.

I can assure you that I seek no designs on Deorham’s vacant throne, but I believe we must consider the looming threat of Sarrum and his men. Amata stands ready to offer aid in whatever capacity deemed necessary.

With sincere regards,

King Olaf

Merlin, who had been playing quietly in the corner of Arthur’s chambers after an excursion to the training grounds with the knights, caught sight of Arthur’s dour expression as he read the missive.

“Why’s’yew sad?”

“It’s nothing,” Arthur answered with a weary smile, wishing for an adult Merlin’s advice on the situation. “Missing my friend is all.”

He went to pick up the next item on his to-do list - the upcoming council agenda - when Merlin came and settled on his lap. He had a habit of doing this without asking, usually to reach something that was too high for him or, on one memorable occasion, to stand on top of the dining table and levitate down from it. Gwaine had received a stern telling off once Gaius learnt that he was the one that had given the young warlock that particular idea.

Now, however, Merlin sat patient and quiet.

“Do you want something, Merlin?”

“‘S for yew .” Merlin raised his arms. “Make’yew feel better.”

A sudden memory stirred - Arthur reaching out to embrace his father and being coldly ignored. He must have been young, very young indeed, for he could remember the colourful patterns on his crib and the woman his father had hired as nursemaid. Entirely against his will, Arthur’s eyes pricked with tears.

Merlin decided to take the initiative, twisting so he could reach his arms around the king. “‘S’okay. I miss my friend Will too.”

Arthur cleared his throat, trying desperately to maintain his composure, but unable to respond. He squeezed Merlin tight and hoped that would serve to communicate his feelings. 

Hunith’s efforts in Gawant had been a resounding success, but after Arthur and Merlin’s disappearance and subsequent return she was keen to return to Camelot and see her son in person. That he was four years old again was simply an added bonus.

On the day of her arrival, Merlin couldn’t keep still. At first Arthur thought he was just excited, but then he noticed he was clutching his toy dragon very tightly - a sure sign that he was anxious about something.

“‘M I been bad?” The little boy eventually burst out just as Hunith was due to arrive. “I din’mean to tell evvyone. Menna’be a secret...”

Gwen and Arthur exchanged a look over Merlin’s head. After his first night in Camelot he had been sleeping in the antechamber to their room, save for a few instances they had awoken to find he’d snuck out in the middle of the night and sandwiched himself between them. On those occasions, when pushed, he would clamp a hand over his mouth and refuse to speak until either Gwen or Arthur gently reminded him that he didn’t have to hide his magic any more. Usually at this point the boy would give a loud sniff and confess tearfully that he had had a nightmare - the contents of which Arthur could well guess. For the most part Merlin had adjusted well to life in Camelot, but he still looked wary whenever he spotted the knights in their red cloaks and clung to Arthur a little tighter when they came over to say hello.

“Your mother will be excited to see you,” Gwen soothed him. “I promise.”

Merlin raised his arms towards Arthur, the way he always did now when he wanted to be carried. “Up!”

Arthur did as requested, resisting the urge to drop a kiss onto the little boy’s forehead. He continually had to catch himself, remind himself that Merlin was going to revert back to his usual self by the end of the week. No one knew what he would and wouldn’t remember, and Arthur really didn’t want him remembering something like that.

There was a knock on the door and Hunith peered in. Her eyes lit up when she saw her son.

“Oh my boy.” She strode forward and plucked him from Arthur’s arms, spinning him round and laughing. “Look at you!”

Any apprehension Merlin had been feeling disappeared in the warmth of his mother’s embrace. Watching him in her arms, Arthur felt strangely bereft. 

“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for him.”

Merlin was fast asleep in Arthur’s chair, having dozed off mid-sentence. It had been a long and exciting day for him, dragging his mother from place to place and introducing her to all his new friends, all the while babbling excitedly about magic and the dragon and his various adventures with Arthur.

“He’d have done the same for me.” Arthur lifted Merlin gently and carried him through to the other room. Hunith watched with a smile playing on her lips.

“Still, I’m grateful. I wish I could have made him feel as safe growing up as he feels here.”

“It must have been hard.” Arthur closed the door to the antechamber quietly. “Trying to keep his magic a secret while he was so young. If ever you wanted to... to talk ...”

He trailed off, feeling clumsy and hoping Guinevere would return from her visit to Elyan soon. She had always been better at this sort of thing than he was.

Hunith didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “It wasn’t always easy,” she admitted to him softly. “I did my best, but I wish I could have done more. And there are things... things I’ve never spoken of to anyone. Not even Merlin.”

“Perhaps it is time for you to share the burden.”

Her eyes darted uncertainly to the antechamber door. “You won’t tell him?”

“I swear it.” 

There was little Arthur wouldn’t share with Merlin, but he knew that whatever Hunith was about to say, he would take it to his grave.

“Merlin could do magic from the moment he was born.” Hunith’s voice was hushed, anxious. She rubbed her right thumb against the palm of her left hand, a nervous tic Arthur had never noticed before. “As soon as his eyes opened they glowed gold, and one of my pots went flying across the room. With Balinor as his father I suspected he might show some magical ability as he got older, but I never imagined it would be so obvious at that age. I was terrified.”

“What did you do?”

“I locked us both away and pretended he was sick, that I was scared of having visitors in case they spread him anything. When he cried for food or sleep or anything at all he’d end up doing magic. Floating lights, peculiar shifts in the weather around our house, crops growing in the garden where there had been none before. I couldn’t cope. And one day - one bad day when he just wouldn’t stop crying... I... I considered... I just started to think about whether... whether I could...”

Arthur’s skin prickled as he realised what it was she couldn’t say. 

“I planned it all out.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I didn’t want him to be in pain. Even then I loved him so dearly. I felt that either I could end things for him on my own terms, or I could wait until someone else found out his secret and sent him to the pyre. I was too weak after the birth to travel and even if I could there was nowhere to go. I had no idea where Balinor was. I couldn’t even write to Gaius for help in case someone intercepted the letter. If Uther ever even suspected there was a magical child so close to the border I was certain he would send his knights. I didn’t know what else to do... I... I...”

Arthur went to her then, wrapped her in a hug as she broke down.

“I couldn’t do it,” she sobbed into his chest, trying desperately to choke back her tears so as not to wake Merlin next door. “I could never hurt him. But his whole life I’ve been so frightened ...”

“It’s alright,” he murmured, knowing it was anything but. “He’s safe. You kept him safe.”

The door creaked open. Arthur craned his neck and saw Gwen there, hesitating when she beheld the two of them. He held out a hand and she came to join the sorrowful embrace. They stayed like that for a few minutes, king and queen squeezing tight on either side of Merlin’s mother as she fell apart.

They stayed late with Hunith that night, listening to the stories she had never been able to tell and comforting her as she wept. Throughout it all, there was one question in Arthur’s mind. A question that had been niggling at him from the moment this had all begun back in that cave.

Was it fair, he wondered, to turn Merlin back into his adult self? To steal him of his chance of a second, happier, safer childhood? Was it only Arthur’s selfishness that made him want his friend back the way he was?

He could not bring himself to ask Hunith, fearful of what her answer might be.

Chapter Text

The time had come. Arthur was taking Merlin to the Lake of Avalon where he would, hopefully, be returned to his regular age. Merlin didn’t quite understand what was about to happen and had gotten upset when Arthur tried to explain it to him.

“Bu’ I don’ wanna go,” he protested the evening before they were due to leave. “I wanna see the party!”

The party he referred to was Samhain, preparations for which were well underway. Merlin had been eagerly helping the servants prepare, using his magic (under Hunith and Gaius’s supervision) to levitate decorations up high. 

“You’ll be back for the party. You’ll just be... bigger.”

“I don’ wanna be bigger!”

A look of pain crossed Arthur’s face and Gwen intervened swiftly.

“You’ll get to ride Kilgharrah.”

The decision to use Kilgharrah for the journey was one that didn’t sit easy with Arthur, but he understood the necessity; travelling with a child could be slow work. Merlin, in contrast, started jumping up and down with excitement.

“Wowwowow! I’the sky?!”

Gwen laughed at his instantaneous change of mood. “Yes, up in the sky. Arthur will be there too, to make sure you don’t fall off.”

Arthur still didn’t quite understand why he was the only one who would be going to the Lake with Merlin. When he had offered the chance to Hunith she had gently refused.

“It’s been such a gift to have this time with him,” she had said, “but I think this journey should be just the two of you.”

Gwen had also opted not to go, saying simply, “ You’re his favourite” when Arthur had spoken to her. He suspected she may have spoken with the knights as well; Merlin had quickly endeared himself to all of them, but even Gwaine hadn’t asked to accompany them. 

“Come on then.” Gwen beckoned Merlin into the antechamber. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“G’night Arfur.”

“Goodnight Merlin.”

Arthur woke the next morning to a weight on his chest and two eyes blinking an inch from his face.

“We goin’ta the sky now?”

“Merlin! How long have you been awake?”

The little boy shrugged, then leant over to where Gwen was beginning to stir. “Mornin’ Gwen!”

 “Good morning Merlin,” Gwen answered through a yawn. As Merlin ran off to find his mother and Gaius for breakfast, she turned to Arthur and said wryly, “I’m not going to miss that wake-up every morning.”

Merlin loved the Camelot kitchen. It was very warm and very busy and usually when he went there in the mornings the servants would stop and say hello to him, sometimes even give him a treat or two. Today though he was on a mission.

“‘Scuse me!”

Audrey, the cook, turned around with her usual glower. Unlike almost everyone else in the castle, she had not taken to Merlin as a servant, a Lord, or even now as a child. 

“C’n I please take b’eakfast to my mum’n’Gaius?”

“No chance,” she snapped back without hesitation. “I’ve got too much to do today, we’re preparing for the Samhain feast.”

“Feast!” Merlin had only been to one feast and he had loved it. “C’n I help?”

“No!”

Merlin huffed. Fortunately one of the other kitchen maids had watched the exchange and handed over a breakfast tray to Merlin with a wink.

“Be careful with it,” she whispered to him while Audrey’s back was turned. “It’s heavy.”

Taking his self-appointed job very seriously, he left the kitchens with his eyes trained carefully on the tray. Unfortunately while watching the tray, he was not watching his feet. He turned a corner and his foot caught on one of the palace’s uneven flagstones - the food went flying over the floor.

Or it would have done, if his magic hadn’t kicked in. An instinctual flash of his eyes and everything landed neatly back on the tray, not a single drop spilt or crumb lost.

“Quite the trick.” 

“Wain!”

Merlin was not very good at his ‘g’ sounds yet, but the long-haired knight quite enjoyed the nickname. He scooped Merlin up and threw him up into the air, one of Merlin’s favourite games. 

This time, however, Merlin said sternly, “No’now, Wain. I got a job to do.”

“Ah, of course, of course.” Gwaine lowered him back down. “How about I help?”

“Okay!”

When they arrived at Gaius’s chambers, Gwaine set the tray aside and knelt in front of his little friend.

“I’d best be off, I’m out on patrol today. Don’t suppose I could get a hug before I go?”

Merlin hugged the knight without hesitation. ‘S’yew sad?”

“Ah Merlin my friend.” Gwaine patted the little boy gently on the back. “I’m sad and I’m happy all at once. I think this is the last time I’ll be seeing you small.”

“‘M not small!”

Gwaine pulled away with a chuckle and tousled Merlin’s hair. “Of course not.”

“Merlin?”

“Shhh!” Merlin ran up to Arthur, finger pressed to his lips. “Gaius is sleepin’!”

He tugged the king to Gaius’s table. From the corner of the room Arthur could hear the physician’s deep snores.

“Yew gotta share with me,” Merlin told Arthur authoritatively, for there were only three plates. “‘N we gotta wait for mum’n’Gaius.”

“Alright. So what do you want to do in the meantime?”

A quarter of an hour later Hunith arrived to find the king and his miniature court sorcerer engaged in a game of hide and seek.

“Hmmm... Where could he be?” Arthur’s back was turned and Hunith stayed silent, watching the sweet scene unfold. “I’ve looked under Gaius’s workbench, under the bed... Ah, I know!” With a dramatic flourish, he picked up an empty bucket and turned it upside down. “Darn! Not there either.”

A badly-stifled giggle came from under Gaius’s table and Arthur gasped.

“That sounded like - Merlin!”

He dived down and pulled Merlin out, tickling him mercilessly. Merlin shrieked with laughter, loud enough to wake Gaius.

The physician smiled when he saw who was there. “Breakfast in bed? You’re spoiling me, Merlin.”

“And me,” Hunith added, making her presence known. Arthur, realising she had probably been there for some time, turned bright red.

They all ate together, listening to Merlin’s rambles about the food and hide-and-seek and dragons and every other thing that happened to come into his head. Once they had finished and it was time for Merlin and Arthur to go, Hunith picked her son up for one final hug.

She breathed him in and cuddled him tight, carving every detail of his tiny form into her memory. “Be safe, my sweetheart. I love you more than anything.”

Gaius took Merlin next, patting his head gently. “Safe travels my boy. I’ll see you very soon.”

With a final wave goodbye to Gaius and Hunith, Arthur and Merlin made their way to the courtyard where Kilgharrah awaited them.

The Great Dragon was a magnificent sight, scales glinting in the morning sun, wings unfurled and ready for flight. Arthur neither noticed nor appreciated this, for he was busy calculating how many feet he and Merlin would drop if they were to fall off Kilgharrah’s back whilst airbourne.

Gwen, who had come to bid them farewell, did her best to soothe her husband. “You’ve done it before.”

“And I swore I never would again,” he muttered. Typical that Merlin would find some way to wrangle him into this. 

Merlin, of course, was entirely oblivious to Arthur’s trepidation. Kilgharrah had lowered his long, scaly neck so that the boy could climb up and, with a little boost from his magic, Merlin was seated between two of the pointed spines that ran down the dragon’s back.

‘C’mon Arfur!”

The king was far less graceful than the tiny warlock, but had soon got himself situated as well.

“Bye-bye Gwen!” Merlin cried out. “See yew when I’m big!”

“Don’t let go,” Arthur warned as Kilgharrah launched into the sky. “Merlin?”

But the little boy was too entranced to listen, eyes enormous as Camelot swiftly diminished to a distant speck on the horizon.

The last time Arthur had ridden Kilgharrah had been when Merlin was in grave trouble following a run-in with Morgana. Despite his initial nerves, he actually found himself enjoying the sensation of flight this time. It was undeniably thrilling, seated so high and watching miles of land skim beneath them. Nevertheless, he kept one arm secured tight around Merlin’s midriff - just in case.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long to reach the Lake. As Kilgharrah began his descent, Merlin squirmed excitedly.

“Feels good,” he said as the dragon’s claws hit the ground. “Good magic.”

“The young warlock speaks the truth,” Kilgharrah rumbled beneath them. “For one so powerful as him, the magic at this site is like a physical sensation of wellbeing.”

Arthur slid off Kilgharrah’s back and helped Merlin to do the same. Together, they approached the water.

“Look!”

Arthur blinked. A pale woman with dark hair stood watching them, her face creased in a gentle smile. A second ago he could have sworn she hadn’t been there.

“It’s a pleasure to meet properly, Arthur Pendragon.” Her voice was soft and lilting. “And to see you again Merlin.”

Merlin blinked up at her from beneath his dark lashes. “‘S I know you?”

“You’ll remember when you’re bigger.” She looked back to Arthur. “I know what you have come here for. Are you ready?”

“Surely it’s Merlin you should ask?”

The Lady’s face softened as Merlin reached out, fingers tracing invisible patterns in the surface of the lake’s calm waters. “He’s ready in his own way. The transition may be harder for you.”

Merlin had mentioned the Lady of the Lake before, told Arthur she was instrumental in recapturing Camelot from Morgana. Arthur had not expected her to seem so human - she reminded him a little of Merlin himself. Most of the time Arthur forgot his friend was the mighty Emrys, the most powerful warlock to live, and talking now to the Lady of the Lake felt just like talking to Gwen or one of his knights.

“My Lady-”

“Please, call me Freya.”

“Freya.” The name felt familiar somehow. “Do you know- will Merlin- that is-”

“Will he remember?” 

Arthur nodded.

“It will seem distant, in the way all childhood memories are, but yes. He will remember.”

Arthur released a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. Perhaps he couldn’t give Merlin a new childhood or a better life - but he could at least leave him with some happier memories.

“Alright,” he told her. “I’m ready.”

After one final hug - which Arthur held onto just a few moments longer than he would have wanted anyone else to see - Merlin went with Freya into the Lake. After that things got a bit fuzzy. One moment Arthur was watching them wade into the water and the next he was waking up on the shore. A familiar face loomed above him.

“Let’s have you lazy daisy.”

“Merlin!”

“The one and only.”

For a few moments all Arthur could do was stare. Merlin was back to his usual self, but flashes of his four-year-old self glared out from his goofy grin, open posture, and wide blue eyes.

“How do you feel?” Arthur finally managed to ask as he regained his feet.

“Honestly? Fantastic.” Merlin shook his head ruefully. “I’m just sorry I put you through so much trouble. I didn’t mean for the healing spell to take effect on me when I activated it in the cave.” His expression turned wistful. “Freya wanted me to thank you, by the way.”

“Thank me? For what?”

“For freeing her.”

“I don’t understand.”

Merlin hesitated. He glanced at Kilgharrah, curled up by the edge of the lake. The tops of the forest trees rustled in the gusts of the dragon’s deep, slumbering breaths. He would be asleep for a while yet.

“I think that it’s time I told you something...”

Merlin’s stillness as he looked out upon the lake felt strange to Arthur after so long in the company of an excitable four-year-old. They both leant against the enormous trunk of an ancient weeping willow, its trailing branches drifting in the gentle breeze.

“A few years ago, a man named Halig came to Camelot,” Merlin began his tale. “He was a bounty hunter, but one of his captives had escaped.”

“A druid girl,” Arthur recalled. “She was cursed, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.” Merlin shuddered a breath. “I didn’t know that when I freed her. Even if I did, I’m not sure it would have made a difference. When I saw her trapped in Halig’s cage... all I could think was that it could have been me. ”

Arthur’s blood boiled as mention of the cage brought to mind the merchant in Eldermoor who had named a price for a four-year-old boy. Trying to push his anger away he asked, lightly, “So that’s why you were stealing my sausages then?”

Merlin snorted. “I’d forgotten about that. You saved me from Halig too, remember?”

Arthur did remember, only too well. One of his knights had mentioned in passing they had seen the bounty hunter hauling Merlin to the dungeons when Arthur had bemoaned his servant’s absence. He had only just arrived in time to stop Halig from inflicting what would likely have been a severe beating.

“I took food to her whenever I could,” Merlin continued. “Kept her hidden in the crypts under the castle. The more we spoke and learnt about each other, the more I felt like I’d found someone who could really know and understand me. I fell in love with her.”

The quiet admission shamed Arthur. How could he not have noticed all of this going on right under his nose?

“We planned to run away. Leave Camelot and find somewhere we could be safe... but at night the curse took hold.”

With distressing clarity, an image burst across Arthur’s memory. A great winged beast rearing up above him, snarling ferociously with sharp fangs.

“You mean the creature I killed... that was her?”

“You were protecting your kingdom. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I’m...” Arthur wanted to apologise, but the word sorry felt so inadequate. “If I’d have known-”

“It’s alright,” Merlin cut across him softly. “Really. She was so tired of being trapped, hurting people... that’s why she wanted me to thank you.”

A sudden jolt as Arthur recalled how this conversation had begun. “Freya?”

“I brought her here before she died.”

Arthur pictured Merlin laying Freya upon the lake’s shore, comforting her in her final moments, and returning to Camelot - completely alone.

“If Guinevere...” Arthur trailed off, unable to finish the thought. “I don’t know what I’d do. I’m sorry you had to go through that by yourself.”

“It was a long time ago,” Merlin murmured, but Arthur didn’t miss the sheen of tears in the warlock’s eyes. “I’m not alone any more.”

“No,” Arthur agreed firmly. “You’re not.”

They sat in silence, watching as the sun dipped steadily lower in the sky, until at last Arthur worked up the courage to ask,

“Did I do the right thing? Bringing you back to this age?”

Merlin raised an incredulous eyebrow. “You think I’d rather be a four year old?”

“You’ve lost so much.” Arthur’s thoughts echoed with Hunith’s choked sobs as she finally revealed the depths to which Uther’s rule had pushed her. “What if this was an opportunity to start again?”

Merlin was silent and Arthur tried to stifle the dread curdling in the pit of his stomach. The cave and its magic were still out there - if this was truly what Merlin wanted...

“No,” Merlin said, and Arthur had to fight back a sigh of relief. “Starting over would mean forgetting it all - not just the bad, but the good as well. I wish Will hadn’t died, but I could never erase my memories of him. I wish I had known my father for longer, but I don’t regret the time we had. And I wish Freya were here with me now, but I treasure the love that we shared. There’s darkness in life, but that’s what makes the light shine so brightly.” 

He smiled then, his wide beam reminiscent of the child he had been mere hours ago. “You did give me a second chance though. In all my childhood, I don’t think I ever felt as safe as I did for those few weeks in Camelot. The memories will stay with me forever. So thank you for that.”

Heat rose to Arthur’s cheeks and he averted his eyes with an awkward clearing of his throat. “Yes, well. It’s good to have you back. Back to normal, that is.”

“You missed me then?” Merlin teased, but amusement was swiftly overtaken by trepidation. “How embarrassing was I as a four year old?”

“Well, let’s see...” Arthur drawled, a slow smirk spreading across his face. “You smuggled gravy in your pockets, never took a bath - and you insisted on singing a ridiculous song about flowers over and over again.”

Merlin groaned and buried his head in his hands. “Surely it wasn’t all bad?”

Arthur thought back over the past few weeks - hugs, childish games, giggles, disgustingly cute displays of magic - and couldn’t help but smile.

“Well,” he conceded as they went to wake Kilgharrah and begin their journey home. “Perhaps not all of it.”