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Chapter Text

“Merlin…Merlin! Please, no…please, Merlin…”

Arthur did not look like a king at all, in that moment. Sweat plastered yellow strands of hair to his forehead.  He thrashed violently in his bed, pain woven into the lines around his eyes as he scrunched them shut. He looked impossibly small in the ocean of royal red that enveloped him. 

“Please, Arthur, it’s alright,” Gwen pleaded, trying in vain to calm him down, to get his seizure-like movements under control. But he was asleep—there was nothing she could do. 

It had felt like hours had passed since she’d sent for Merlin, but finally, she could hear the familiar sound of Arthur’s servant bursting through the door. 

“Gwen?” he demanded. “What happened?” 

By the time she could respond, Merlin was already at her side. “I…I don’t know. I think he’s having a nightmare. He just keeps calling your name.” 

She watched as a shadow passed over Merlin’s face—something vaguely resembling fear, if she believed Merlin capable of being afraid. 

“Merlin…Merlin, please, no…” 

Merlin moved closer to Arthur’s thrashing form. He grabbed him roughly by the wrist. “Arthur, stop,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m here.” 

It was as if Arthur had been under a spell, and Merlin had just broken it. Gwen watched as the king’s body stilled, his breathing regulating. His eyes fluttered open. 

“Merlin,” he breathed. “You were…I thought…” 

“It was just a nightmare,” Merlin said. “Everything is fine.”

Gwen watched with curiosity as a forced smile spread across Merlin’s face. When he started to remove his hand from Arthur’s wrist, Arthur grabbed it gently back. “Merlin,” he said. It sounded as if his senses were coming back to him. “I thought you were…I thought you were dead.” 

“It was a dream, Arthur,” Merlin assured him. “It must be the sleeping tonic Gaius gave you.” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Then he looked over at Gwen. She gave him a reassuring smile. 

“I’ll let you rest, my lord,” Merlin said. “It’s been a long few days.”

“Yes, I suppose it has.” 

Merlin tried again to remove his hand from Arthur’s grasp, but he would not let go. “You’re a sorcerer,” Arthur, said, suddenly—almost as if he were reminding himself.” 

“Yes,” Merlin breathed. He sounded as though he were fighting back tears. “But you need rest, Arthur. Why don’t we talk about this tomorrow?”

“No,” Arthur said. Gwen could see that he was still not himself. “I want to talk about it now.” 

Merlin looked over at Gwen, his blue eyes trembling like ripples on a lake. They seemed to be saying sorry—or asking permission.

“I’ll give you a moment alone,” she said. 

“No, Gwen…it’s alright. I don’t want to hide anything from you.” 

As if you haven’t done that for the last ten years, Gwen thought. But she did not betray it in her smile. “I need some fresh air anyway,” she said. 

As she slipped out the door, she lingered for a moment to listen to their conversation. 

“I thought you were dead, Merlin. I saw you die, it…felt so real.” 

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” Merlin said. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said. His voice was firmer now, yet still not entirely himself. “I don’t want to. I want you to...to stay.”

Merlin did not respond after that. The silence followed Gwen as she began to walk away. 

“It was a nightmare, Arthur. Just go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

Chapter Text

2 years later 

Merlin was missing. 

Again. 

He was — apparently— the most powerful man in all of Albion, but he still couldn’t manage to show up for anything on time. 

Arthur scanned the room, hoping he had just missed his servant lurking in a corner somewhere. Which was silly, if he was being honest—he could spot Merlin in a crowd of a thousand men. He wasn’t there, and the banquet would have to begin soon. Before people started wondering if the king had lost his faculties. 

Arthur turned to Gwaine, who was seated with the other knights beside him. “Where is Merlin?” he asked. 

“I don’t know, princess, I don’t keep tabs on him. Not like you do, anyway,” he said with a grin. 

Arthur ran a hand over his face. It was absurd, he knew, to delay an entire banquet for a servant. But he couldn’t function properly without him there, standing silently behind him, like a limb—something you only notice in its absence. 

He leaned over to look at Leon, who appeared increasingly uncomfortable watching everyone shift nervously in their seats, waiting for the king to make his speech. “I need to find him,” Arthur whispered. “Will you stall for me?” 

Leon’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you mad, sire? Can you imagine how that will look?” 

“I really don’t care, Leon. Something is wrong.” 

With a long sigh, he nodded. Arthur could see the concern settled in the lines of his face, making him look years older than he was. To Leon, it likely seemed as though the king was suffering from some kind of grief-induced insanity. He still didn’t know the truth about Merlin—about everything he had sacrificed for them. 

“What shall I tell them?” 

“You’ll think of something,” Arthur said. He gave Leon a shoulder pat of encouragement, and with that, he hurried out of the room. 

*

Arthur didn’t expect to find Merlin in the first place he looked. 

But there he was— seated alone in the physician’s chambers, head cradled in his outstretched arms. He was asleep. 

“MERLIN!” 

It took a few moments, but Merlin began to stir. He sat up, his eyes rolling around before eventually landing on Arthur.

“Arthur.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Do you know,” Arthur began, “the disaster you just caused?” 

Merlin blinked. His blue eyes were clouded, like the sky just before a storm. “Um…no?” 

“I just left my father’s anniversary banquet. Everyone is already there, waiting for me.” 

Merlin’s senses seemed to be coming back to him. “What? Why?” 

“Because of you, Merlin! To find you!” 

“Well, I’m right here.” 

“Yes, Merlin, I can see that.” 

Arthur wanted to be angry. He was angry. But the anger was directed at himself. Leon was right—this was mad.  

“Why weren’t you there?” Arthur asked. He winced at the desperation that tinged his words. 

“I—I’m sorry, Arthur. I must have fallen asleep.” Merlin scrubbed a hand across his face. 

Arthur never used to notice Merlin — not really. So he would never see the way his face changed when he lied, or the affect of sorrow that followed him sometimes, like a shadow. But lately, it seemed like noticing  Merlin was all he did. So now he could see that there was something wrong. Admittedly, it wasn’t quite so urgent. But Arthur felt at least a little vindicated. 

“What is it, Merlin?” 

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “What is what?” 

“Something is wrong. What is it?” 

“Arthur…I fell asleep. I’m fine. You need to get back to your banquet before they send out a search party.” 

“Merlin…” Arthur let out a long sigh. If Merlin could hear in it what Arthur was really feeling, he didn’t let on. 

“Alright, I get it. You can’t function without me. I’ll come with you.” 

“Yes, very funny,” Arthur said. It was growing more apparent every day that this was actually true. But he would never give Merlin the satisfaction of knowing that. 

Merlin stood up. He paused for a moment, as if that swift motion had made him dizzy. Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but quickly thought better of it. 

“We can’t go in together,” Merlin said, “Unless you want everyone to know that you left your own banquet to personally fetch your manservant.” 

“Shut up, Merlin, I know. Meet me there.” 

*

“In short, we are gathered here today to celebrate not just a man, but a legacy. The legacy my father left behind is one of valor, integrity, and honor. I can only hope that my rule over this kingdom may one day live up to his.” 

Arthur raised his glass. He was looking at a blur of smiling, anticipating faces. They really believed what he was saying—and that realization always fell heavily upon him. He fought the urge to turn and look at Merlin. 

“And, uh…” He swallowed. Even without looking at any one person, he could sense the expressions in the room shift as he lost the thread of his speech. He glanced over at the empty seat beside him. He would never get used to what he now saw there— a cold, vacant space, instead of the warm smile that had always reassured him. “Today we also remember a great queen. Her grace and strength in ruling beside me will not soon be forgotten.” He drew in a breath. “To Uther,” he said, raising his glass once more. “And to Guinevere.” 

The room filled with sound, with glasses clanking and muffled echoes of what Arthur had said. Now he could exhale— the breath he had drawn moments ago left his body in a slow stream.  

Finally, he allowed himself to turn and look at Merlin. He stood where he always did, far away from the rest of them, clutching a water pitcher and looking like a fixture on the wall. He was very obviously avoiding making eye contact with Arthur. 

Somewhere deep in his gut, Arthur could feel just how wrong this was— to treat Merlin like a piece of furniture. When he was the reason the kingdom still stood. When Uther….

No—he couldn’t go there. What would it accomplish, anyway? There was nothing that could be done. 

When Arthur looked up, he caught Gaius glaring at him, one eyebrow quirked up in disapproval. Nothing that could be done, he reminded himself. 

Arthur was in the middle of fighting another urge to look at Merlin when he heard a flurry of shouting outside —followed by the warning bells. He jumped to his feet. His eyes found Merlin’s, and they held the same sense of shock and panic that Arthur felt. So this was as much a surprise to him as it was to Arthur. He sometimes had to wonder, these days. 

After the knights had been given their orders and everyone had filtered out of the hall, Merlin fought to keep up with Arthur. They fell into stride together. 

“Is it magic?” Arthur whispered. 

“I… I don’t know, sire.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know? Can’t you sense it?” 

A sheath of something fell over Merlin’s face—shame, maybe. “I should be able to— let me get closer.” 

Arthur opened his mouth to question this, but before he could, Merlin stopped walking, his eyes turning to stone. “Druids,” he breathed, suddenly. 

“What? How do you know?” 

“I can hear them. They can communicate with me without speaking.” 

“Right. Of course they can. What are they saying?” Arthur demanded. 

“They…they’re here for me,” Merlin whispered. They want to talk to me.” 

“Hang  on…” Arthur’s head was spinning. Druids entered Camelot’s borders, approached the castle blatantly enough to trigger the warning bell, risking execution, just to speak to Merlin. It didn’t make sense. “They know the law,” Arthur said. 

“Arthur.” He had tried to march ahead, but Merlin grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back. “Don’t. Please.”

“What would you have me do? I can’t just bend the rules." Admittedly, Arthur knew that argument didn't hold much weight, because he already had bent the rules countless times since discovering Merlin's magic. "The law is…” 

“The law. Right. So how does that work, then? When I’m standing right here talking to you?” 

Arthur swallowed, that uneasy feeling swirling in his gut again. “That’s different.” 

“How?” 

“Well, for one, no one knows about you.” 

“Alright, Arthur. Fine. Then I’m going to help them escape. And maybe I’ll go live with them, too. At least they respect me.” 

Arthur realized entirely too late that this was not their usual banter. There was actual, material hurt swirling in Merlin’s eyes, and it cut into Arthur like a blade. 

“Merlin…” 

“No, Arthur. Save it. I’m tired of waiting around for you to do the right thing.” 

Before Arthur could come up with a response, Merlin was halfway down the hallway. “Where are you going?” He shouted. 

“Where do you think? I’m going to help them escape.” 

The law dictated that Arthur arrest Merlin on the spot—for treason, sorcery, and probably a hundred other offenses. But they both knew that Merlin was above the law. 

Merlin was his weak spot, he thought to himself, as he watched a blur of pale skin and dark hair disappear around the bend of the hallway. He always had been. And he always would be. 

Chapter Text

When Guinevere died, Merlin was there. 

Arthur pretended like he did not want it that way. As though Merlin were the same tactless, bumbling oaf that he had been—or that Arthur had thought he had been—in his youth. But in truth, Merlin was the reason Arthur woke up every day and carried on. That he did not become what his father had when Morgana broke his heart. 

Arthur’s feelings about Merlin were all jumbled and tangled in the brambles of his mind. Ever since they had returned from Camlann—he could not decide if he was angry, or grateful, or…or something else entirely. But he knew he was in awe of the man that Merlin was. And he owed him an impossible debt. 

So that’s why he could not, as he rushed to find Merlin, get the words out of his head: Maybe I’ll go live with them. At least they respect me. 

That uneasy feeling in his gut twisted and gnawed at him as he slipped through the corridors of the castle, trying to avoid calling any unnecessary attention to what was about to happen. Did Merlin really believe that Arthur didn’t respect him? 

When he arrived in the courtyard, he breathed a sigh of relief— Merlin had not been arrested. Not yet, anyway. 

“My lord.” One of the guards hurried over to him, a panicked look showing on what Arthur could see of his face. “Druids, my lord—they’ve entered Camelot.” 

“You saw them?” 

“No, my lord. They were spotted in the lower town. Performing magic.” 

“Did they hurt anyone?” 

“Not…not that I am aware, sire. We’re doing our best to find them.” 

Arthur nodded. “Thank you.”

The guard bowed, moving to return to his post. 

“Wait,” Arthur said. The guard turned back to face him. “Make sure they are unharmed.” 

The guard could not hide the surprise that lit his features when Arthur said that—but he nodded and bowed again. “Yes, sire.” 

“They won’t find them.” The voice came from behind Arthur, after the guard was out of sight. 

“Merlin, you’d do well to watch what you say to your king.” He spun around, his confidence only momentarily shaken by the look on Merlin’s face. He stood with his arms at his sides, fists clenched. Even from a distance, Arthur could feel the energy in the air—like standing next to a lightning strike. It made the hairs on his arms stand up. He had been taught from a young age that this was the stench of powerful magic. And it took everything in him to remember that this was Merlin—not a threat. 

“What are you going to do? Arrest me?” 

“Merlin…” 

“No, Arthur. How do you think it feels to continue to watch innocent people get executed just for existing? How am I to know you won’t still do that to me?” 

“No one is being executed, alright?” 

An inscrutable expression passed over Merlin’s face. “So you’re going to break your own law?” 

Arthur sighed. It was not a law that he believed in—not anymore. But it was not so easy to erase his father’s entire legacy. The people were going to push back—and that was something he didn’t feel ready for. “No, I can’t.” He paused. Merlin tightened his fists, and Arthur instinctively took a step back. “But I will turn the other way while you get them out of here.” Merlin did not respond—only stared at him with the same unreadable expression. “I don’t want them to die, Merlin. How could I, when…when they are like you?” 

Merlin’s features softened, if only marginally. He unclenched his fists. “Magic is not evil. I have shown you that.” 

“Yes. I know. I believe it, Merlin. Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“Then you have no reason to doubt me.” 

Merlin seemed to come back to himself a little. If nothing else, he believed in Arthur—believed that he was going to do the right thing. That he was a worthy and just king. At least, he hoped Merlin still believed that. Arthur couldn’t bear what it meant if that faith was gone. 

Finally, all of the anger bled from Merlin’s body, leaving him ghost-like under the glow of the moon. For a moment, Arthur thought he saw him sway a little. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. 

“Why don’t we go inside for a bit, Merlin?” Arthur asked. 

Merlin shook his head. “They still need my help.” He still did not look entirely like himself. Before Arthur could say anything else, he watched Merlin bring a trembling hand to his head, pressing his palm against his brow. 

“Are you alright?” He moved closer to Merlin, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Merlin.” 

“I…I’m fine,” he said. “Just a headache.” 

Did warlocks get headaches? It seemed strange to Arthur, that such an impossibly powerful being could be met with such an ordinary affliction. “Come, Merlin. Let’s go inside.” 

“I need to help them, Arthur,” Merlin hissed. 

Arthur swallowed. “I know.” And then, before he could think better of it: “Let me come with you.” 

Merlin laughed. “Have you lost your mind? What if someone sees you?” 

Why did everyone keep asking him that lately? “Can’t you…use magic? There’s got to be a spell for that, right?” 

Merlin gaped at him. “You want me to use magic…to make you invisible?” 

“Yes?” 

“This would be a lot easier if you just, I don’t know, didn’t arrest them?” But even in saying that, Merlin couldn’t quite suppress the smile that bloomed on his face. “You’re such a prat sometimes.” 

Arthur smiled back. “Come on. We need to get to them before they’re found.” 

*

“Remind me again why you can’t make me invisible?” 

“Because magic doesn’t work like that, Arthur. Even for me. But I can make sure no one sees you.” 

“Right. Okay.” Arthur did not understand, but he chose not to press the issue. 

He hurried behind Merlin as they moved through a mostly empty courtyard. Most of the night guards had left to aid in the search efforts, but he could still see two of them up ahead, guarding the front gates. “I’m trusting you here, Merlin,” Arthur said. He was still several paces behind him. Had Merlin always been this fast? 

Merlin slowed a little, letting out an amused chuckle. “It’s funny, after how many times I’ve saved your life, that you still doubt me.” 

“I don’t doubt you.” 

“Shh.” 

They were approaching the gates. Merlin moved so he was directly in front of Arthur, and before he could begin to wonder if that was his plan, he heard Merlin mumble something unintelligible under his breath. The guards crumpled to the ground like children’s toys, their limbs going slack in one swift, graceful movement. 

“Merlin!” Arthur whisper-shouted. 

“Don’t worry—they’re just sleeping.” 

“How many times have you done this?!” 

“Far more than you need to know about,” Merlin said, turning back to Arthur with a lopsided grin. Any annoyance that Arthur had felt was swiftly replaced by a warm sense of fondness, flourishing from his stomach to his chest. 

The expression on Merlin’s face turned puzzled, for a moment, but he didn’t say anything as he turned away. Had that feeling shown on Arthur’s face? 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Do you know where you’re going?” 

“They’ve taken refuge in a villager’s home,” Merlin answered. 

“They told you that? In your…head?” 

“Yes,” Merlin said, as if it were obvious. 

This whole thing was growing more absurd by the second. Absurd didn’t even begin to cover it, actually—Arthur was helping his magic-wielding servant free some Druids (no telling how many of them there even were) from the home of one his subjects, who, come to think of it, probably had magic too. He was breaking so many of his own laws that he began to feel breathless as he mentally added them up. He slowed to a stop. “Merlin,” he said. 

Merlin must have recognized the fear in his voice, because he stopped walking, too, turning to look at Arthur. “What is it?” 

“This…this is absurd, isn’t it?” 

Merlin did not respond right away. “Yes, I suppose it is.” 

“What am I doing?” 

“You don’t have to come with me, Arthur.”

“No…I mean, what am I doing? As king?” My father would be so ashamed. That part he did not say out loud, for fear of Merlin once again doubting his intentions.

Merlin hesitated. He looked conflicted—maybe between his own thoughts and what he thought Arthur wanted to hear. “You’re doing what you think is best for the kingdom,” he said. And then, after a moment, “you are a good king, Arthur. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise.” 

Arthur shook his head. “No…Merlin, don’t apologize for that.” Everything Merlin said and did was right, but Arthur still could not bring himself to admit it. To admit how it killed him that Merlin was suffering for his sake, when he deserved so much more, when he could have it if he wanted, just with a wave of his hand. To admit that Merlin was a wonder, and Arthur did not deserve him. “Please.” 

Merlin quirked up an eyebrow. He seemed surprised by this response, and Arthur really couldn’t blame him. It’s not what he normally would say. 

“Let’s keep going. I need to see this through.” 

“Alright,” Merlin said, after a moment. 

They walked in silence for awhile, Merlin slowing a little to match Arthur’s pace until they fell into stride together. 

When they reached the lower town, Merlin shoved something into Arthur’s hand. “Drink this,” he said. 

Arthur eyed Merlin skeptically. He turned the object over in his fingers — it was a small vial. “I’m going to need to know what it is first, Merlin.” 

“It helps with the aging spell.” 

“The aging spell? Hang on—do you just carry this with you everywhere you go?” 

Merlin’s eyes drifted downwards for a fraction of a second, before landing back on Arthur. “Habit, I guess,” he admitted. 

Arthur considered that for a moment. He knew the kinds of things Merlin used to get up to in secret, and he must have turned himself old to do them. Into…into Dragoon. That one was a little harder to accept, when he learned about it. “Is it going to taste awful?” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Just drink it.” 

Arthur complied. If Merlin wanted to poison him, he certainly would have been dead years ago. “It’s actually not so bad,” he said. Merlin’s lips quirked upwards. 

“Alright. When we go in there, I need you to let me do all the talking. They’re going to be suspicious of you, so it’s probably better not to…make it worse.” 

“Merlin, I’m the king. You don’t tell me how I should behave.” 

Merlin’s face shuttered. “If you’re going to be difficult about this, maybe you should just go.” 

Arthur opened his mouth to argue—but then he saw Merlin’s eyes shift, like someone was speaking to him again. He brought cautious fingers up to his temples, pressing there with a wince. There absolutely was something wrong with him—now Arthur was sure of it. He suddenly remembered why he was along for this quest in the first place. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.” 

Merlin gazed quizzically at him, like he still couldn’t get used to hearing those words from Arthur. He couldn’t blame him, really. 

“Alright,” Merlin said. “Close your eyes.” 

Fighting the urge to push back against that demand, Arthur wordlessly screwed his eyes shut. He heard Merlin mumble some kind of incantation, and then he felt it—energy pulsing around him, covering his body like a heavy blanket. It sent shivers down his spine; but it also felt inexplicably exhilarating. Or… or comforting, maybe. Like Merlin reaching out to touch him. 

“All done,” Merlin said. Even before he opened his eyes, Arthur could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Don’t look so pleased,” Arthur growled. 

“You look…” Merlin’s words trailed off into a laugh. “It suits you.” 

“Yeah, alright.” 

            *

Arthur shouldn’t have been surprised when Merlin was welcomed wordlessly into a townsperson’s home. Nor should it have shocked him when they began discussing the matter like old friends, like there had been a prior conversation about the Druids. He tried not to think about what that implied. 

“Who is this?” The woman searched him with roving, skeptical eyes. “He looks familiar.” 

“He’s an old friend,” Merlin said. He reached out to squeeze the woman’s hand. “You can trust him, Isolde.” Merlin looked so earnest when he said that—and Arthur wasn’t sure if he meant it, or he if really was just a spectacular liar. 

Isolde nodded, gesturing for them to follow her. “I told them they shouldn’t have come. That there were safer ways to do this—but they insisted on delivering the message in person.” 

They were huddled in the back of Isolde’s home. A man and a woman, both of significant age, dressed in black and covered  in the Druid markings that Arthur had been taught to fear and revile. But they did not look all that threatening. When they saw Merlin, they scrambled to their feet to bow to him. They almost looked…afraid. Of Merlin? 

“Emrys,” the woman said. “We are so glad to see you.” 

“Please, just…call me Merlin.” 

The woman furrowed her brows, as if that were an absurd request, but she nodded. “Forgive me. Merlin.” 

“I know you have ignored our warnings before. But we are here to urge you—the moment we have been fearing is nigh,” said the man. “I’m afraid if you don’t act soon, it could have disastrous consequences.” He looked like he was going to elaborate, but then a different expression passed over his face. Merlin must have spoken to him silently. The Druid looked over at Arthur, then back to Merlin. “Heed my my words, Emrys.” 

“I appreciate your concern,” Merlin said. “But I have everything under control.” 

“Forgive me if I’ve overstepped, Emrys.” 

“Please,” Merlin hissed, “stop calling me that.” He brought his hand up to his forehead, scrunching his eyes as if he were in serious pain. 

Arthur had been on the outskirts of this conversation—which, admittedly, was an  extremely new and unsettling feeling for him. But now he stepped up to be closer to Merlin, grabbing him by the elbow. “Merlin,” he said. He wanted to know what the hell was going on. 

Merlin shook him off. “I’m fine.” And then, in a whisper that was only for Arthur, “We need to go before someone notices you’re missing.” He looked back at the Druids. “I already told you who he is,” he snapped, answering an unspoken question. 

Whatever lie Merlin had told them, they appeared unconvinced. They looked at Arthur with searching eyes, as if the answer to his true identity would be written somewhere on his wrinkly face. 

“Isolde,” Merlin called, “thank you for allowing them to stay here.” His voice lacked the warmth that it had held when he’d spoken to her before, not moments earlier. “I’m going to help them escape through the tunnels.” 

“Of course, Merlin,” she said. 

As they all moved toward the door, Isolde resumed her careful inspection of Arthur. For a moment, he thought he saw a flame of recognition ignite in her gaping eyes. But if she had somehow puzzled out who he was, she did not comment on it. “Pleasure meeting you,” she said. Arthur nodded to her before stepping into the cool nighttime air. 

Back under the moonlight, Arthur could see how much the pallor on Merlin’s face had deepened. He skulked along beside him like a cadaver, all bony limbs and milky white skin. Arthur grabbed him by the wrist. “I think you owe me an explanation,” he said. He brought their faces inches apart, so the Druids would not hear. 

Merlin swallowed. He looked shifty for a moment, before finally meeting Arthur’s eyes. “I know,” he said. “I’ll explain everything, I swear. Just let me get them out of here first.” 

Arthur nodded and released Merlin, nearly causing him to stumble over. He felt dread rising in his gut again; something really was wrong. 

He hadn’t even noticed when they’d reached the entrance to the tunnels. He’d been so busy watching Merlin—studying his movements, considering the pain scribbled on his too-white face. This, he recalled, was the way Merlin would take to visit Kilgarrah. 

“The tunnels will take you out of Camelot,” Merlin was telling the Druids. 

“Emrys,” the woman said. “Forgive me—are you ill?” 

“No,” Merlin said. His voice trembled a bit, which made it all the less convincing.

“You would do well to heed my words,” the man reminded. 

“Thank you for your warnings,” Merlin said, his voice cold. The Druids must have finally taken the hint—because they simply bowed (to Merlin, which Arthur still couldn’t wrap his head around), and disappeared into the tunnel. 

For a moment, they stood beside each other in silence, Merlin refusing to look at Arthur. He was shivering, Arthur realized—fine tremors running across his body like waves. Arthur’s heart clenched. “Merlin,” he said. He had thought it was going to come out angry, but there was no anger in his voice at all. 

Maybe it was that lack of anger that made Merlin turn to look at him, eyes hazy and glazed-over. “I need to reverse the spell,” he said, as if he had just remembered himself. “But we need to be in the castle, so…” he swallowed. “So no one sees you.” 

Arthur nodded. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed Merlin by the shoulder. He looked like he could fall over at any moment. “Why don’t we sit down for a bit, Merlin?” 

“Alright,” Merlin agreed. He wasn’t arguing— now Arthur was really getting concerned. 

He reached a tentative hand to grip Merlin’s other shoulder, and then he guided him gently down, until they were sitting side-by-side on the cold, damp ground. “Are you alright?” He asked, after a moment. That seemed like the wrong thing to say—but he was absolutely terrible at this. 

Merlin didn’t respond. He jerked his head in what looked like it was meant to be a nod, but ended up resembling some kind of seizure instead. 

“Merlin,” Arthur repeated. “Hey, on me.” When Merlin still didn’t respond, all consideration for the proper thing to do vanished. He reached out and grabbed Merlin by the face, fingers splayed from his neck to his temple, thumb resting on his cheek. The skin there was burning hot. 

“Stop, Arthur,” Merlin whispered. He tried to bat Arthur’s hand away, but seemed to be too weak to make much impact. “What if someone sees you fussing over your servant?” 

“It doesn’t matter, remember?” Finally, he was able to compel Merlin to look at him, his hand still on his face. Their eyes met. “I’m old.” 

Merlin did not try to pull away, or even to break this lingering eye contact that they held, their gazes pulled together like magnets. “I think that actually makes it worse,” Merlin whispered. 

Finally, Arthur let his hand fall from Merlin’s face, before this exchange became truly improper. “You’re burning with fever,” he said, looking away. 

“I’ll be fine,” Merlin mumbled. “Jus’…need some rest.” 

“I’m bringing you to Gauis,” Arthur decided. He stood, grabbing Merlin by the shoulder to try and pull him up with him. 

“No, please…don’t, Arthur. I don’t want to worry him.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, Merlin. I’m the king.” Finally, Arthur succeeded in hauling Merlin to his feet—he didn’t have the strength to resist him. When it looked like he was mostly standing on his own, Arthur risked letting go. 

For a moment, Merlin simply swayed left and right, a tall, lanky tree rustling in the breeze. 

Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and it was more like gale force wind— ripping out his roots and sending him plummeting to the ground.

Chapter Text

Merlin had never done what he was told. 

And most of the time, Arthur never listened to him, either—even when he was right.

Which, admittedly, was a lot.

So that’s why it was so shocking that now, as Arthur dragged Merlin’s half-lifeless body through the corridors of the castle, both of those things were happening at the same time. 

I swear to you, Arthur, Merlin had said, in a brief moment of lucidity somewhere between the lower town and the castle, I will explain everything. Please don’t take me to Gaius. But now he was no longer putting up a fight—merely allowing himself to be dragged wherever Arthur saw fit to take him. So why couldn’t he bring himself to take him to Gaius? 

“You better know what you’re doing, Merlin,” Arthur grumbled. Worst of all, he was still wearing the face of an old man—and the moment someone saw him dragging the king’s servant through the castle like a bag of potatoes, he was going to be arrested. 

Merlin stirred in his arms. “Arthur, stop…stop for a moment. You can’t let anyone see you.” Arthur slowed to a stop, allowing Merlin to wriggle from his grip and stand on his own unsteady legs. He took a long, stabilizing breath. “The spell takes a lot out of me,” he explained. I’ll probably pass out. But if you’re….you again, you can safely help me the rest of the way. Okay?” 

Was he really going to agree to this? Had his authority as the King of bloody Camelot really slipped this much? “Okay,” Arthur said with a wince. Merlin grabbed onto his forearm—for the spell, but probably also to stop himself from falling over. He mumbled some unintelligible words, and then his blue eyes pooled with gold, lighting and then dying like embers on a flame. At the same time the gold drained away, so did the very last bit of color in Merlin’s face. Arthur reacted just in time to stop him from crashing to the floor. 

* 

When they reached Arthur’s chambers, Arthur settled Merlin into his bed, ignoring his weak protests about the impropriety of it as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Arthur told himself that if this got any worse, he would get Gaius. But Merlin kept saying he was fine, he just needed to sleep it off, this had happened dozens of times before. How had Arthur been that oblivious? 

He found it almost funny, actually— the absurdity of his servant sleeping in his bed while he slept on a pile of blankets on the floor. The absurdity in this feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach as he watched Merlin, pale and striking against the blood red covers on his bed. 

Somehow, at some ungodly hour, sheer exhaustion had pulled him into a restless sleep. The next time he awoke, it was to the sound of knocking on his chamber door. 

As his body caught up with his brain, he sat up and saw Merlin looking the same—groggy and vaguely panicked, sweat plastering black hair to his flushed face. He looked okay, Arthur noted with relief. When the knocks grew louder, Merlin wrenched himself free from a tangle of blankets and stood, searching the room frantically for something to make this whole ordeal somewhat less incriminating. 

“You are actually my servant, Merlin,” Arthur hissed. “Although you certainly wouldn’t know it.” 

Merlin shot him a look before settling on fluffing the blankets—something that was, amusingly, about as useful as his typical service. 

“Enter,” Arthur called. 

The door swung open to reveal Leon, who looked out of breath—as if he had run to get there. “Sire, there is —“ He paused, seemingly taking in the scene before him. Arthur must have been marvelously disheveled: hair mussed, his nightshirt lopsided. There were pillows and blankets all over the floor, and Merlin—he was somewhat underdressed, pink and glowing like a well-rested baby. He was handling the covers on the bed in a way that clearly did not accomplish anything—just moving the corners back and forth. The whole thing was actually quite amusing. 

“…There is a woman who seeks an audience with you, sire.” He finished, eyeing Arthur with confusion. 

“Thank you, Leon.” Arthur said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Leon nodded and bowed, giving one last quizzical look before leaving and  shutting the door behind him. 

Arthur looked over at Merlin. He looked shell shocked — but when their eyes met, one corner of his mouth quirked up. 

“It’s not funny, Merlin,” Arthur warned.

“It’s kind of funny.” 

Arthur couldn’t help it—warmth bloomed in his chest, traveling to his face and turning his lips up in a grin. “Alright, fine. A little funny.” 

Merlin looked at him, eyes sparkling. Just as soon as the smile came, it died, and he averted his gaze again. “I’m sorry, Arthur,” he mumbled. “For…you know. I didn’t mean for you to be involved in all that.” 

“We’re on the same side, Merlin. I don’t want you to feel like you need to hide things from me.” 

A strange look passed over Merlin’s face. Guilt, maybe? But then he forced another smile. “I know. It’s just, you know…habit.” 

Arthur winced at the reminder. 10 years of lies, as if he never knew Merlin at all. As if he were still learning him all over again. Maybe that’s why he could not bear to be kept out any longer—even if that made him seem a little…mad, as Leon might put it. “Well, with that being said,” Arthur went on. “Would you care to offer an explanation?” 

“Yes,” Merlin said, his face sincere. “But first you have duties to see to.” 

*

The woman was from one of the outer villages. At first glance, she looked like an old woman – but when he caught a glimpse of her face, Arthur realized she could not have been much older than he was. She knelt before his throne with her head bent like she were waiting for a beating. It always made him feel sick. 

“There is no need for that,” Arthur said. “Please, stand.” 

The woman obliged. “My lord,” she began. “I am here to deliver a message.” 

Arthur couldn’t help but notice the way her gaze kept drifting away from him, behind his throne — where Merlin stood. He risked turning to look at him, and Merlin gave a slight shake of the head, telling him to stop. He also couldn’t help but notice that the woman no longer looked afraid. There was something quite intimidating in her presence, actually. Perhaps the kneeling had just been an act. 

“I come to tell you, Arthur Pendragon, that we will no longer sit by and wait. A promise was made to our people. And we will take what is rightfully ours.” 

Arthur sat straighter in his seat. He glanced around to see that the guards by the door had perked up, too, their hands on their swords. He signaled to them to stand down. “A promise?” Arthur asked, incredulous. “Who made you a promise?” 

“Emrys,” she said. Her voice rang clear and sharp through the room, like an arrow into soft flesh. 

Arthur thought he might be sick. He sat back in his throne. He couldn’t look at Merlin—not without giving something away. But every part of his body ached to turn to him, to let Merlin tell him what to do. “Arrest her,” he breathed. The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of them. 

“You’ll regret this!” she shouted. Guards had arrived to detain her, and she squirmed violently in their grasp. “You’re all fools. Emrys is among you—he lives within these very walls!” 

After she was gone, no one spoke. There was something quite unsettling about what she had just proclaimed—especially so, Arthur imagined, for those who did not know who this Emrys was. He knew he was meant to say something, to put their minds at ease. But he couldn’t speak. His mouth and his eyes and his brain were full of cotton; he was a children’s toy, bursting at the seams. 

“I need everyone to get out,” he said, his voice low. A moment passed. No one moved.  “Now!” 

They all rushed for the door. Servants, knights, councilmen. Everyone who had, like Arthur, been expecting a normal request from an outside village—help with their crops, aid with their grain rations. They practically climbed over each other as they raced to get through the door. Arthur didn’t want to inspire fear, like his father. But right now, he didn’t care. 

Merlin did not show the same urgency in escaping. When everyone else had made it out, he moved like he was going, too—because Arthur had said everyone. But then he paused, waited until the rest of them were out of sight, and shut the door. He turned to face Arthur. Merlin was many things, but he was not an idiot. 

Arthur was shaking. He had only just realized it; small tremors wracked his hand as he brought it up to his face. “I don’t even…I don’t know what to say, Merlin. This has gone on long enough. What was she talking about? What promise did you make her?” 

“I didn’t promise her anything,” Merlin growled. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.” 

“She knew your… name. Or whatever it is.” 

“Many people know my name, Arthur. It was my destiny that made her a promise. I don’t have any say in it.” 

“Am I really supposed to believe that?” Arthur ran his shaking hand to his forehead, and then through his hair. “When you’ve clearly been lying to me. When you swore you would not keep things from me anymore.” 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. His voice was sincere, his eyes wide and pleading. “You’re right. I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

“Well, let’s start right now. The Druids, this woman. Your…illness? How thick do you really think I am? They must all be related.

Merlin seemed to consider that for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “In a way.” 

“Spit it out, Merlin. Unless you’d like to join her in the dungeons tonight?” 

Merlin drew in a long breath. “My destiny has been written since the beginning of time,” he started. “I am supposed to unite Albion. Bring about a time of peace.”

“Yes. And we’ve done that already,” Arthur said. Hadn’t they? Or was the relative peace they’d been living in these past two years all a lie, too? 

“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “Well…yes and no. that was only part of it. I was also supposed to bring magic back to the land. Without that, it…it’s not really peace, Arthur.” 

Arthur was stunned into silence. How had he not thought of that? Merlin was right; as long as people of magic— people like Merlin—were ostracized, true peace had not been achieved. The sense of victory that Arthur had felt all this time had been been built on falsehoods. Now Arthur really felt like he would be sick. He brought both hands to his head, leaning over to hide his face. 

“Arthur?” 

“I’m thinking,” he snapped. He lifted his head. “Alright, so the Druids, and that woman—they came to tell you that you need to fulfill your destiny. Why now? It’s been years since we united Albion.” 

Curiously, Merlin’s entire countenance shifted when he heard that, going suddenly pale, twisting into an expression that Arthur could not read. “That…is the part that I haven’t been honest about,” Merlin said.

Arthur’s heartbeat quickened. “Merlin,” he warned. “I swear, if you don’t tell me—“

“They gave me three years,” Merlin spat out, interrupting him. “At Lake Avalon, when you were dying, the Sidhe agreed to save you. If I promised to restore magic to the land. And they...they gave me three years to do it.” Merlin swallowed. Arthur could see, in the way his brow was dotted with sweat, and the way his eyes darted left and right—that telling the truth did not come naturally to him. 

Arthur did not speak. He turned Merlin’s confession over and over in his mind. “You mean to say,” he said, “that you gambled my life away, and you weren’t going to tell me?” 

Merlin furrowed his brows; his face turned hard and dark, storm clouds passing across it. “No, Arthur,” he spat. “Are you forgetting how hard I fought to keep you safe? For years, I hardly slept, I hardly ate—I risked my life every day to protect you. And you think I would just gamble your life away? No, that was never part of the deal. You live no matter what.” 

There wasn’t much Arthur could say to that.  The sudden shame made him sit back, averting his gaze to his lap. “Alright, so what will happen? If you don’t make good on your promise?  

“Dunno,” Merlin mumbled. “Something bad, probably. Maybe. I really don’t know.” 

“You don’t know? Merlin, it’s been two years. Why would you risk letting it get this close? Why didn’t you talk to me, or try to…” 

“I did,” Merlin said, voice emphatic. “I have tried to show you how good magic can be. But it needs to be your own choice, or it won’t mean anything.” 

It was true, Arthur realized. Merlin had worked hard to change his view of magic. But surely he could have been a little more direct about it. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” he said. 

“Because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do it. I wanted you to want to do it. And then Gwen died, and…” 

Arthur’s heart twinged—that same sharp, sudden pain he always felt when someone mentioned her name. “Don’t bring Guinevere into this,” he growled. 

Merlin lowered his eyes. “Well, it’s not like she had nothing to do with it. She was trying to change your mind, too.”

“What are you saying? I’m so bloody thick that I wouldn’t even listen to my own wife telling me to do the right thing?” Arthur’s eyes prickled with tears, which he quickly brushed away. He was not going to lose control. 

“No, Arthur, I didn’t mean—“ 

“I know what you meant,” Arthur grumbled. Really, he had no business being angry at Merlin—everything he was saying was true. But something about being kept in the dark, again, made his blood boil. He wanted desperately to leave this conversation. But he needed to get every bit of information first. “So, about what happened last night. You getting sick—what does that have to do with this? Some kind of punishment?” 

Merlin looked away again. “I…I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s been happening for a while now, but I don’t think it’s related.” 

“What does Gaius think?” 

Merlin was silent. 

“You haven’t told him.” 

“I don’t want to worry him,” Merlin explained. “Because there’s nothing to worry about.” 

“How can you be so sure?” Arthur paused. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “It’s hard to believe a sorcerer could even get sick, anyway.” 

Merlin scoffed. Even without looking up, Arthur could sense his annoyance. “What, like I’m not human?” 

“I don’t know. Are you?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Arthur wished he could take them back. But he was just so bloody angry. He was so tired of the lies. 

“You are such an ass, Arthur.” 

Arthur knew what he said would hurt Merlin—but was surprised to see just how much. His face paled, his eyes turning glassy. 

With a long sigh, Arthur ran his hand over his face. There was an ache somewhere deep in his chest; maybe it was anger, or maybe it was something else entirely. Why couldn’t anything with Merlin ever make sense? “Leave me, would you?” Arthur said. “I think I’ve had about enough of this for today.” 

Merlin’s face was entirely blank now. It was unsettling how easily he could do that. He gave a quick bow—which was incredibly infuriating. “My lord,” he growled. 

With that, he left the room, in that silent way only a servant could. The ache in Arthur’s chest deepened. 

*

There was no avoiding it, Arthur realized. After the display in the throne room, his council was going to have questions. And, admittedly, the way he’d handled the whole thing was incredibly suspicious. Now it was just a question of whether they would try to challenge their king. 

“Sire, I’m just saying. Shouldn’t we be focusing our efforts on finding this…this Emrys?” 

Arthur groaned. “You’re going to believe the words of a madwoman? There is no threat in Camelot. End of discussion.” That was met with a wave of grunts and low grumbles, spread across a table of men who, for the most part, had served Uther. Arthur knew that if Uther were here, he would not sleep until Emrys was found. 

Lord Caradoc cleared his throat. He was one of Uther’s oldest advisors; and now, in Guinevere’s absence, his guidance had become significant. Most of the time, after her death, Arthur simply didn’t have the mental capacity to deny him. Merlin hated it, he knew. But Merlin couldn’t be a part of these meetings — and Arthur couldn’t rule alone. 

“Sire, if I may,” Caradoc said. “I believe there may be some merit to what this woman said. I have noticed some very strange things in this castle over the years. And, well, a sorcerer’s being here would explain that. I think we should bring in a witch hunter.” Caradoc earned some nods and grunts of approval. 

“I appreciate the suggestion, lord Caradoc. But we will be doing no such thing. End of discussion.” 

Beside him, Leon cleared his throat. “My lord,” he said gently, “maybe there would be some value in hiring a witch hunter? How can we be sure the woman was not telling the truth?” 

“Because she was a raving lunatic,” Gwaine grumbled. That was as about as much as he typically offered during these meetings—and usually, Arthur paid it no mind. But now Gwaine was the only one backing him up. He looked over and met his eyes, searching for some clue as to the origins of this stance.  

“This woman is likely a sorcerer herself,” Arthur said. “I’m not going to heed the words of a magic user.” He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Luckily, Merlin was not around to hear them. 

“My lord,” Caradoc spoke up again. His voice was firmer now. “Think of what your father would say. He would be ashamed to see this—this display of cowardice.” 

Arthur stood up, the loud screeching of his chair causing everyone to jump. “You will watch how you speak to me,” He said, waggling a finger in Caradoc’s face. Beside him, Leon grabbed his arm, a silent request that he stand down. He did not want to make this worse—so he listened. “Alright, fine,” he said, sitting now. “You want a witch hunter? I’ll find you one.” 

The men seemed satisfied with that. Arthur drew in a long, steadying breath, leaning back in his chair. He was going to have to figure that out at some point. But for now, he just wanted a moment to himself. “You’re dismissed,” he announced. 

He did not get much pushback on that, at least. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples while the council filtered out of the room. 

“Sire?” 

Arthur opened his eyes. Leon was lingering near the door. “What is it, Leon?” He tried not to let his internal groan show on his face. 

“I can’t help but notice that you have not been yourself lately.” 

“I’m perfectly fine, Leon.” 

Leon bit his lip. “I know you’re still grieving Guinevere,” he went on. “But—“ 

“Please, Leon. Can we not go there?” 

“Forgive me, my lord. But I feel this is important.” He paused. “That grief doesn’t quite explain some of your actions.” 

“And what would those be?” 

“Well, your…leniency regarding magic. We have all noticed it. What’s going on, Arthur? I’m not just  asking you as a knight —I’m asking you as a friend.” 

Arthur considered that for a moment. He had tried not to be so conspicuous about it; he’d tried to find loopholes in his own law, or avert attention away from the issue, or simply look the other way while Merlin intervened. He wanted it to be enough to repay the impossible debt that he owed him—but it never would be. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Leon,” he grumbled. “Sure, many sorcerers have escaped arrest as of late — but I didn’t have anything to with that.” It wasn’t an outright lie. That was all Merlin. 

“I understand, Sire. But even just now—the debate over the witch hunter. Why are you so against it?” 

Arthur was silent for a moment. Leon shifted nervously above him, feeling, probably, like he was traversing dangerous waters with this challenge. As if Arthur were that kind of king. “Don’t you ever wonder if all we’ve been told about magic is true? What if…what if this Emrys is actually on our side?” 

Leon’s mouth fell open. “Arthur, that’s…where is this coming from?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur snapped. “Just forget it. If you don’t mind, Leon, I’d like to be alone for awhile.” 

Leon nodded. “Of course, my lord.” 

As much as he did want to escape this conversation, what he really needed was to go find Merlin. He had been avoiding him for days—but he could not risk word getting to him first about the witch hunter. 

*

Arthur found Merlin in the physician’s chambers. When he pushed open the door, Merlin was sat with his back turned, hunched over some kind of poultice. “Merlin,” Arthur said. 

He must not have heard Arthur come in, because he moved with a start, dropping his pestle and craning his head to look at Arthur. When he turned, Arthur almost did not register the look on his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and beneath them were patches of wet, blotchy skin, angry where it had been scrubbed raw. He reached a shaky hand to wipe away the tears that dripped down his cheeks, as if Arthur hadn’t already seen them. “Arthur,” he croaked. “Sorry, I…I didn’t hear you come in.” 

For a moment, Arthur was stunned into silence. Whatever anger he still felt dissolved  into nonexistence. Was this his fault? Had he truly upset him that much? Surely Merlin knew he didn’t mean what he’d said. He thought maybe it’d be best if he left—he certainly couldn’t bring up the witch hunter now. But he could not will his feet to move. After a while, he sat opposite Merlin on the bench.  He cleared his throat. “Did something—did something happen?” he asked. 

Merlin shook his head. He plastered on one of those big, dopey grins—and Arthur’s heart lurched when he realized that, perhaps, none of them had ever been sincere. “No. Why do you ask?” 

Arthur sighed. “Enough with the lies, Merlin. Please. What is it? Is it what I said the other day?” 

Merlin’s face sobered. He swallowed as he looked away, adam’s apple bobbing erratically. He did not speak for a long time, and Arthur began to think he wasn’t going to. “No,” he said. "But I think you're right, for once. I think I’ve messed everything up.” He tried to maintain his smile, but it wasn’t very convincing when his voice was thick with tears. 

“What? You haven’t, Merlin. Look, if this is about the other day—“

Merlin shook his head. “You had a right to be upset with me.” 

“Maybe,” Arthur admitted. “But at the end of the day, I…I trust you. I know you were doing what you thought was right.” 

Merlin made a face that seemed to disagree with that, but he did not say as much out loud. “I can’t live up to their expectations,” he mumbled, looking away. “The Druids, they think of me as this all-powerful creature, and I’m not.” His breath hitched. “I’m just…” 

“You’re just Merlin,” Arthur finished, when Merlin began to trail off. “Just human,” he added with a wince. He was dreadful at apologies, wasn’t he? 

Merlin laughed. It was an ugly sound, more like a sob, really, from the back of his throat. “Yeah,” he said, dejected. 

“And what is so terrible about that?” 

Merlin didn’t respond, just turned so that their eyes were locked again. Without thinking, Arthur reached out and placed a hand on Merlin’s kneecap. He stroked his thumb in slow circles over the fabric of his trousers, skin burning slightly from the friction. Merlin opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again. 

“Merlin, I don’t want you to…” Arthur trailed off, arrested by the intensity of Merlin’s gaze. I don’t want you to change. I want you to always be you. He had said it thinking that he would never see Merlin again, on that day that had forever altered the nature of their relationship—even if neither of them would admit it. Arthur broke their eye contact, letting his hand fall to his side. “Sorry,” he said, after a moment. 

“There’s something else,” Merlin said, after a few moments of silence had passed. 

“What is it?” 

“I went and talked to the woman—the one you had arrested.” 

Arthur chose not to comment on the impropriety of that. “And?” 

“I told her that you could be trusted. That you were not going to have her executed. And then somehow she…she decided it was me that she can’t trust.”

“What? No, that doesn’t make any sense. She worships you.” 

Merlin flinched at Arthur’s choice of words. “Well, not anymore. She thinks I’ve been corrupted. She…she threatened me, Arthur. She said someone I care about would pay.” 

This was certainly not helping the case for magic, Arthur thought with a grimace. “Who?  Not…it couldn’t be your mother?” Arthur felt ill at that thought. 

“No, she doesn’t know her. She doesn’t know anything about me, really, apart from the stories she’s been told. I think… I think she meant you.” 

Arthur considered that for a moment. She certainly had the motive to threaten Arthur, but it didn’t make sense—why not just threaten him directly? “Well,” he said, “She can’t exactly make good on that threat from the dungeons, can she?” 

“Suppose not,” Merlin mumbled, “But I would still feel better if you were out of harm’s way.” 

Arthur smiled, that familiar warmth blooming in his chest again.  That really was all Merlin cared about, at the end of the day. Keeping Arthur safe. “How about a hunting trip, then? Just us a and few knights. We’ll leave at first light.” 

Merlin did not seem immediately convinced. He drew in a long, shaky breath, wiping at his cheeks where streams of tears had dried. “Okay,” he said, finally.  

Arthur grabbed him by the shoulder, giving him a reassuring shake. “Okay.” 

Chapter Text

It was unsettling, the way Merlin could so flawlessly put on the disguise. Happy, simple-minded Merlin, around just to make everyone laugh. He was always smiling with that dopey grin that didn’t quite reach the eyes, always trying to make others happy even if, Arthur realized, he was not.  He wore it with pride. That was just another service he provided. 

It made Arthur almost ill to think that he had never noticed it before. All those times Arthur had belittled Merlin, thinking it was all in good fun—Merlin was suffering. He should have noticed it. Why didn’t he ever notice it? 

“You’re quiet today, princess,” Gwaine said. Arthur had been riding in silence, absently listening to Merlin joke around with the knights. It was a familiar sound, one that lulled him into a sense of comfort—but he could not bring himself to join in. Not when he could see the distress hiding beneath Merlin’s lit-up features. “I’m afraid I don’t love to hear myself talk quite as much as you do, Gwaine.” 

Merlin turned back to look at Arthur. His smile dipped a little at the edges, and he slowed his horse’s trot so Arthur could catch up. “Do you think this is a mistake?” He asked, low enough so the others couldn’t hear him. 

“No. Do you?” 

“I don’t know. What if…what if this is only leaving you more vulnerable?”

“Well, good thing I have you here to protect me.” Arthur’s tone was in jest—but the statement was not actually untrue. Merlin gave him a strange look. “It’s going to be fine. Whatever happens, we can defend ourselves.” 

Merlin offered a small smile—a real one, Arthur thought. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m just being silly.” 

“Hang on…it’s not one of your funny feelings, is it?” 

 “No,” he said. “I mean…I don’t know. Maybe?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Merlin, that’s very reassuring.” 

“It’s getting dark. I’ve gotta take a piss,” Gwaine announced from up ahead. “Let’s stop here for the night, eh?” He was already dismounting when he said it, so there was really no room for protest. 

The rest of the knights followed suit. Merlin cast a wary glance at Arthur before doing the same, and then his knees almost gave out as his feet made contact with the ground. 

Arthur reached out instinctively to steady him. “Woah,” he said. “Alright?” 

“Fine,” Merlin mumbled. 

*

It had been 10 minutes since Merlin began attempting to start a fire. Arthur would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned;  Merlin’s hands trembled like an old woman doing needlework. By some miracle, the rest of the knights had not noticed—they were too engrossed in some manner of story Gwaine was telling. But Arthur could not help but let his gaze wander over to Merlin, who was shivering and hunched over a pile of twigs. 

Arthur leaned closer to him. “Merlin,” he hissed. “Use magic. Or we’re all going to freeze to death.” 

Merlin looked up at him. He looked like he was in pain, the way his face scrunched up, and he swallowed, shaking his head. “They’ll see.” 

“They’re not going to notice. Just do it.” Arthur paused, taken aback by the fear on Merlin’s face.” “King’s orders.” 

Merlin hesitated for a moment. Finally, he muttered a spell, and a fire swelled between them, reflecting in the gold fading from Merlin’s eyes. They both looked over at the knights—they hadn’t noticed. 

“Good,” Arthur said. “Thank you.” He watched as Merlin sagged backwards, deflating. Then he brought a shaky hand through his hair. 

There was something ethereal about him, Arthur thought. The fire cast a strange glow over his face, danced off his pale, sharp cheekbones like fae creatures. There was a thin layer of stubble there that made him look older. His hair had grown over the last few years, and now it curled perfectly over his temples, jet black and shiny, hiding his ridiculous ears. And his eyes—well, they were just the same as they had always been. The one part of Merlin that demanded notice, even if back-then Arthur was too daft to understand what was lurking behind them.  He was beautiful, Arthur thought. And that realization always fell upon him like an avalanche. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said, after a while. 

“Please don’t ask, Arthur. I’m fine.” 

Arthur shook his head. “No. I — I just wanted to say…I’m glad you’re here.” 

Now Merlin looked up. He narrowed his eyes until the fire light made them look like black slits. “Alright, now I’m worried about you. Did you hit your head or something?” 

Arthur laughed. “No. I just wanted you to know.” 

Merlin was still looking at him like he’d gone mad—but he also looked sheepish. Guilty, almost. Still, the corner of his mouth drifted upwards. “Alright,” he said. “Thanks?” 

Arthur smiled. The inside of his chest burned like he’d drank too much mead. 

“I’m… glad you’re here, too, Arthur.” Merlin said, after a moment, as if he thought that were the right thing to say. “You almost weren’t,” he breathed. “Dunno what I would have even done.” 

“Yeah,” Arthur whispered, looking down. “I know.” When he looked back up, Merlin was staring intently at him, blue eyes glimmering like jewels underneath a fringe of black.  Arthur’s insides roared as he fought the urge to reach out and smooth the hair away. 

“What do you think, Merlin?” The voice jarred them from their trance. Gwaine was looking over at them, now—he had pierced their bubble. 

Merlin swallowed, jaw tightening as he fought to tear his gaze away from Arthur. “What do I think about what?” 

“Leon here says I couldn’t take Arthur in hand-to-hand combat. Even though I clearly have before.” 

“Oh, I, uh…” Arthur watched as Merlin tried to put the mask back on—but it flickered. He wasn’t on top of his game tonight. “I’m sure you have, Gwaine.” 

Gwaine’s smile fell. “You alright, mate?” 

Merlin nodded. He plastered on a grin — but he couldn’t seem to hold it. “I, uh…I need to go get some more firewood.”  He rose shakily to his feet, meeting Arthur’s eyes briefly before disappearing beyond the trees. 

“What was that about, Arthur?” Leon asked. He looked severely at him, almost as if he were accusing him of something. 

“I don’t know,” Arthur said. And honestly, he didn’t. Sometimes Merlin was impossible to understand. “I’ll be right back.” 

He was the king—he did not have to explain himself. And as strange as it seemed for him to so obviously chase after his servant, there was no one here who didn’t know, to some extent, the nature of their relationship. 

He found Merlin huddled at the base of a tree, head in his lap and arms wrapped around his knees. Arthur kneeled in front of him. “Merlin.” 

“I’m fine, Arthur,” Merlin said without looking up. 

Arthur laughed, if only because of the sheer ridiculousness of that statement. “You’re clearly not.” He grabbed at Merlin’s forearm. “Come on, Merlin, look at me.” 

Finally, Merlin picked his head up. Now, under the moonlight, Arthur could see it; Merlin’s eyes were fever-bright, pupils blown so wide they edged out the blue. “Shit. Why didn’t you tell me you were ill again?” 

Merlin was silent for a moment. “Arthur, I don’t understand,” he whispered. 

“What?” 

“All this fixating on me. Why you were able to…to just forgive me so easily. Why you suddenly care so much.”

Arthur was so taken aback by that, it scrambled everything he was going to say.  Surely Merlin knew why he cared so much?  That he always had? “I…I don’t…” 

“I know that things are different now,” Merlin went on, voice shaky. “Between us, ever since Camlann. But I guess I just don’t understand.” 

“Merlin, shut up. You’re delirious. We need to get you back to the fire.” Arthur tried to ignore the way his stomach churned. That change in their relationship was something they never discussed—it was an unspoken understanding between them. Or Arthur thought it was, anyway. 

“If I didn’t have magic,” Merlin mumbled, “would things be different?” 

“What? Merlin, where is all this coming from?” 

“The way you treated me before, like I was just an idiot—“ 

Arthur felt a pang in his chest. “I never thought that.” He was sure Merlin knew that. 

“Why did you say it, then?” 

Arthur thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure how much Merlin would even remember of this conversation, he seemed so out of it now. He drew in a breath. “Because… I was afraid you’d find out how much I actually admired you,” Arthur admitted. 

That admission seemed to stun Merlin into silence. He stared at him, eyes burning, mouth slightly agape. Eventually, he looked away, instead fixating on the hem of his trousers. 

“I always have,” Arthur whispered. It was like waking up from a dream, he thought. Like a million shattered pieces suddenly falling into place. The magic only helped him realize something that had always been there. Arthur let his eyes fall to the ground. When he chanced looking back up, he saw Merlin’s eyelids fluttering, fighting the urge to fall asleep. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you back to the fire.” 

“Okay,” Merlin said, after a moment. 

Arthur reached out to haul Merlin up. Thankfully, he was met with little resistance. 

As he began dragging him along, he realized there was in fact no resistance— Merlin had gone limp in his arms. “Damn it, Merlin!” 

Merlin wasn’t exactly light anymore; he had grown into his body over the years, and now his build was not incredibly different from Arthur’s. It was adrenaline that allowed Arthur to pull him back to the clearing without stopping.

Gwaine was the first to notice. He stood up and grabbed the arm that wasn’t already draped over Arthur. “What the hell happened?” 

“He’ll be fine,” Arthur grumbled. “Just help me lay him down.” 

Gwaine steered them over to his own bedroll and gently lowered Merlin down, his hand on the side of Merlin’s head as he guided it onto the pillow. He stroked his thumb over his cheek. “He’s burning with fever.”

“I know,” Arthur said, looking away. Something about the way Gwaine touched Merlin made his stomach roll. 

“Did you do something?” Gwaine spat. His words were venomous—but he kept a gentle hand on Merlin’s face, caressing it.  The contrast made it almost too much to bear. 

“What? You think I poisoned him or something?” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Gwaine grumbled. 

Arthur knelt down and grabbed Gwaine by the front of his chainmail. “I’d watch how you speak to your king.” He respected Gwaine, he reminded himself. He was a valiant knight. But right now, all he could think about was how good it would feel to run him through. 

“Arthur?” 

Merlin’s slurred voice stopped those thoughts in their tracks. Arthur released Gwaine with a push and looked over at Merlin. 

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Everything is fine. You need to get some sleep.” 

“Why don’t you get some sleep, too, Arthur? I’ll stay up and watch him,”  Gwaine said. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He still didn’t understand why his heart was beating so fast. He knew how ridiculous he was going to sound if he protested that, so instead he took a slow, steadying breath. “Alright. Thank you, Gwaine.” 

Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder. “Sure thing, princess.” 

As Arthur stood up, he locked eyes with Merlin, whose sickly face seemed to be searching for some kind of explanation. 

Gwaine began talking to Merlin —same useless drivel as always. But there was  a certain…fondness in his voice. A gentleness. There was something there that Gwaine didn’t give out just to anyone—certainly not to the other knights. Arthur was not so daft as to not to understand what that meant. How…how had he never noticed this before? He thought he was going to be sick. 

Limbs heavy, Arthur sunk to the ground near his bedroll and leaned against a nearby tree. He was barely hearing what Gwaine was saying now. From the other side of the fire, Merlin’s droopy eyes wandered over to him. His brow scrunched up as if in concern — maybe because of the distraught look on Arthur’s face. 

Arthur forced a half smile, which only made his chest burn harder. But he needed Merlin to go to sleep, and he certainly wouldn’t if he was worrying. The smile seemed to pacify him; a moment later, his eyes fell closed. 

Arthur closed his eyes, too. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough, he could dream himself a world where kings could have anything they wanted. 

*

Arthur woke to a hand gripping his arm. When his eyes blinked open, he saw Merlin crouched in front of him, looking panicked. He sat up. 

“What’s going on?” He said, trying to blink away the sleep. 

“It’s Gwaine,” he whispered. 

Of course it is, Arthur thought. 

“He left last night and didn’t come back.” 

Arthur ran a hand over his face. “Okay. How do you know?” 

“Because I saw him leave, Arthur. And he’s not here.” 

Arthur took in Merlin’s face. He looked free of fever, thankfully—but there was also terror flickering in his glassy eyes. 

“You don’t think that…that this is…” Someone he cares about. Of course—she meant Gwaine. 

Merlin’s eyes closed for a second, as if he were fighting to stay calm. “I don’t know. It definitely could be.” 

“Alright.” Arthur leapt to his feet. One of his men was in trouble—and he would not rest until he was found. Even if, after last night, the thought of leaving him out of the picture did cross his mind. 

Merlin stood, too, albeit a little shakily. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “Alright?” 

Merlin didn’t even give him a snarky comment—just nodded. He seemed exhausted. Or maybe just scared. 

“Don’t think you won’t have to explain yourself,” Arthur warned. “After we find him, you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on with you. Do you understand?” 

Merlin didn’t protest—just nodded again. That was only slightly concerning; but they didn’t have time to worry about it now. 

“Arthur?” 

Leon was awake, now, and so was Percival. That was all of them. “Gwaine is missing,” Arthur explained. “He disappeared during the night. We have reason to believe there is foul play involved.” 

* 

“Sire, remind me again how we know where we’re going?” 

Leon had urged his horse to go a little faster, so he was side-by-side with Arthur. 

“We’re following Merlin,” Arthur said. Maybe if he was confident about it, he thought, they wouldn’t question it. 

“…Merlin.” Leon repeated. “With all due respect, Sire, why on earth are we following Merlin? How does he know where he’s going?” 

“Are you doubting my navigational abilities, Leon?” Merlin called without turning his head. He was a few paces ahead of them, and evidently Leon had thought he couldn’t hear. 

Leon gave Arthur a questioning look. Arthur merely shrugged. “Don’t worry, Leon,” he said, and he increased his pace so he was instead riding beside Merlin. 

“He’s not far,” Merlin said without looking at him. 

“How do you know?” 

“I, erm…” He glanced back at Leon and Percival, who were watching with rapt attention. He quirked an eyebrow at Arthur. “Funny feeling.” 

“Right.” 

They rode in silence for a while. There was not much they could talk about with Leon and Percival listening, so instead Arthur tried to sneak a few glances at Merlin, to see if anything on his face would betray how he was feeling. But there was nothing there—just pale skin and cold, vacant eyes. 

That woman had said someone he cared about would pay. So why not Gwaine? Surely Merlin cared about him, as much as he cared about any of his other friends. But then, Arthur considered, maybe that was just it—maybe it was more than that. Maybe there was something between them that Arthur had never known about. Why did that possibility make him feel so bloody ill? 

“Stop,” Merlin said, suddenly. They all brought their horses to a stop. 

“What is it?” 

“Shh.” 

“Merlin!” 

“There’s someone here,” Merlin whispered. 

Arthur listened. There was nothing that would have indicated an attack; just the wind rustling the leaves on the trees, and a muffled, far-away bird call. But he had learned, over the past few years, that he could not doubt Merlin—because in some capacity, he was always right. 

Merlin dismounted from his horse. Without looking at any of them, he walked a few paces ahead, standing erect between a canopy of trees. He turned back to look at them and raised a finger to his lips. 

A moment later, he was dragging Gwaine from behind a tree, bloody and tied up with a rag in his mouth. Arthur didn’t even have time to react before he heard it—a snap of a branch from somewhere behind him. They would be under attack in seconds. 

There were dozens of them. They poured out from behind the tree line like bugs, and in his rush to fend them off, Arthur could see that they were likely bandits. Even a peaceful kingdom could not eliminate those. 

“We’re vastly outnumbered, Sire,” Leon said, breathless, in a small moment between striking one down and getting ready for the next. 

“I know,” Arthur said. Each time he turned to plunge his sword into a man, his eyes searched desperately for Merlin. 

Finally, he saw him. He had just gotten Gwaine untied—but Gwaine didn’t have a sword. One of the bandits must have seen this, too, because he was charging straight for them. 

“MERLIN!” 

He could have obliterated all of them, Arthur realized. One glance and they would be on the ground. But he saw him hesitate. He saw that familiar look of panic, that sense of melancholy and shame that rose on his face any time Arthur acknowledged his magic. And it was awful. That Merlin felt like that—that he would risk his own life to save Arthur from having to face something difficult. 

Arthur was going strike down all of them to get to him—and he almost had. But Gwaine got there first. Even without a sword, he managed to slow the man down. He wrestled him with his bare hands until the dagger was no longer pointed at Merlin, but at himself. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin breathed, panicked. 

“Don’t sweat it, mate,” he said. “I’m not afraid of him.” 

Merlin must have decided otherwise. Before Arthur could even understand what was happening, the man with the dagger was sent flying, hitting a tree with a nauseating crack. There had been a bandit on his way to Arthur—and that one went flying, too. The men left standing must have gotten the message; they all fled the way they came, disappearing into the forest.

Arthur met Merlin’s eyes just in time to see the gold bleeding from them. And the shame—the shame. Arthur thought his knees might buckle. 

“What in the bloody hell…” The voice was Leon’s. Arthur spun around to look at him. “Arthur?” He questioned. “Who did that?” 

“Leon, please. Why don’t we just take a moment, alright?” 

“Take a…” Leon looked at him. His eyes were dark slits. “Arthur, have you finally and truly lost it? You saw what just happened. There is a sorcerer among us, and it’s certainly not me or you.” 

“Or me.” Percival chimed in beside him. 

All eyes drifted over to where Merlin and Gwaine stood. The color had drained from Merlin’s face, which, objectively speaking, was rather incriminating. But he did not speak. 

“Alright,” Gwaine said. “It was me.” He met Arthur’s eyes with an unwavering gaze. It was like a punch in the gut. “So go ahead, Arthur.” He spread his arms wide in invitation. “Give me everything you’ve got.” 

Arthur did not respond. He truly did not know what he was supposed to do—what Merlin wanted him to do. He met Merlin’s eyes, desperate to find something there other than fear. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin said, barely above a whisper. “Stop.” His voice sent a ripple of chills down Arthur’s back. He looked at Arthur — in apology? For reassurance? And then turned back to Leon and Percival. “It was me,” he said. There was a long pause, and they all watched as Merlin fought to push the next part off his tongue. Arthur could see the struggle on his face, as if there was something inside him blocking the words. As if it caused him physical pain to tell the truth. As if no matter what happened – no matter how safe Arthur tried to make him feel – he would always be afraid for his life. Finally, the words came. “I’m a sorcerer," he choked.

Instinctively, Arthur reached for the hilt of his sword. He didn’t even think about how that would look to the rest of them—he only wanted to be ready in case Leon or Percival decided to try anything. He was trying desperately to make sense of his thoughts, to act like the king everyone expected him to be. He almost didn’t register that the bandit's dagger was now pressed against the soft flesh of his own throat. 

“Don’t you dare, Arthur. Or you’ll have to get through me first.” 

“Gwaine.” Arthur had hoped his voice would come out normal, but the name fell thickly off his tongue. “You’re committing treason.” 

Gwaine laughed. “Yeah, so kill me, then. I don’t care. Just don’t touch him. He doesn’t deserve to die after saving all of our bloody lives.” 

Arthur swallowed. The blade was pressing painfully against his throat. “I know. You’re absolutely right.” 

A brief beat of confusion passed over Gwaine’s face. But he still didn’t stand down. 

“Gwaine, stop.” The voice came from Merlin this time. He reached out and grabbed Gwaine by the wrist—an attempt to get the dagger away from him. “He’s not going to hurt me.” 

Gwaine turned to look at him. “No, Merlin. He’s not as honorable as you think he is. You think he’ll just let you run? No, he’s just like his father.” 

If he didn’t have a dagger pressed to his throat, Arthur would have punched Gwaine in the face. 

“Gwaine.” Merlin’s voice was firmer now— a warning. “Let him go.” 

If he was going to listen to anyone, it was Merlin. He looked at him, bewildered, and then back to Arthur. Finally, he backed down—however reluctantly. Arthur let out a breath as Gwaine withdrew the dagger.

“Arthur, what the hell is going on?” Leon asked. 

“Alright,” Arthur said. “Here’s what’s going to happen. No one touches Merlin. Not now, and not when we get back to Camelot. We all owe him our lives — a thousand times over. Do you understand?” 

“You knew,” Gwaine said. Arthur watched as his face paled, realization unfolding over hardened features. “You…bloody knew this whole time.” 

“Is that true, Sire?” Leon asked. 

Arthur thought about lying. He could have tried to save face, to do what his father might have done. He could have let them think something awful about Merlin instead. He was just a servant, after all. He turned to look at Merlin, and found his eyes brimming with tears; he tried to shake his head, but it ended up looking more like some kind of spasm. Arthur’s heart clenched. 

“Yes,” he said, finally. He didn’t know what Merlin wanted him to do; but these were his men. How would they ever trust him if he lied to them? “I’ve known for years.” 

Gwaine let out a mocking laugh. “You’re breaking your own law. That’s hilarious.” 

Arthur looked over at Leon, who had apparently been stunned into silence. “Sire, I…I don’t even know what to say.” 

“You actually had me believing you were going to kill him, princess,” Gwaine said. “I’m sorry I doubted you.” 

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look. I know this may be hard to understand,” he said. His eyes found Merlin’s again. “But I need my men to trust me. I need you to…to trust Merlin. Regardless of what you think about magic. Can you do that?” 

“Already done,” Gwaine said. 

Arthur looked over at Leon and Percival. Neither of them spoke. They looked at Merlin with searching eyes, as if the answer to this problem were written somewhere on his tense, trembling body. 

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” Merlin said. He tried to smile, but that was overshadowed by the thickness of his voice. “I’m the same person I’ve always been.” 

Leon’s eyes trailed back over to Arthur. “Help me understand, Sire. You…despise magic. Your father would be horrified. How are you okay with this?” 

Arthur thought he heard Merlin’s breath catch in his throat. He wanted to reach out to him, to tell him how wrong those words were—to whisper it so only he could hear. But he could not even turn to look at him. 

“Well, I’ve…I’ve changed my mind, Leon. I was wrong. My father was wrong.  Magic is…” losing courage, he looked at Merlin again. They locked eyes. Merlin gave him a tiny fraction of a smile, and that was all Arthur needed. “Magic can be good. Merlin has shown me that.” 

No one spoke. Arthur wasn’t sure what would happen now—would they leave? Go back to Camelot and tell everyone the king had lost his marbles? Or maybe they would try to kill Merlin, in an attempt to save Arthur from himself. Merlin was their friend, though. Surely they understood. Arthur wanted to be sick. “Come on,” he said, voice strained. He reached out and grabbed Merlin by the shoulder, trying not to notice how he tensed beneath his grasp. “It’s just Merlin. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

Leon bit his lip and glanced at the scene around them, where at least two of the fallen men had died without ever touching a blade. 

Arthur swallowed nervously. “Well, you know what I mean.” 

For a painfully long moment, no one spoke. But then Leon let out a long sigh. “I trust you, Sire. You’re my king. So I’ll stand by you—no matter what.” 

“Yes,” Percival agreed. “Me too.” 

Arthur wanted to cry. He could feel the anxiety lifting from his body, pouring from his skin and evaporating into the forest air. “Thank you,” he choked. He cleared his throat. He did not want to betray just how terrified he had actually been. “Thank you both.” 

He chanced another glance at Merlin, and found that he was smiling, a big goofy grin that actually reached his eyes. Arthur’s heart swelled. For this moment, at least — everything was going to be okay. 

Chapter Text

It went without saying that, after the morning’s ordeal, no one was quite so interested in hunting anymore. They set course for Camelot—and this time, none of them spoke. Something had shifted in the air between them. Maybe the knowledge that they’d been traveling with a sorcerer for the better part of a decade soured things a bit; even if he was, admittedly, the reason any of them were alive. Arthur couldn’t expect things to go back to normal. He just needed to know they would keep Merlin’s secret. 

Gwaine would, of course. That was about the only thing he could be sure of. As they rode for what felt like hours in tense silence, Arthur anxiously replayed what had just unfolded in his mind. Gwaine was prepared to die for Merlin, which didn’t shock Arthur all that much—he had never really valued his own life. But there was something about him, in the cool, unbothered expression on his face, indicating that he knew more about Merlin than he was letting on. It wasn’t him that the sorceress was talking about—they could be sure of that now. But that still didn’t quell the twisting in his stomach. 

“Arthur?” 

The voice jarred him from his thoughts. He saw that Merlin was now riding beside him, the others a few leagues ahead. Far enough now to be out of earshot. 

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. 

“Sorry? What for?” 

Merlin’s eyes flitted away; he studied his hands on the reins. “For putting you in that position,” he said. 

Arthur let out a long sigh. “You have nothing to apologize for.” 

Merlin was silent for a moment. He looked curiously at Arthur, like he was trying to read something on his face. “Are you alright?” He asked. 

Arthur wasn’t sure what Merlin saw on his face that betrayed what he was feeling, but he did his best to obscure it, to push his features into their normal places. “I’m fine,” he said. 

“Arthur.” 

“Did Gwaine know about your magic?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think better of them. 

“What?” 

“Did you…tell him? Even before you told me?” 

Merlin gave him a strange look—eyes narrowed and eyebrows stitched together. But there was the shadow of a smile pulling at his lips. “No,” he said. “I never told him.” 

“Really? Because it’s just…he’s so smug when it comes to you. Like he knows something I don’t. Or…used to.” 

Merlin let out a soft laugh. “Are you jealous?” 

Arthur knew he meant it as a joke. But that word sank like a rock to the bottom of his stomach—because yes, he realized. That’s exactly what he was. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said, voice serious now. “What’s really going on?” 

Arthur felt his throat go dry. That heaviness in his chest was back. What he was feeling — it didn’t seem possible. It wasn’t right. Why should it bother him if Gwaine and Merlin were romantically involved? That wasn’t any of his business, was it? He began to feel dizzy; the canopy of trees that surrounded him began to fold in on itself. He slid off his horse before he could fall off. 

“Hey, hey.” Merlin was next to him in an instant, his hand gripping Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur, look at me.” 

Arthur opened his eyes. Merlin was there, a pale, glowing specter against an ocean of green. His face was open now—no dark storm clouds obscuring the crystal blue of his eyes. All that was there was concern for Arthur. It made his stomach lurch. “I’m sorry,” he said, once he had gathered enough oxygen to speak. “I lost my balance.” 

“You lost your balance? Sitting on your horse?” 

Arthur shook his head. “No, I…” he swallowed. Why was his mouth so dry? 

“Alright, come on.” Merlin placed his other hand on Arthur’s other shoulder. He pulled him gently down, until they were both sitting on the ground. “What’s going on, Arthur?” He reached out to feel Arthur’s forehead. “You don’t seem ill.” 

Arthur shook his head. His senses were coming back to him now. “I’m not,” he said. 

“Then what is it?” 

“I…realized something today.” 

Merlin gave him a strange look. “Wow, look at you…using your brain and everything.” 

When Arthur did not react to that, Merlin’s face instantly sobered. 

“What did you realize?” 

“You and Gwaine,” he said. 

“What about me and Gwaine?” 

“You’re…you’re close, aren’t you?” 

Merlin shrugged. “I suppose so. He’s my friend.” 

“Like I’m your friend?” 

“…Yes? Arthur, if this is about earlier—you know he was just trying to protect me. Please don’t do anything stupid.” 

Arthur ran both hands over his face. He needed to pull himself together— he was being ridiculous. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t…I don’t know what came over me.”

Merlin just looked at him, one eyebrow quirked up in suspicion, like he were still trying to fathom this whole thing out. “Come on,” he said, moving to stand up. “We still don’t know if that threat was aimed at you—so no dawdling.” 

Arthur looked up at him. “You’re acting suspiciously… like yourself, Merlin. What happened to all the doom and gloom?” 

He seemed to think about that for a moment. “I dunno,” he said. “I feel like we’ve…accomplished something. At least I don’t need to hide who I am around the knights anymore.” 

Arthur tried to ignore the way that statement hit him like a punch in the gut. He gazed up at Merlin, squinting at the sun that formed a halo around his dark hair. Making him look almost  unreal — but also more like himself than Arthur had seen him in years. “I’m glad, Merlin,” he said. And he was. 

“Come on,” Merlin said. He held out a hand. 

When Arthur stood, he realized that the knights had stopped a little ways ahead of them. He locked eyes with Leon, who tried to pretend he hadn’t been watching the whole interaction in bewilderment. Arthur cleared his throat. “Let’s stop here for a while,” he said. “I need some water.” 

No one responded. 

“I’ll fetch some for you, Sire,” Merlin said. The forced normalcy in his voice made Arthur shudder. 

Gwaine hopped off his horse. “No, Merlin, why don’t you stay here? I’ll go with Arthur. I think we need to clear the air.” 

Merlin looked over at Arthur with wide eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was Gwaine and Arthur being alone together that worried him—or staying back with Leon and Percival. Arthur tried to give him a reassuring look.

“Good idea,” Arthur managed to say. 

They walked in silence for what felt like ages. Gwaine kept his fingers enclosed around the hilt of his sword, and he was not exactly subtle about it. Arthur tried to find something else to focus on—the far-away sounds of birds, the crunching of leaves beneath their feet, the faint trickle of water that told them they were headed in the right direction. Eventually, it became clear to him that Gwaine was not going to start this conversation. He cleared his throat. “I’m not going to condone your actions,” he began. Gwaine slowed to a stop, turning to look at him. “But I can’t exactly blame you for thinking what you did.” 

One side of Gwaine’s mouth quirked up. “Ah,” he said. “So you’re admitting you were wrong.” 

Arthur glared at him. 

“Arthur,” he said, face sobering, “I was wrong, too. I misjudged you. Mostly.” 

“Alright,” Arthur said, smiling. He placed a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder. “Let’s call it even.” 

They fell back into silence —less tense this time. 

“There is something else bothering you,” Gwaine said, after a while. “What is it?” 

Was he really that transparent? He cleared his throat. “Did you know?” 

“About Merlin’s magic? Well, he never confirmed it—but I would’ve bet on it.” 

Arthur’s stomach dropped. He was around Merlin more than anyone else, and he had never suspected a thing. But Gwaine had just… figured it out on his own. He felt heavy, all of a sudden; like he needed to sit down. 

“You alright, mate?” 

“Yes,” Arthur snapped. He didn’t mean it to sound so harsh. He looked back up at Gwaine, and found his dark eyes filled with actual concern. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” 

“Listen, I know this may be… inappropriate,  but I feel like I’m going crazy, and I need to—“

“Arthur. What is it?” 

“Do you…feel something for Merlin?” 

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. “Have you been drinking?” 

Arthur shook his head. There was something wrong with him—why would his mind even go there? He came to an abrupt stop and sunk to the ground at the base of a tree, burying his head in his hands. He was ill. He needed to see Gaius. 

“Woah, hey,” Gwaine said. Arthur felt the leaves shift around him as Gwaine sat, too. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur mumbled. He looked up at him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” 

“Where is this coming from, mate?” 

“I don’t know. Honestly, I— I apologize. We should keep going.” 

Gwaine was quiet for a moment. He smiled, but there was something disingenuous about it. A sort of sadness hardening in his eyes. “You’re on to something, though,” he said. “I guess I wasn’t quite so subtle about it, was I?” 

Arthur tried to process those words. For a moment, they just struck his skin like dull arrows, refusing to sink beneath the surface. He swallowed, trying to get enough saliva in his impossibly dry mouth to speak. “Will you ever tell him?” He asked, finally. 

Gwaine shook his head. “No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Arthur, I don’t think we should be talking about this.” 

“Gwaine,” Arthur pressed. “Why not? Doesn’t he deserve to know?” 

Gwaine laughed. It was a sad, strangled laugh, like he were choking on something. “Maybe. But he’ll never…” he trailed off. 

“Never what, Gwaine?” 

Gwaine sighed. As he opened his mouth to speak, he looked conflicted, as if he were debating whether he should voice what he was thinking. It was an expression that Arthur had grown far too used to, growing up noble – and one he wished he never had to see again. 

“Out with it, Gwaine,” Arthur snapped. He realized he wasn’t actually entitled to know this information, and maybe an outright demand would be abuse of power. But maybe Gwaine would take pity on him. “Please,” he went on, voice softer. 

Gwaine sighed. “He’ll never love me half as much as he loves you, Arthur.”

It took a moment for those words to sink in. But when they did, Arthur felt his chest constrict; all of the blood in his body rushed to his head, and his ears were ringing so loud that he couldn’t quite hear what Gwaine said after that. He wanted to laugh, to tell Gwaine that was a riotous joke. That even if it somehow were true, the feeling was not returned. But he could not say that. Because he could not put into words what he felt for Merlin—but it was so incredibly far from nothing. He thought his heart might rip straight through his ribcage. 

Finally, Arthur tuned back in to Gwaine’s voice. “Arthur?” Gwaine was saying. “Shit. I’m gonna go get help.” 

“No,” Arthur choked. “I’m fine.” 

Gwaine breathed a visible sigh of relief. “Care to explain what the hell is going on?” 

“What you just said. That Merlin.. loves me. I don’t…” 

Gwaine’s expression hardened. “If you say something to him, Arthur, I swear—“ 

“No. No.” Arthur swallowed. “I won’t.” 

Gwaine studied him for a moment. “Good,” he said. “We should head back to the others.” 

It was true—but Arthur could not will his limbs to move. “Do you really think he feels that way? It’s just, he’s never even hinted at it before.” 

Gwaine laughed. “Just like he never hinted at having magic before?” 

Arthur flinched.  

“Mate, he would walk to the end of the earth for you. Even if he had no legs and had to drag himself the whole way there. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.” Gwaine paused, sighing. “And he…he doesn’t expect anything in return, you know? I think he knows you don’t feel the same way. But that doesn’t change one thing.” 

Arthur was stunned back into silence. He didn’t know how Gwaine had figured this all out—but at this point, he didn’t even care. “But that’s the thing, Gwaine,” he whispered. “I don’t…I don’t even know if…” He reached up and pressed his palms over his eyes. “I don’t know what I feel anymore. None of it makes any sense.”

Gwaine blinked at him. After a moment, a look of understanding passed over his face. And there wasn’t much that could rattle Gwaine—but he seemed genuinely surprised. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. 

“But if anyone knew that, I don’t…I don’t even know what would happen.” 

“Let’s not worry about that today, eh?” Gwaine hopped to his feet. “We should get back before Percival and Leon start getting restless.” 

When they returned to the path where they’d left everyone, Leon and Percival were sitting on the ground near their horses, legs drawn and faces far-away. It did not take long for Arthur to realize that Merlin was conspicuously absent. “Where is Merlin?” he demanded. 

Leon and Percival looked up, suddenly turning alert when they saw Arthur. “He left,” Leon said. “Said he heard something and went to go investigate.” 

“And you let him go alone?” 

Leon paled. “With all due respect, sire, I think he can protect himself.” 

Somewhere behind him, Gwaine stifled a laugh. Arthur turned to glare at him, and he immediately sobered. “We should look for him,” Gwaine said. “You never know what kind of trouble he could be getting into.” 

“There,” Arthur said with a smile. “Gwaine gets it.” 

“I should also tell you, erm…” 

“What, Leon?” 

“He was acting kind of strange. As soon as you left—like he was hurt or something.”

Arthur felt a familiar sort of unease spread in his chest. He swallowed. “What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know, Arthur. I don’t pretend to understand what goes on in his head.” 

Arthur scoffed. “Yeah, well, neither do I. You shouldn’t have let him go off on his own if he was hurt, Leon.” He didn’t understand—he had seen him not 20 minutes ago, and he looked happier than he’d seen him in ages. He also couldn’t explain why his men, who he trusted, would let him go off on his own. Unless they really were… afraid of Merlin. The idea seemed absolutely absurd. “We’re going to talk about this later,” Arthur said. “Which way did he go?” 

Percival gestured to the forest behind them. Great. He was going to have to go on foot. Maybe this was reckless of him, he thought for a fleeting moment. But his thoughts were all tangled together, stuck in the haze left behind by his conversation with Gwaine. 

He’ll never love me half as much as he loves you. 

He certainly wasn’t going to wait around and see if Merlin came back on his own. 

“Wait here with the horses,” Arthur grumbled. Before anyone could protest, he marched off, not bothering to look back and see if Gwaine was following him—because he probably was. 

Merlin was nowhere in sight. But he couldn’t have gotten far — it hadn’t been long, had it? As he scanned the perimeter, he tried to push back the flashes of memories that glimmered in his mind’s eye. I do this because you’re my friend. And I don’t want to lose you. Merlin’s hands on his face, on the back of his neck. Merlin by his side, reassuring him, making him smile when he definitely didn’t deserve it. 

I swear I’ll protect you, or die at your side. He was only serving his king. Wasn’t he? Doing what anyone else in his shoes would have done? 

It felt like hours were passing as he pushed through the forest, searching for a glimmer of red or blue or black. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes—but each second stretched against the constrictions of his chest. He’ll never love me half as much as he loves you. Why should he listen to Gwaine, anyway? He was probably drunk. The forest was spinning, now, a cyclone of blue and green. He thought he would really be sick this time. These thoughts — they were too much. The implications were too severe. He needed to stop this before…before…

“Arthur?” 

Arthur blinked, forcing the world back into focus. Merlin was standing in front of him, eyes scrunched in concern. 

“What happened?” 

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but words did not come. He could see the worry growing on Merlin’s face, pooling in the lines around his eyes. He didn’t even know what he was doing, now. He’d lost control of his limbs. 

He reached out and wrapped his arms around Merlin, pulling until he was pressed against his chest. At first, Merlin did not react. Just stood there, rigid with shock. But then he began to return the embrace, long arms wrapping cautiously around Arthur’s lower back,  head falling lightly against Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur could feel Merlin’s heartbeat against his own—quick and erratic, as if he were afraid. But the longer they stayed like this, the slower it became. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Merlin’s chest. And he didn’t want to let go—because then he would have to face the implications of it. 

“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice was barely audible. Just a soft breath against Arthur’s neck. 

“Hmm?” 

Finally, Merlin pulled away. But only enough that they were face-to-face. He didn’t say anything— but his eyes were wide and searching. Like he wanted to say, what the hell is going on? But he couldn’t find the words. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said.

Merlin blinked at him. 

“I just…I was worried about you. The knights, they—I thought something had happened.” 

A smile bloomed across Merlin’s face, roots tugging at the corners of his lips until his entire countenance was a garden. “I’m fine, Arthur,” he whispered. 

“Yes,” Arthur breathed. “I can see that now.” Behind him, Gwaine cleared his throat. The sound jarred Arthur into pulling away completely—he had forgotten Gwaine had been there. When he turned to look at him, he couldn’t read the expression on his face. But it certainly wasn’t angry. 

“I don’t mean to break up this lovely moment,” he said. “But we ought to get back to the others, eh?” 

Arthur took a purposeful step back. “Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He risked a glance over at Merlin, who only looked baffled. 

“You don’t have to worry about me, princess,” Gwaine said with a wink. 

Merlin furrowed his brow at Arthur, another silent what the hell is going on spread over his pale face. 

As they moved to return to the others, Merlin stayed back and waited until Gwaine was a few paces ahead. He grabbed Arthur by the arm. “What did you talk about with Gwaine? You’re both acting weird.” 

“We…we cleared the air.” 

“So you’re not going to arrest him for threatening you?” 

“What? Of course not. I’m glad you think so highly of me, Merlin.” 

Merlin gave him a strange look – but whatever retort he normally would have given flickered and died on his face. 

“It’s alright, Merlin. I was only kidding.” He knew that Merlin did in fact, think highly of him. Perhaps more highly than he deserved. I’m happy to be your servant. Till the day I die. Arthur shuddered at the memory. He had once thought that was simply devotion to his king—but it was something else entirely, wasn’t it? “How about,” Arthur said after a moment, “we put this entire…strange…trip behind us?” 

The corner of Merlin’s mouth twitched up. “Even the part where you hugged me?” he joked. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.” 

Arthur’s heart clenched. No—let’s not forget that part, Merlin. The words died unspoken on his tongue. He opened his mouth to say something else, and then closed it again. 

“You two coming? We’re losing daylight.” Gwaine’s voice startled Arthur’s thoughts away. He allowed his gaze to linger on Merlin a moment longer, watching his smile dip a little, head tilted like a bird. He truly didn’t know how much Arthur adored him. 

“Yes,” Arthur said, voice small. “Coming.” 

*

It was close to sunset when Camelot came into view, a picture both familiar and daunting. They were safer there than they were out here—and yet so much was uncertain. The sorceress’s threat still loomed over them. The people still feared Emrys, which was funny, in a cruel way. Merlin was still getting ill all the time—and he hadn’t even found the time to thoroughly question him about it. And, truthfully, Arthur’s insides roiled when he thought about Merlin for too long, because he was letting him down in a million different ways. 

“Piss break,” Gwaine announced from up ahead. 

Leon scoffed. “We’re almost back in Camelot. Can’t it wait?” 

“Nope. Not when I drank all of this.” Gwaine grinned and held up his waterskin, which was likely not actually filled with water. 

Percival and Leon hopped off their horses, too, and they all drifted in different directions at the edge of the forest. That left Arthur and Merlin alone atop their horses, staring at the outline of Camelot beneath the skyline. Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Merlin,” he said suddenly. 

Merlin pried his gaze from the horizon and looked at him, eyes like a steady sea. 

“Before we get back to Camelot, and you’re just my servant again—“ 

“I’m still your servant now,” Merlin corrected. 

“Alright, well, that’s debatable. Look, I…I just need you to know something.” He paused, gauging Merlin’s reaction. His face was mostly blank, save the vague fear that was beginning to pool in his eyes. 

“What is it, Arthur?” 

“I’m going to make everything right, Merlin. I don’t know how, exactly, but I will.” 

Merlin blinked at him, eyes serious. “I know you will,” he said. “Why’s it so important that you tell me that now?”

Arthur shook his head. “No, that’s not really what I wanted to say. I just want you to know that I…that you mean the world to me, Merlin. More than I ever thought possible.” He paused for a moment, looking away. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “I just don’t want you to ever think otherwise.” 

Arthur wasn’t sure how he thought Merlin would react —or how he wanted him to. He just needed him to know. He watched as Merlin’s face paled, eyes turning to cloudy saucers. He looked at him with such intensity that it made Arthur’s stomach flip. “Arthur, I —“ 

The loud return of the knights cut him off. He looked over at them warily, and then back over at Arthur. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. 

“I just wanted you to know,” Arthur said. 

Merlin looked uneasy, which Arthur couldn’t quite explain; maybe he had wanted to say something the knights couldn’t hear. But a small smile unfurled on his face. “Thank you, Arthur,” he said. 

They didn’t speak for the rest of the way. It wasn’t a tense silence, but it felt somehow like an uncharted one. Like neither of them knew how to behave after that confession. Almost every time Arthur let his eyes wander over to Merlin, he saw a statue, face blank and gaze fixed ahead. But once, he looked over and found that Merlin was already looking back at him. He stared for a moment, some unreadable emotion on his face. Then he flashed Arthur a lopsided grin. Arthur felt himself grinning back. 

When they finally made it through the gates of the castle, Arthur could think of nothing but retiring to his chambers. Tomorrow was a new day; whatever happened now, with the sorceress, with magic…they would face it together. That thought put him in good spirits, however naive it might have been. 

His spirits were so high he almost didn’t notice it: the sudden shift in the air as their party made its way through the courtyard. The solemn faces of the guards as they nodded to him, like they were marching towards a funeral—not simply returning from a hunting trip. He glanced over at Merlin, who, obviously, had noticed the same thing; his face had turned white, his eyes small and dark. 

“Something is wrong,” Merlin breathed. 

Arthur didn’t bother trying to argue with that. They could all sense it—even Gwaine, whose blank expression had been replaced with an anxious one. They exchanged a few glances among each other before dismounting from their horses and approaching the castle door. 

A guard met Arthur there. “My lord,” he said with a bow. 

“Has something happened?” 

Before the guard could respond, Lord Caradoc emerged onto the steps, face solemn. “Sire,” he said. Arthur felt his heart plummet through the caverns of his chest. 

“Is someone going to tell me what’s happened?” Arthur demanded. 

“Shall we talk inside?” Lord Caradoc said. 

Arthur opened his mouth to agree. But in his peripheral vision, he saw two guards pushing a large cart. He tasted bile in the back of his throat. He turned to look at Merlin—he had seen it, too. Before Merlin could do anything stupid, Arthur ran; ignoring Lord Caradoc, nearly sending Leon toppling over as he descended the steps. 

“What is this?” Arthur asked. He took a breath, trying to slow his racing heart. 

“Sire, my apologies; we were told to—“ 

He didn’t wait for a response. He peeled back the blanket that had been strewn across the cart. He didn’t know what he was expecting to see—or…who. But he wasn’t prepared for this.  He felt his knees threaten to buckle; he tried to choke back a gag. 

“Arthur?” 

Merlin. He couldn’t let Merlin see. He could hear him approaching, so he rushed back to meet him, grabbing him roughly by the biceps.

“Arthur?” He asked, voice shaking. “Who is that?” 

“Go inside, Merlin.” Arthur tried to keep his voice steady—he needed to behave like a king. But the look on Merlin’s face was threatening to undo him. 

“Arthur.” Merlin’s voice was firmer now, yet still thick with impending tears. “Let me go.” 

When Arthur did not comply, Merlin thrashed violently from his grip, a torrent of brute force and magic, sending Arthur stumbling back. The air smelled like lightning, or the ground after a fire. It was magic, he realized. He would never be able to stop Merlin. Not if he didn’t want to be stopped. 

Arthur watched the moment that Merlin saw him. 

Gaius. 

The person lying dead in the cart. He watched, as much as he wanted desperately to look away, as Merlin’s breath was knocked out of him, as the life was siphoned from his features by some invisible force. And he made it there just as Merlin’s knees gave out, and he caught him in his arms as he sank to the ground, a trembling shell of a man. “No,” Merlin breathed. “No. It wasn’t supposed to be…” he looked at Arthur, pupils blown and empty, tears coating his cheeks. “It wasn’t supposed to be Gaius,” he sobbed. 

There were people watching. Arthur knew there were; the altercation must have drawn some kind of crowd. So it was probably immeasurably improper when he reached out and grabbed Merlin by the head, guiding it so his face was against his chest. He held him as sobs wracked his body like convulsions, limbs tensing and contracting in painful bursts. A moment ago, he was a sorcerer. Now he was just a man. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be him, Arthur,” Merlin choked. 

“I know,” Arthur whispered. “I know. I’m sorry, Merlin.” Arthur was crying, too. They must have been quite the spectacle. People would talk about this—the king and his servant. But what did it matter? What did anything matter? 

The words played over and over in his head like a curse, as if they were stuck there by some kind of enchantment. Why hadn’t they seen this coming? Someone Merlin cared about. Arthur should have done something to prevent this. Merlin’s broken voice stuck in his brain, entered his bloodstream, reached inside his lungs like dark tendrils. 

It wasn’t supposed to be him, Arthur.

It wasn’t supposed to be him. 

Chapter Text

Arthur could still feel the ache like it had been yesterday. Many say that grief does not ever get smaller; it only moves, rearranges itself, folds neatly into a corner somewhere, making space for your lungs so you can breathe again. It’s always there, and when you touch it, it hurts just as much. Like a wound closed over and reopened. So, before, all Arthur really had to do was keep it tucked away—keep Guinevere in a chest somewhere in his heart. If he never opened it, he never had to feel it. But that was foolish of him, to think that it could stay closed forever. 

Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could see her; he could feel her beside him, just soft skin and the scent of freshly cut flowers. If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear her voice, washing over him like warm honey, and her laugh, gentle but commanding. He could hear her soft admonishments, telling him he was being foolish, telling him to be nice. She was a part of him, even now. He loved her more than he knew how to describe; and yet, that was just it. 

Of his heart, of his love — she was only one part. 

Maybe, he realized, that’s why he was so angry when he had to face her death alone. Merlin wasn’t there; he didn’t save her. That pain stayed with him, too, almost as strong as the pain of losing her. 

Most of that day had been a blur — or, at least, he tried not to remember it. But he remembered the moment that Merlin had burst through the door to his chambers, eyes red and face drawn. He remembered the expression on Merlin’s face when realization dawned, and how, inexplicably, he looked just the way Arthur felt: shattered, like his heart had exploded into a billion irretrievable pieces. Whether it was for Gwen or for Arthur, he couldn’t be sure. 

“You’re too late, Merlin,” Arthur had said. The way his voice came out—wrung of the smallest hint of feeling — startled even himself. 

“No,” Merlin said under his breath. “No, I…she can’t be…” 

“She’s dead, Merlin,” Arthur said. “You’re too late.” Eventually, Arthur would come to his senses and realize that it wasn’t Merlin’s fault. There had been some kind of skirmish in the woods; Merlin had been knocked unconscious. Arthur had tried to find a way to explain why, when his wife was on her deathbed, he was instead with his servant in the infirmary, trying desperately to wake him up. He was his only hope, as he had often been since the day Arthur met him. The only one who could save her. 

Arthur watched the realization dawn on Merlin’s face. He watched as the wind was taken out of him, as he reached out to steady himself on the door frame. “No…we… I thought we had time. It was supposed to be weeks before —”

“It’s been weeks, Merlin,” Arthur said. “You’ve been out for weeks. The illness progressed. She’s gone.” On that last word, his voice broke. He hadn’t shed a single tear yet — but he was breaking. It was something about the look on Merlin’s face. 

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed. “I —”

“Get out, Merlin.” 

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Merlin was crying now. “I’m so —”

“Get OUT!” 

Arthur didn’t think he’d had it in him; maybe it was all he had left. His voice rang with such strength that the entire room shook, the bedposts and the floorboards trembling under the intensity of his grief. He knew Merlin was grieving now, too. But he was also an idiot. All the power in the world, and he’s rendered useless by some creature in the forest? All the power in the world, and he couldn’t save her. He watched as Merlin became a ghost, slipping silently through the door. 

After that, their relationship survived because it had to. Because, truly, Merlin was his only friend in the world. He wanted to hate him—he wanted so badly to hate him. But he didn’t. He couldn’t if he tried. 

For weeks — months, even — Merlin was the only one allowed to enter his chambers. Messages for the king were to be delivered through his servant; and if that was seen as strange, Arthur certainly didn’t care. Lord Caradoc acted as a sort of regent, in lieu of any actual heir. And Merlin, once again,  carried the weight of Arthur’s burden.

“Dinner, my lord,” Merlin had said one morning—same as every day. Merlin would bring Arthur his food, set it on the table, and try to coax him out of his spot by the window. He felt like a coward. He felt… like his father. And yet he could not find the strength to overcome it. 

“Just leave it,” Arthur whispered. 

Merlin was silent for a moment. Even in the silence, Arthur could hear his apprehension; he could hear it in the sound the floorboards made when he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He could imagine the look on his face; it was probably the same one he’d seen dozens of times. “You need to eat, Arthur,” Merlin said. 

“Not hungry.” 

“How about I sit with you?” Merlin offered. “Gwaine told us a funny story yesterday. I could—“ 

“No,” Arthur said, cutting him off. “Just leave the food and get out, Merlin.” 

There was another stretch of silence, so long this time that Arthur wondered if Merlin really had left. He turned around in his chair and found Merlin seated at the table, watching him. “What part of get out wasn’t clear?” Arthur growled. 

“It was clear,” Merlin said softly. “I’m just not going to do it.” 

Arthur didn’t have the strength to fight him on it. “Fine,” he said, sinking back into his chair. “Just…don’t talk.” 

For a while, he didn’t. Merlin would sit with him every day, sometimes quiet, sometimes doing chores that, before, when he was in his right mind, Arthur felt he shouldn’t have been doing. He was a warlock, after all. He was Emrys. And here he was, scrubbing Arthur’s floors and cajoling him into eating his dinner. Maybe he liked being his servant. Or maybe he just didn’t know how to be anything else. 

Eventually, and without him even realizing it, Arthur’s walls began to thaw. He would talk to Merlin — even joke with him, sometimes. When he looked at him, at his infuriating face and his impossibly blue eyes, his chest burned and melted the ice. It was a dangerous thing, to allow himself to feel that. But it was safer than the grief. 

On the night when things changed, Arthur had been drinking. Merlin rarely let him get his hands on wine — but that night, he’d let it slip. Maybe, if he’d been in his right mind, Arthur would have noticed the strange pallor to Merlin’s face, or the way he moved like he was in pain. But he didn't notice much of anything, those days.  

“You’re quiet tonight, Merlin,” Arthur had said. He gripped his glass with one hand, languidly flicking his wrist and swirling the liquid inside. “Have you finally given up on pretending to be interesting?” 

Merlin sneered at him. “Funny.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Arthur watched as Merlin carded through his wardrobe, hands trailing carefully over each garment, moving between the wardrobe and a basket of freshly laundered clothes. He was an ordinary fixture in a king’s chambers: a servant working silently, dissolving into the periphery like a wall ornament. Something about that made Arthur so irrepressibly angry. “Why are you even here, Merlin?” He asked, when he couldn’t take the silence any longer. 

Merlin turned to look at him. “Someone needs to do the tidying up around here,” he said simply. 

Arthur groaned. “Yes, but—why are you here? In Camelot? When you could be anywhere or…or do anything? Have anything you want?” Arthur’s heart was racing; he could feel the wine in his limbs, making him too warm and stuffing up his brain. “You could have entire armies at your command, Merlin. You could overthrow any king. You could overthrow me.” 

Arthur was shaking now, and even in his inebriated state, he could see how Merlin’s entire stance changed; his eyes turned to slits, his face the color of ash. “I know you’re drunk,” he said, voice low. “So I’m just going to ignore all that.” 

“Won’t you just answer the damned question?” 

“No, Arthur,” Merlin hissed. “Because you know the answer. We’ve been over this a hundred times. This is where I belong. I don’t want to be anywhere else. Can I go back to what I was doing?”

“Well, maybe you’re just a coward,” Arthur said. 

Merlin let out a strangled laugh. “A coward? I’m a coward? You’re knowingly deceiving your people every single day. Harboring a sorcerer— keeping one as your own personal manservant. But sure, Arthur, I’m the coward.” 

Arthur swallowed. His vision was growing fuzzy; he tasted bile in the back of his throat. “I’m doing what’s best for my people,” he croaked. 

“If you really believe that,” Merlin said coldly, “maybe I was wrong about you after all.” 

Those words sliced deep into Arthur’s flesh, twisting and burrowing beneath his skin. He felt breathless. Who knew Merlin had such power to hurt him? Without magic, without even lifting a hand. He jumped to his feet, the sudden movement making the room tilt. “What do you know about running a kingdom, Merlin? He shouted. “I don’t care how powerful you are. You’re a servant. You were born a peasant. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” The words tasted rancid on his tongue. He had to choke back a gag. 

Merlin could not hide the hurt on his face—but the anger twisted it, making it look like something else entirely. “You’re right, Arthur,” he said, voice low. “I’m just a servant. But I could kill you where you stand.” 

“I’d like to see you try,” Arthur growled. 

Merlin choked out a venomous laugh. “You have no sword. You’d be dead by the time you turned to grab it.” 

Somewhere in his foggy brain, Arthur knew that Merlin was right. It was foolish to challenge a warlock—but he was not one to back down from a fight. He stepped closer to Merlin, until they stood only inches apart. “Maybe we should find out,” he growled. 

Merlin didn’t move. “Gwen would be ashamed to see you like this,” he whispered. 

At the mention of Guinevere, he lost control. Hot rage coursed through his veins until he couldn’t see, until white spots bled through the edges of his vision. He didn’t even know what his hands were doing, now. He pinned Merlin to the wall, right hand gripping his neck until his feet dangled helplessly and his face turned bone white. 

“Ar-thur,” he gasped. His eyes were wide and desperate, like a wounded deer’s. “Stop. I can’t…can’t breathe.” Arthur still did not let go. A shade of blue creeped through Merlin’s skin. “Please,” he choked.

Finally, Arthur’s senses came back to him. He took in the scene like he had just arrived to it, watching as Merlin struggled to remain conscious. He released his grip in horror. Merlin hadn’t fought back, he realized with a jolt. He was going to let Arthur kill him. Arthur watched as Merlin crumbled to his knees, clutching at his throat and inhaling long, heaving breaths.  “Merlin,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry, I —” He reached out to comfort him, somehow, but Merlin caught his wrist. 

“Don’t touch me,” Merlin said, voice hoarse. 

Arthur stumbled back and watched him rise shakily to his feet, rubbing helplessly at his throat as he made for the door. “You can do your own laundry,” he mumbled. And then he was gone. 

Later that night, Arthur had left his chambers for the first time in months. Grief was overshadowed by guilt, and guilt was overshadowed by the need to make sure Merlin was okay. 

He found him in an empty corridor, sitting slumped in the eave of a window. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Have you been here all night?” 

Merlin’s gaze carved a languid trail away from the window, landing begrudgingly on Arthur. “Yes,” he said, feelingless.

Arthur sat beside him. “Look, I, erm…I owe you an apology.” 

“That’s an understatement,” Merlin deadpanned. Arthur winced. 

“I don’t know what came over me,” he said. He stared at his hands in his lap. “Ever since she died, I…” his breath caught in his throat. “I think I’ve gone mad.” 

Merlin sighed. “You haven’t. You’re grieving.” 

Arthur turned to look at him, only now noticing the faint splotches of purple blooming on his neck. His stomach turned. “That doesn’t justify what I did,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Merlin.”

Merlin was silent for a moment. “It’s fine, Arthur. I shouldn’t have let you have so much wine.” 

“No. It’s not…it’s not fine. Why didn’t you defend yourself? You would have just…let me kill you?” 

“Yes,” Merlin said, face blank.  “I suppose I would have.” 

Something about that thought made Arthur’s skin crawl. He stood up, suddenly feeling like the breath had been stolen from his lungs. How had he let this happen? He’d let himself slip back into old habits — into thinking Merlin was just his servant. After everything that had happened — everything that he’d done. He buried his face in his hands, choking on a sob. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” 

Merlin’s hand was on his shoulder in an instant. “Hey, Arthur. It’s alright.” 

Arthur let his hands fall from his face. He drew in a long, steadying breath. “Things are going to be different now. It’s gone on long enough. This kingdom needs a leader.”

Merlin’s lips twitched up in a smile. “You won’t be alone,” he promised. His eyes burned with a searing intensity, blue like the tip of a roaring flame. Arthur’s chest ached. 

Arthur looked at him; he allowed himself to be pulled into Merlin’s gaze. It was dangerous. If he looked too long, he might get stuck there forever.

Finally, his lips moved to speak. “I know,” he whispered. 

*

Eventually, the cries stopped. 

Merlin’s face was white and brittle, pupils shriveled beyond recognition, his limbs slack and heavy like wet mud. Arthur held him even when he went still—he was too shell-shocked to move. Gaius’s body was only a few feet away, lying in a cart the servants used for hauling bags of wheat. Whatever had happened—it wouldn’t have been this way if they had been there. 

A hand on Arthur’s shoulder startled him out of his stupor. He looked up to see Leon standing over him, looking genuinely sympathetic—which was more than he could say for some of the other knights who had been milling around. Arthur cleared his throat. “Leon, I believe I can trust you to handle this?” 

Leon nodded, giving Arthur’s shoulder a squeeze before letting his hand fall away. They both knew the unspoken part of that request: that Leon be in charge so Arthur could deal with Merlin. 

Arthur inhaled a long, shaky breath. He needed to steel his emotions. “Come on, Merlin,” he mumbled. “Let’s get you inside.” He half expected Merlin to protest, but found that he was not putting up a fight; he simply allowed Arthur to guide him to his feet. They made their way into the castle, up the stairs and through the corridors, Merlin walking silently beside Arthur like a dog waiting for cues from its master. Then he stopped in his tracks. 

“Arthur,” he breathed. She could still be in the castle.” 

Arthur blinked at him. He was still reeling from the abrupt way Merlin came back to himself, features unfolding like petals on a flower. “Who?” 

Merlin made a sound in the back of his throat, bringing trembling hands to cover his face. “I’m such an idiot. I thought…” 

“Merlin,” Arthur snapped. “What are you talking about?” 

“The sorceress.” The words fell like stones off Merlin’s tongue, and when he let his hands fall from his face, Arthur didn’t recognize the eyes staring back at him. They were so very not-Merlin, so full of darkness and hatred, that he took an instinctive step back. “She killed him. Gaius. And she’s still out there, Arthur. We have to find her.” 

Arthur tried to swallow down his unease. “Merlin,” he said. “Maybe we should take a moment. You’re still in shock. We don’t even know if —”

“I know, Arthur. I know that Gaius is dead and I wasn’t here to save him. You want me to sit around and polish your swords while she’s still out there? No. Sorry. Not listening this time, Arthur.” 

This time?  When had Merlin ever listened? “We should think this through. You’re not in your right mind. You’re—“ 

“Oh, because you’ve been known to think things through? Not jump straight into action with your head in your arse?” 

“Merlin.” Arthur had meant it as a warning: stand down. I’m your king. But if he was honest with himself, he was afraid of Merlin — of what he would do. So it came out more like a plea instead. 

“Are you going to help me or not?” 

There was no use in trying to stop him. All he could do was watch him — try to keep him from doing something stupid. “Alright. Where could she have gone?” 

“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.” 

*

The physician’s chambers was the last place Gaius had been seen alive. A maid had found him unresponsive on the floor, he’d been told; there was no telling how long it had been. If only Arthur had been there. If only Merlin had been there…Arthur shuddered. This was all his fault. He looked over at Merlin, at his glassy eyes and ghostly skin, and his heart clenched. They should have been there. 

Merlin was quiet as he moved through the room, searching for—evidence? Signs of a struggle? No one had told Arthur how Gaius had died; he was meant to believe it was of natural causes. If it had looked like foul play, someone would have said something. 

When Merlin came to the table, he stopped, reaching a shaking hand to pick up the object that had caught his eye. It was a mortar, still full of half-ground herbs. His face paled. 

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered. 

Moments passed, and Merlin still did not put the mortar down. His face twisted and contorted, sorrow pulsing through the lines in his skin. He drew in a sharp breath and then made a sound like it was caught in his throat. 

“Merlin,” Arthur repeated. He reached out and closed his hand around Merlin’s, where his fingers were turning white from gripping the stone. That must have startled him out of his pain—because he turned to look at Arthur. “Maybe this is a bad idea,” Arthur said softly. 

For a moment, Merlin just gaped at him. His eyes trailed back to where Arthur held his hand, fingers covering fingers. Then he huffed out a sigh and shook his head. “No. She’s still out there, Arthur.” He snatched his hand away, setting the mortar down.

“And how do we propose we find her? She may have fled Camelot.” 

“I’ll find her. I…I have to.” 

“And then?” 

Merlin looked at him. His whole body seemed on the verge of collapsing inwards, flesh and bones and organs dissolving to ash. He brought a trembling hand to his forehead, wiping away beads of sweat that had collected there. “Does it matter?” He whispered. 

Arthur drew in a breath, then let it out in a slow stream. “She’ll face a trial,” he said. “She’ll be tried for…for sorcery.” On that last word, his voice cracked. Merlin flinched. 

“No,” Merlin said, voice low. “For killing Gaius.” 

“Merlin, I —”

Arthur was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. Gwaine stepped through, face sullen. He looked between Arthur and Merlin, evidently sensing the tension, before he spoke. “There’s something you should see,” he said. 

*

The guards at the entrance to the dungeons were on the ground, slumped over one another in a heap of chainmail and limbs. When they arrived at the scene, Merlin surged ahead to squat beside them. He pressed his fingers to one of their necks. 

“Dead,” he whispered. 

“How long?” Arthur asked, as if that really mattered. His stomach twisted. 

“Hours, at least,” Merlin mumbled. “It was magic.”

“Whose idea was it to put a sorcerer down here, anyway?” Gwaine asked. 

Merlin scrubbed a hand over his face. “I enchanted her cell,” he said. “She shouldn’t have been able to get through it.” 

Arthur made a mental note to chastise him for doing that without discussing it. 

“So she’s powerful,” Gwaine said. “More powerful than you?” 

Merlin’s eyes wandered towards Arthur’s. They both knew that wasn’t possible—and yet his gaze still carried some kind of shame. “No,” Merlin said, after a while. “But she’s more powerful than I thought.” 

“Gwaine,” Arthur said. “Does anyone else know about this?” 

“No. I came straight to you. In case there was…magic involved.” 

“We need to sound the warning bells.” 

Gwaine nodded, casting a sidelong glance at Merlin before bowing his head in acknowledgment. “Keep me updated?” He asked. Arthur nodded, watching as Gwaine hurried away. 

Merlin was still on the floor. He’d moved from the heap of bodies, so now he sat with his back pressed against the wall. It was odd, Arthur thought—and more than a little concerning—that he was pausing now. When, moments ago, he had a look in his eyes like he was ready to kill. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “I trust you’re not keeping anything from me."

Merlin shook his head. He looked exhausted; his eyes drooped like half moons, dark rings carved into his too-pale skin. “I’m an idiot,” he whispered. 

Arthur sighed. He sat beside Merlin, sliding until their shoulders touched. “Well, I won’t disagree with that,” he said. “But this is not your fault.” If anything, it was Arthur’s. That thought made his stomach turn—he was the one who had suggested leaving, wasn’t he?

Merlin turned his head so they were face-to-face. “All I was worried about was…protecting you. Nothing else mattered. It never even occurred to me that…”

“That I wasn’t the one who needed protecting,” Arthur said softly. 

Merlin made a sound in the back of his throat. He buried his face in his hands, his back arching, fine tremors rippling over his frame. Arthur fought the urge to place a hand there, to trail a finger down his protruding spine. “Doesn’t feel real,” Merlin murmured. Arthur noticed the thick, sloppiness to his voice, almost making him sound drunk. Sweat had begun soaking through the back of his tunic. 

Arthur grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him gently upright. “Are you ill again?” 

Merlin’s glassy eyes met his. He couldn’t tell if what he saw there was fever or grief. Merlin shook his head, at first; then he looked away and seemed to think about the question. He wiped at his face—tears had gathered beneath his eyes. “Maybe,” he whispered. “Don’t worry about it, though. We still need to…to find her.” 

“Merlin, we’ve been over this,” Arthur said. “You can’t tell me what to do.” He reached out a tentative hand and placed it palm-first on Merlin’s cheek. It was hot—but not as bad as some of his previous fevers. Merlin’s eyes shot back to up to meet Arthur’s, startled by the touch. But Arthur did not pull away. There was something about this—the intimacy of it — that felt… different. Arthur could feel something pulsing through him, exploding beneath his skin. He knew how strange it was; how improper and indecent. But he kept his hand there. The space between them had grown smaller, until their foreheads hovered together and their noses threatened to brush. Arthur thought about reaching out and pressing a thumb to Merlin’s bottom lip. Tracing his finger along it. Pulling until it was red and swollen. 

But then Merlin pulled away. He moved until they were just shoulder-to-shoulder again, drawing his knees against his chest. “It’s funny,” he whispered. 

Arthur cleared his throat. Tried to bleach whatever those thoughts had been from his brain. “What’s funny?” 

“There was a time when all I wanted was for you to know the truth about me. About everything I’d done. I thought we’d…fight side by side. Bring about a time of peace, a time of magic.” He choked out a laugh. “But nothing is ever that simple, is it?” 

Arthur was quiet for a moment. His pride wanted him to say something defensive, explain why none of this was his fault. Explain why that dream could never be realized. But he couldn’t. Fighting side by side with Merlin—he could see it so clearly in his mind, an image on the tip of his tongue, a truth that had already been written. Maybe he longed for it just as much as Merlin did, even if all this time he didn’t know it. “Perhaps not,” Arthur said. “But who says we can’t still do it?”  

Merlin turned to look at him. A strange expression passed over his face—a mixture of surprise and sadness and…shame. “Arthur,” he said. “There’s something…” he swallowed hard. “I need to tell you something.” 

Arthur waited for him to continue. He didn't—and Arthur’s insides ached at the thought of yet another thing Merlin had been keeping from him. “What is it?” 

“I, erm…” his gaze flitted away, and his fingers worried the hem of his tunic. His other hand hovered over his lower abdomen, fingers twitching like there was something there he was afraid to touch. If Arthur didn’t know any better, he’d say he was injured. But surely even Merlin couldn’t hide an injury that well? 

“Out with it, Merlin.” 

“I—”

Before Merlin could say anything more, the sound of someone approaching stole his attention. Leon soon came into view, and Arthur watched as Merlin’s entire affect shifted; the vulnerable parts of him shrunk away, folding neatly inside, until his body was made of stone. There was no getting anything out of him now. 

“Sire,” Leon said. “We have reason to believe the sorceress has left Camelot.” 

“What did you find?” 

“We’ve searched everywhere.  She’s not here— and a horse was stolen from the stables.” 

Before Arthur had a chance to respond, Merlin was on his feet. “I’m going after her,” he said. Darkness had passed over his face again; when he looked at Arthur, the iciness in his eyes was a razor sharp stab in the chest. 

Arthur clamored to stand. “No, no. You’re not, Merlin.” 

“Arthur, I — I have to! She killed Gaius. She killed him in cold blood. You’re just going to do nothing?” 

“She’s gone. Outside of Camelot, she’s…there’s no point. You know that.” Arthur winced at the half-lie—he would send out a search party, even if they had almost no chance at finding her. He just couldn’t bear to think what would happen if he let Merlin be involved in that. 

“I don’t care. I’m not going to just let this go.” Merlin’s voice broke. He reached up a frantic hand to stop the tears that had begun trickling down his cheeks. “I can’t just let it go,” he croaked. 

“Merlin.” Arthur grabbed him by the wrist. “I know it hurts. It feels like you can’t breathe, like your whole body is failing, like…like it’s never going to stop. But hurting someone else is not going to make it better. Trust me—I know.” 

A sob escaped from Merlin’s trembling lips. His knees gave out, and he let Arthur grab him, keeping him from crashing painfully to the ground. He pulled himself together more quickly this time—or at least tried to. He rolled back into a sitting position and buried his face in his hands. “I need to lie down,” he whispered. 

“I’ll take you to your bed,” Arthur said, and he hauled Merlin back to his feet. 

At this point, Leon shouldn’t have been surprised by Arthur’s strange relationship with Merlin. But he still watched them in bewilderment. “Shall I call off the search?”  

“Yes. Thank you, Leon.” He would find him and explain later. After Merlin was safe. 

It was easier if he didn’t think about it, Arthur realized. As he half-supported Merlin’s weight, as he dragged him through corridors and up flights of stairs, feeling the heat seeping through the fabric of his too-thin clothes; it was easier if he denied it. How bizarre it was for a king to spend so much of his valuable time doting on servant. To put his servant before almost anything else. But over the past year, Merlin had occupied his heart; he’d taken root there, a mess of tangled vines and flowers, filling every crack. There was nothing he could do to stop it. 

When they arrived back at the physician’s chambers, Merlin’s whole body tensed. But he allowed Arthur to guide him to his room, to lay him down in his bed. He was shivering, and he reached shaking hands to pull a thin, tattered blanket over his shoulders. Arthur watched him for a moment; felt a longing that carved itself a space in his chest. Then he turned to leave. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said. Arthur turned back. 

“Hmm?” 

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

Arthur didn’t respond. He didn’t deserve thanks — did he? After forcing Merlin to hide himself for so long? Making him live under the shadow of a servant, scrubbing the king’s boots? The person to whom he owed his life; the person who owned his heart. 

Merlin deserved more. 

And Arthur was going to give it to him—or die trying. 

Chapter Text

3 months later   

It had been so long since Arthur spoke to Merlin—really spoke to him, anyway—he had lost track of the days. And yet, somehow, it was all he could think about. Merlin’s cheery morning greetings, his thinly veiled insults, his encouraging words and smiles and magic billowing like mist beneath Arthur’s feet, keeping him upright. He had managed to fulfill his duties without ever really being there, which felt like a punishment. Arthur knew he was hurting. But he still missed him—even if he would never admit it out loud.  

When had he become so pathetic? 

“My lord. Forgive me. May we say what is on all of our minds?” 

Lord Caradoc’s voice brought Arthur back to the present. It came, as it always did during these meetings, screeching into the conversation, grating against the chaos in Arthur’s brain. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Caradoc. What is it?” 

“It has been three months. Surely it’s time to find a new physician? In fact, I think it’s almost irresponsible to —”

“We have a physician,” Arthur snapped. 

Caradoc’s brows furrowed deeply, forming a wrinkled and angry V. “Do you mean your…your servant?” 

“He was Gaius’s apprentice for over a decade, Caradoc. He’s more than qualified.” 

“Yes, but he’s…” 

“He’s what? Just a servant? Don’t forget that your queen was once a servant.” 

Caradoc lowered his eyes. But shame clearly did not come naturally to him; after a moment, he resumed his glowering. “That’s different.” 

Arthur pursed his lips. “It’s not. I am the king, and I deem him perfectly capable of filling Gaius’s role. Shall we move on?” 

“Well,” Caradoc scoffed, “surely you don’t mean you’re going to make it official?” 

Official. Over the last few months, Arthur had done nothing but agonize over that idea. The fact that the title, if nothing else, was something Arthur could give him. The notion that maybe, if they were strategic, if the council grew to respect Merlin, they would accept his magic, too. And then there was the realization that settled cold in his chest: Merlin would probably want nothing to do with it. 

“Why not?” Gwaine chimed in. He was usually half asleep during these meetings, yet he was somehow always alert enough to defend Merlin. “He’s practically doing the job already.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur snapped. “The point is, for now, we’re not going to waste time and resources bringing in a new physician. Is that understood?” 

Caradoc grumbled something inaudible under his breath—but he sat back in his chair, an indication that he was temporarily done being difficult. 

“Sire. I have another concern to raise, if I may?” The voice came from Gareth, one of the few older knights left over from Uther’s rule. 

Arthur bit his lip, trying not to convey too plainly that, whatever issue he meant, Arthur would likely immediately disregard it. “Yes, what is it?” 

“I can’t be the only one concerned about this…this Emrys? Why are we failing to question the manner in which Gaius died? I’d wager he had something to do with it. Didn’t you say we would call in a witch hunter?” 

Arthur’s heart dropped into his stomach. Why couldn’t it ever be something simple, like...war strategy. Or grain rations. Or literally anything else. “Gaius’s cause of death was a natural one. That woman was a  lunatic, and I’m not going to call in a witch hunter based on her ravings. Are we clear?” 

Gareth looked unimpressed, but he stood down. Arthur met eyes with Leon. His mouth pressed into a sympathetic half-smile. 

“I think that about covers it for the day,” Arthur said. 

He desperately needed to blow off some steam. 

*

The younger knights were no match for Arthur, on or off the practice field; but today he was distracted. 

He took blow after blow, his head swimming with Emrys and magic and servants moving above their station. Whatever he did for Merlin’s sake — and he had to do something—the courts were not going to accept it. The people were not going to accept it. 

Making Merlin court physician was only the first step. If he was part of the council, if they grew to respect him, he could help them see that magic is not evil. Then Arthur could broach the subject of lifting the ban. Only, it wasn’t that simple. 

What if legalizing magic only put Merlin’s life in danger? 

But, then again, the consequences of Merlin’s…deal still loomed over them. That was the reason the sorceress had come in the first place—the reason, probably, that their lives had been thrown into chaos. If Arthur didn’t do something soon, there was no telling what could happen. 

There was one thing Arthur did know for sure: Merlin was still hiding something from him. And maybe legalizing magic was the only way Arthur could earn his complete, unwavering trust. 

It was that thought swirling through his mind when a blow came to his right shoulder, and he was too preoccupied to block it. The force sent him stumbling back onto the grass. White-hot pain erupted, so all-consuming that his vision blurred, and the voices around him merged into one unintelligible hum.

He wasn’t even aware of time passing — but it must have. He thought he felt hands on him, but they were too fearful, too cautious. They did nothing to ease the pain. He felt his lungs constrict. Surely someone would have come for him by now? 

After what could have been an eternity, there was a different set of hands on him. They were firm, confident. Someone who wasn’t afraid to touch the king, to press gentle fingers to the nape of his neck like they belonged there. 

“…thur. Arthur. Hey, look at me.” 

The world snapped back into focus. When he opened his eyes, Merlin’s face was the first thing he saw. His brow was furrowed, his eyes worried and pale under the sunlight. His hand was on Arthur’s neck, thumb resting lightly on his jawline, sweeping nervously against his skin. “Merlin,” Arthur choked out. His voice sounded wrong, like it wasn’t coming from his own mouth. “What happened?” 

“Training accident,” Merlin said. “I need you to stay still.” 

“Still? What do you mean st—”

“This is going to hurt,” Merlin said, and in the same instant, he pushed against Arthur’s shoulder so forcefully that he thought he would pass out again. But the pain soon began to clear, and Merlin’s face was still in front of him. His lip quirked up in a smile. “Sorry,” he said. “All better now.” 

Arthur tried to sit up. The pain had become a bearable ache. “Thank you,” he breathed. It took a while for his brain to really catch up with his body; but then it all came rushing back. “Hey, Merlin, are you…it feels like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

Merlin’s smile fell. “Been busy,”  he said, looking down. 

“Right. I need to talk to you about that, actually.” 

Merlin sniffed. “You should take it easy. Don’t put any weight on that shoulder or —”

“Merlin.” 

Merlin looked down, starting to fiddle with the fraying edge of his tunic. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“I’m the king, Merlin. I believe I’m the one who decides that.” Arthur moved to stand up, trying not to agitate his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s take a walk.” 

Merlin trailed reluctantly alongside Arthur. They wandered around the edge of the castle, a familiar fixture: the king and his servant. Some part of Arthur wished that never had to change—that things could go back to they had once been. But it had to be this way.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, after they’d walked in silence for a while. “I know you’re going to say I shouldn’t be doing Gaius’s work. But I just…I’m the only person who knows his routes, and which herbs go in which poultices, and I don’t know if—”

“Merlin.” 

Merlin stopped walking. “What?” 

“That’s not what I was going to say.” 

Merlin furrowed his brow. “Oh. What, then?” 

“I want to make it official,” Arthur said. He waited to gauge Merlin’s reaction—shock? Delight? Horror? There was honestly no telling what it would be. But his face only remained blank, eyes unmoving. 

“Official? As in…you want me to be on the court?”

Arthur smiled. “Yes.” 

“They’ll never go for it.” 

“I’m…going to work on that,” Arthur said. “And besides, they can’t actually stop me.”

One side of Merlin’s lips drifted upwards. But then the sadness on his face eclipsed it, a night sky edging out the moon. He swallowed hard. “If it’s what you want,” he whispered. “Then alright.” 

Arthur used his good arm to give a Merlin a pat on the shoulder. “Honestly, I  thought that was going to be a lot harder.” 

Merlin forced a smile. “Shouldn’t have doubted me like that.” 

They looked up at the same time, and their eyes caught each other, blue seeking out blue. “I’m learning not to,” Arthur said.

They kept walking. They wandered through the castle on reflex, eventually ending up in the direction of Arthur’s chambers. 

“I will admit,” Arthur said. “I’m going to miss having a sorcerer for a servant. George is rubbish at making a fire.” Merlin stopped. They were outside the door now, and Arthur’s hand lingered on it, taken aback by the look on Merlin’s face. “What?” 

“I won’t stop being your servant,” Merlin said.

Arthur scoffed. “Merlin, you can’t do both jobs. Imagine what the council will say to —”

“I already am. And it seems to be working just fine.” 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Yes, well, that’s because you do your chores entirely using magic. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that, by the way. What does it matter, anyway? I’ll be fine.” 

Merlin made a face that Arthur could only describe as a pout. “You will not be fine. George can’t enchant your armor to keep you safe, and he doesn’t know where to keep your socks so the moths don’t get them—”

“The moths? Merlin.” Arthur laughed—a real laugh from somewhere in his chest, the warmth blooming there and spreading to his face. He reached out and grabbed Merlin by the shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”

Merlin eyed him skeptically. “What happened to the Arthur who couldn’t even get dressed without intervention?” 

“Well, he…” Arthur looked down, considering that question. He stroked his thumb gently across Merlin’s bicep. “I suppose he learned a lesson or two from the servant who sacrificed everything for him.” 

Merlin’s face lit up, as if now matter how many times Arthur said things like that, he’d never get used to it. But it did not take long for the light to flicker. 

Arthur let his arms fall to his sides. “What is it?” 

Merlin shook his head. “It’s nothing.” He looked over Arthur’s shoulder, at the door to the royal chambers. “I do need to remove the enchantments. Before George starts thinking your room is haunted.” 

Arthur chuckled, leaning back to push open the door and wincing a little at the impact on his shoulder. “He would think that, wouldn’t he?” 

Merlin made his way over to the wardrobe, un unreadable expression on his face as he opened the doors. He mumbled a spell under his breath. 

“Do I want to know what that one was?” 

Merlin let out a soft laugh—but he sounded distracted. Arthur noticed for the first time that he had one arm wrapped around his abdomen, as if he were in pain. 

 “Merlin.” 

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything will be as good as new.” He made his way over to the bed, arm still cradling his abdomen, and kneeled beside it. His eyes flashed gold as he whispered another spell. What enchantment had he used on Arthur’s bed? 

“Merlin. Perhaps you should leave the rest. I’d like you to sit with me for a moment.” 

Merlin’s eyes trailed slowly over to Arthur. For the first time since he’d seen him that day, Arthur noticed how tired he looked, how sallow and sunken-in. Reluctantly, Merlin rose to his feet and took a seat at Arthur’s dining table. Arthur sat across from him. 

“There’s something I’ve been…thinking about,” Arthur started. “It’s about lifting the magic ban.” 

Merlin’s eyes widened, like those words had shaken him out of some kind of stupor. “Arthur—”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Arthur continued. “That’s why I need you on the court. I need someone to help win over some of the older lords. And then there’s the matter of the people. I honestly don’t know how they’re going to react.” 

Merlin gaped at him; then his eyes flitted away. “You’re right,” he whispered. “It was never going to be easy.” 

“But you’ll help me?” 

“Of course I will, Arthur. Of course, I…” he paused, letting out a shaky breath. He began coughing into the crook of his elbow, softly at first. Then the coughs became deep and violent, wracking his thin frame like a gale force wind. 

Arthur’s heart froze in his chest. “Merlin? Are you alright?” 

After a few more wheezing breaths, Merlin nodded. “Sorry,” he whispered. He tried to force a smile. “I’ll, erm…I’ll do whatever it takes. You know that.”

Arthur studied Merlin. He looked as though he was trying to be happy. His eyes glimmered like jewels beneath a pallor of sadness and exhaustion—the only source of color on his face.

“Merlin,” Arthur ventured. “You would tell me if you were still getting ill, wouldn’t you?” 

The pallor on Merlin’s face deepened, which Arthur would not have thought possible. “I have it under control,” he said. “Promise.”

It was much easier, Arthur thought, when Arthur couldn’t see through Merlin’s lies. But he could see it in the little details—the falter in his voice, the quiver of his half-smile. He was hiding something. But Arthur had also learned, lately, that pressing the issue  would only make him retreat further. So he didn’t mention it. “Why don’t you go get some rest, then? You look tired.” 

“I’m fine, Arthur.” 

Arthur ran a hand over his face. Why did Merlin always have to be so difficult? “ No. That’s an order, actually. I need you at your best tomorrow.” 

Merlin frowned. “Tomorrow?” 

“Yes. When I officially appoint you court physician of Camelot.” 

A million different expressions passed over Merlin’s face at once, and Arthur couldn’t decide which one conveyed how he actually felt. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, unspoken words dying and coming back to life. “Alright,” he whispered. He stood up, sending one last baffling expression Arthur’s way before turning towards the door. 

“And, Merlin…” 

Merlin glanced warily back at him. 

“Don’t worry,” Arthur said. “Everything is going to work out.” 

The words hung in the air as Merlin left, offering only an unconvincing half smile. 

Arthur wasn’t sure if he even believed them. 

*

Merlin stood like a statue by his side. It was times like these when Arthur noticed how tall he was—an inch or two taller, maybe, when he stood with his shoulders squared and his chin tilted up. For a servant, he had always been remarkably confident. Now Arthur could understand why. There was almost no threat his magic could not overcome; no man he couldn’t kill with a single roll of the eyes. These days, in a silent room, his power exuded off him in waves. Arthur still wondered how he had never noticed it before. 

They stood in silence, watching as people filtered in—lords, knights, servants. There were a few people from the town who had been close to Gaius, as far as Arthur knew, so he extended an invitation to them. Most looked bewildered, if not a little apprehensive. It was understandable; they didn’t want their care in the hands of an outsider. But Merlin was far from an outsider. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “We are gathered here today to honor a great man,” he began. “And to pass his legacy into new hands.” He glanced over at Merlin. He he had stepped backwards, he realized. Likely to avoid the impropriety of standing side-by-side with the king. Arthur’s heart clenched. 

“I knew Gaius my whole life,” Arthur went on. “He cured my childhood ailments, and patched me up when I was training to be a knight. He was responsible for my father’s safety, and mine—and in that sense, he was responsible for the entire kingdom. Many of you were present at his funeral, so I won’t go into too much detail. But suffice it to say that he was an invaluable part of Camelot, and it won’t be the same without him.” 

He looked back at Merlin. Perhaps it had become clear now why he was standing with Arthur; or perhaps they wouldn’t be able to wrap their minds around it. But, truthfully, Arthur didn’t care what Caradoc thought. He cared about the people—and their safety was best in the hands of Merlin. He knew that from somewhere deep inside his heart. 

Merlin gave him an encouraging half smile. He didn’t have time to wonder if it was forced. 

“That being said,” Arthur went on. “The time has come for his title to be passed to someone else.” Arthur scanned the crowd. Some of them looked especially confused, now, eyes wandering in search of the person taking Gaius’s place. It was almost like they could not see Merlin—like he were just a fixture of the room.

 Arthur cleared his throat. “Some of you know Merlin as my servant. But he was also Gaius’s apprentice for the better part of a decade. So,” Arthur reached beside him to place a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. He felt  muscles tense beneath his fingers. “It is with great pride and confidence that I pass the title to him. Merlin of Ealdor, Physician of the Royal Court of Camelot.” 

A wave of low murmurs erupted; some looked pleased, others horrified. But Arthur had declared it so—and there was not much anyone could do about it. Still, Arthur’s heart pounded as he braced himself for some objection, some challenge. But none came. He glanced over at Merlin, whose face remained eerily expressionless. 

The rest of the ceremony passed, mercifully, without incident. After everyone had left, Merlin and Arthur lingered. Merlin looked almost desperate to leave—but it was if he was waiting for Arthur to tell him he could. 

“Is everything alright, Merlin?” 

“Fine. Why do you ask?” 

“You seem…unlike yourself.” 

Merlin scoffed. He had his hands clasped behind his back; in his nicer garments, he looked more regal than Arthur had ever recalled seeing him. But it was more than just that. “What does that even mean?” Merlin said with a laugh. 

Arthur was silent for a moment. “If you’re having doubts about being on the court—”

“No,” Merlin interrupted. “Not at all. I’m happy to do it.” 

It was unsettling. Merlin’s words rang hollow, somehow, as if it were nothing but a line he was reciting. Arthur couldn’t help but feel…hurt. 

“Please, Merlin. Whatever’s going on with you…I need to know,” he whispered. “Does this have something to do with the deal you made with the Sidhe?”

Merlin’s eyes darkened, for a moment, storm clouds rising and falling. His mouth twitched. “Since when do you notice things about me, anyway? You never cared before. Now I’m just… under constant scrutiny. Why, Arthur?” His voice broke. “Is it because you’re afraid of me?” 

That ache in Arthur’s chest returned, painful and hollow. He would never understand how Merlin had so much power over him—to make him happy, to hurt him. It didn’t make sense— the way he felt. But he couldn’t escape it. 

“No,” Arthur breathed. “You know that’s not true, Merlin.” 

“Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?” The words came out like they were meant to be scathing —but instead, Merlin spoke them in a whisper, as if that were all he had to give. 

“No. You’re right.” Arthur crossed his arms. He inhaled a long breath, trying to push away those feelings, to keep them from showing on his face. “Can I expect you at the next council meeting?” 

Merlin’s face was stoic again; whatever emotions he’d let through had now been pushed away. “Yes. I’ll be there.” 

*

After his conversation with Merlin, Arthur felt adrift in his own castle. Thanks to his shoulder injury, he was still barred from the training field. He was avoiding his own chambers, because today was George’s official first day as his manservant, and he didn’t think he could bear to see him there, instead of Merlin. Finding an excuse to seek out Merlin in the physician’s chambers was not an option, for obvious reasons. So he found himself on his way to the tavern. If nothing else, mead would wash all of these feelings away. 

He should have known Gwaine would be there. Truly, it was a miracle he was able to perform his duties at all. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure, princess?” Gwaine sat across Arthur with a thud, the liquid in his cup sloshing violently. He did not look all that drunk, actually. Maybe Arthur had underestimated him. Or maybe this was only his first. 

“Am I not allowed to blow off some steam, Gwaine?” 

Gwaine studied him. His head tilted slightly, as if he were trying to fathom something out. “Good speech today,” he said, after a moment. 

Arthur forced a smile. “Glad someone thinks so.” 

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. “It’s Merlin, isn’t it? I should have known. No one else can make you sulk like this.” 

Arthur grimaced. “Funny.” He paused, tilting his cup in a slow circle, watching the frothy liquid spin. “Have you…noticed anything strange about him, lately? Like maybe he’s hiding something?” 

Gwaine laughed. “Arthur, Merlin is a mystery to me. Always has been. And I reckon that’s how he wants it.” 

“I know. But it seems like…it seems like there’s something wrong.” 

Gwaine appeared to consider that for a moment. “I guess he has been off lately. But don’t you suppose he’s grieving?” 

“He is. I know. But it feels like more than that. I can’t…I can’t explain it.” 

Gwaine chuckled. “I hope you know, princess, that Merlin is the only thing you ever talk about. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he’s put you under some kind of spell.” 

Arthur’s stomach flipped. He’d know if he were under a spell, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. Besides—he knew, deep down, why he was so obsessed with Merlin. Even if part of him couldn’t entirely accept it. 

“Fine,” Arthur said. “Let’s talk about something else, then. Did you happen to overhear anyone talking today? After…you know?” 

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “That’s hardly a different topic, but alright. There was some…apprehension. But no one plotting to overthrow you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“I guess that’s good enough for me,” Arthur grumbled. 

“It was the right choice, Arthur.” Gwaine gave him a lopsided grin before taking a drink of his mead. “They’ll see it eventually.” 

Arthur ran both hands over his face, sighing deeply. “I hope you’re right.” 

“Always am.” 

“Do you think, maybe…” Arthur wanted to bring up the magic ban, but he lost the courage. It still felt wrong somehow—just talking openly about it in public. 

Gwaine quirked up an eyebrow. “What?” 

“The magic ban,” Arthur exhaled. “Do you think if I…you know, reconsidered. Would the people accept it?” 

Gwaine appeared to think about that—which could only mean, Arthur realized, he wasn’t actually drunk. He opened his mouth and closed it again. “Maybe not. But who the hell cares?” 

“I’m not that kind of king, Gwaine. I don’t want to be like my father—just ruling with my emotions. And maybe…maybe that’s all this is.” 

Gwaine pressed his lips into a thin line. “What does Merlin think?” 

Arthur sighed, tracing the rim of his cup with his index finger. “I don’t know. He’s not the easiest to talk to lately.” 

Gwaine made a face like he knew exactly what Arthur was talking about — but he didn’t say as much. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try, princess.”

When Gwaine got up to get his next glass, Arthur took that as a sign to leave—before he risked some kind of drunken encounter with Merlin. Because, yes, he was going to go find him.

Whatever happened next, whatever Arthur chose to do; he could not do it without Merlin. 

Chapter Text

That first night after Camlann, after Merlin had brought him back from the brink of death, Arthur remembered wandering to the physician’s chambers. It was late, and he was still somewhat delirious from whatever Gaius had given him. He wasn’t supposed to be out of bed. He had almost just died, after all. At least that’s what everyone was telling him. Whatever Merlin had done to save him— he couldn’t remember. Moments only came back to him in flashes, like fragments of a dream; Merlin’s face, pale and tear-stained, and Merlin’s hands on his skin, shaky and cold. 

Merlin was a sorcerer. And when he thought about that, when he thought about Merlin, the feeling rising in his chest was a foreign one. It wasn’t hatred.

 So how was he meant to sleep? 

He was just going to ask Gaius for a stronger tonic. That was a perfectly acceptable reason for him to come here—the fact that he might see Merlin was purely coincidental. 

His hand lingered on the door. Was it too late? Was this entirely inappropriate? No. He was the king—surely this wasn’t all that strange. He had positioned his hand to knock, but then he heard voices. Merlin and Gaius were awake. 

“I don’t know what he’s going to do,” Merlin was saying. “But I seriously doubt he’s going to have me executed, if that’s what you’re saying.” 

“I don’t believe he will either.” The voice came from Gaius. “I’m just saying you should be careful, Merlin.” 

“I’m always careful,” Merlin mumbled. 

There was a long pause, and after a moment, Arthur considered taking that as an opportunity to make his presence known. But then Gaius spoke again. 

“I do get the feeling there is something you’re not telling me,” he said. 

Another beat of silence. 

“Then what is it that’s bothering you?” 

Merlin sighed. “I guess I just…don’t know what I’m meant to do now.”

Their voices were getting quieter—they must have been moving away from the door. Arthur leaned forward to try to hear better, wincing as a floorboard beneath him creaked. 

“Is someone there?” Gaius called. 

Arthur gave the door a gentle push. The look on their faces when they saw him — a look of surprise and fear — made Arthur feel ill. 

“Sire,” Gaius said. “You should be —”

“In bed. I know.” Arthur cut him off, voice low. “I needed something for the…the pain. Whatever you gave me isn’t working.” 

“Come. Sit down.” Gaius guided him to sit, before turning away and searching through his shelf of herbs and potions. 

Arthur let his gaze drift over to Merlin. It had only been a few hours since he’d seen him; Gwen had called him in when he was having a nightmare. But he was delirious then—he didn’t even remember what they’d talked about. Now he was lucid, and there were a million secrets and half-truths hanging in the air between them. 

When their eyes met, Merlin looked startled; but then his mouth curled into a small, reassuring smile. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said. For the first time in a decade, he didn’t know what to say to him. How he was meant to behave around him. “You know, I… I suppose I never properly thanked you.” 

Merlin’s eyebrow quirked up. He had thanked him—when he thought he would never see him again. Merlin had held Arthur in his arms, and Arthur had stared up at the tears glimmering in Merlin’s crystalline eyes. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “I mean for saving my life. Again, I suppose.”

Merlin’s smile widened. “Another thank you? I’m beginning to think this might become a habit.” 

Arthur studied Merlin—his smile, his eyes, the way his face lit up when they joked around together, like it always had. Merlin was his best friend; he had known that for years. He had also known, for some time, that there was someone out there watching over him—protecting him. Now he knew that those two people were one and the same. When he looked at Merlin, his chest ached with a feeling that he did not yet understand. 

“I’m afraid there aren’t enough thank you's in the world,” Arthur whispered. He hadn’t entirely meant to say it out loud. 

Merlin’s eyes turned wide, for a moment, blue surging and swelling like a river current. Their gazes locked. Arthur’s skin tingled, hairs standing on end. They did not break eye contact, even when Arthur’s heart beat erratically for a moment, even when his brain told him to look away. This was uncharted territory. 

Finally, Merlin’s eyes flitted away. “There is a lot you still don’t know,” he said. “You might change your mind about that.” 

He opened his mouth to respond, but Gaius’s approach interrupted him. “Try this one, my lord,” he said. He paused for a moment, looking between Merlin and Arthur and quirking one eyebrow up. 

Arthur took the tonic from Gaius’s outstretched hand, mumbling a quick thank you. He looked back at Merlin—but now he was looking away. 

For some reason, Arthur was sure that Merlin was wrong. Whatever Merlin was going to tell him, whatever horrors lay in his past—and there were some, to be sure—Arthur wouldn’t change his mind. He could never hate Merlin; he could never think less of him than he did here, in this moment. Not even if he wanted to. Not even if he tried. 

Now, almost three years later, he was making his way to the physician’s chambers again.  But this time Gaius was gone; there was no pretense he could hide behind. He was going to talk to Merlin, and he wouldn’t accept anything less than the truth. If only Merlin knew that he could say anything— do anything—and nothing could change the way Arthur felt about him.  

It had been hours since the ceremony, but Merlin was still wearing the same clothes. 

That was the first thing Arthur noticed when he opened the door — not the blood smeared in scattered patches on his tunic, on his hands, on his neck. It was a murder scene, and for a second, Arthur’s brain wouldn’t accept what it was seeing. 

He inhaled a breath. There was a woman lying on a cot. He had never seen her before, but she was unconscious, or dead—and the blood was hers, Arthur realized with a sick swell of relief. It wasn’t Merlin’s. 

Arthur stood in the doorway for what could have been an eternity, watching the scene unfold. Merlin was crying. Big, ugly tears streaked down his cheeks, but they came silently; his face was somehow both empty and taut with pain. Arthur had always struggled with empathy—it was probably his father’s fault. He’d taught him that expressing emotions made you weak. But the sight came at him like a punch to the chest. His heart shattered into a million fragments, all of them belonging to Merlin.  He wanted to rush toward him and envelop him, to make the pain go away. But he couldn’t move. 

Merlin finally noticed him. Arthur half expected him to pretend everything was okay. But when he saw Arthur, the look on his face was relief. The tears came faster and harder, and he choked on a half-sob. “Arthur.” 

Arthur’s brain caught up with his body in a swift rush. “What happened?” 

“I can’t save her,” Merlin choked. “Someone sent for me, I…” he ran shaking hands over his face. “She was worried something was wrong with her baby.”

The woman was pregnant, Arthur realized with a jolt. She was pale and waxy under a blood-soaked blanket, shallow breaths the only thing distinguishing her from a corpse. Arthur didn’t understand how this had all happened in just a few hours — but then again, he had failed to pay attention to what Merlin actually did as a physician. He figured he had it under control. 

“Can’t you use magic?” Arthur whispered. 

“I tried. I’ve been trying. I don’t…” Merlin trailed off. He looked at Arthur with such anguish, such a sense of helplessness. His eyes were apologizing and pleading all at once. “I don’t have the strength left,” he whispered. 

Arthur almost felt knocked off his feet. What did he mean by that? What could he possibly mean by that? He was Merlin. Emrys. The greatest warlock who had ever lived. 

When Arthur didn’t respond right away, Merlin continued. He didn’t need to be prompted anymore; Arthur could see it in his eyes. His walls were down— they had crumbled to rubble at his feet. “I haven’t slept in weeks,” Merlin admitted. “I’ve been using magic to keep myself going. I only have so much to give. There’s nothing left.” On that last word, Merlin’s voice broke; a fresh bout of tears slid down his cheek. 

Arthur wanted to be angry, for a moment, at that admission. He wanted to question him, to demand he fill in all the blanks that statement left behind. But he didn’t. “You—you have to try,” he stuttered. Surely he wasn’t just going to let this woman die?

Merlin looked at him. His eyes caught Arthur’s with such intensity, such fiery, potent longing, that Arthur felt he had to look away—or be burned. His heart skipped a beat. He had never before seen any evidence that Merlin returned his feelings; at least nothing more than his obvious, unyielding loyalty. But there was more than that in his eyes, now. He looked desperate. He was a wounded animal, and he looked at Arthur like he was the only person in the world who could take his pain away. “I’ll try,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. 

Before he could think better of it, Arthur reached out and grabbed Merlin’s hand. He laced their fingers together, gripping with more force than he meant to—but Merlin didn’t flinch. “I know you can do it, Merlin,” he whispered. 

Merlin glanced down at their interwoven hands. He stared almost like he couldn’t comprehend what he was looking at; then he looked back up at Arthur, eyes searching. Arthur let go of his hand. 

He couldn’t worry about the implications of that; there was a woman on the verge of death, and Merlin had the power to save her. He watched as Merlin turned back to her, placing both hands on her stomach. He spoke words that Arthur didn’t understand— quiet at first, from the back of his throat, a creature speaking in its native tongue. Then the words grew louder. So loud, now, that they were more like a yell. A battle cry.  Arthur flinched, taking an instinctive step back. 

When Merlin removed his hands, the woman no longer looked like a corpse. Her breathing was even; the color had returned to her skin. Arthur didn’t know anything about magic; but that had to mean the spell worked. He reached out to grab Merlin by the shoulder in celebration—but his hand hadn’t even gotten there before Merlin collapsed, a blur of Camelot red and slack limbs hurdling towards the floor. 

Arthur fell to his knees. He grabbed Merlin by the face, hands splayed on his cheeks. His skin was so clammy that Arthur thought, for a terrifying moment, that he was dead. But then his eyes rolled open. 

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed. “Hey, look at me.” 

“Did…work?” He slurred, his eyes falling shut. 

Arthur shook him until his eyes opened again. “I believe it did. But now I need you to stay with me. Tell me what to do to help you.” 

“There’s a…bottle,” Merlin said. He spoke like he was trying to remember how to, like the words were foreign on his tongue. “That I made for…” 

Arthur cursed under his breath. He was losing consciousness again. “Hey, no, Merlin. On me. Where is it?” 

“…s by my bed.” 

Arthur didn’t have time to wonder why he needed it so easily accessible, or why he needed it in the first place. He rushed up the stairs into Merlin’s small room, grabbed the bottle, and collapsed back at Merlin’s side. 

He was fighting to stay awake, eyes opening and then fluttering closed. “I’m sorry…Arthur,” Merlin mumbled. 

“No. No apologies. Just drink it.” Arthur slipped a hand under the back of Merlin’s head, tilting until his lips met the bottle, and he poured. Merlin swallowed it hard—before tearing away and devolving into a bout of wracking coughs. Arthur just watched. His chest ached as he looked at Merlin, weak and shaking, sprawled out awkwardly on the floor. 

Finally, Merlin sat up. The motion must have made him dizzy, because his eyes rolled around like they were searching for something to land on. Eventually they found Arthur. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

“Don’t mention it.” Arthur paused, sucking in a breath. He sat knees-up on the floor, his arms bracing him, and he leaned back, staring at the ceiling until he could find the strength to look at Merlin again. “I actually came down here to tell you that I need answers. I needed to know why you’ve been acting so…so strange. Now I don’t…I don’t even know what to say.” 

Merlin bit his bottom lip. He leaned forward, wrapping both arms around his abdomen like he was trying to give himself a hug. He certainly did not look okay—but he was at least conscious. “I’m not good at telling you the truth, Arthur. I see your face and I…” his breath caught in his throat. “I dunno. I just want to protect you.” 

“From what?” 

Merlin laughed; it was a sad, strangled sound. “From the truth? From me? I don’t know. I feel like the less you know, the safer you are.” 

Arthur sighed. Everything Merlin said only made him more confused. “Alright. Let’s start with this. Why did you collapse?” 

Merlin ran a hand over his face. “Some kind of…magical exhaustion. I’ve been feeling so sick lately, and I — I have so many things I need to do, so I…I’ve been using magic to keep myself going.” 

Arthur’s stomach twisted. He was still getting ill all this time—it never actually went away. He hated the way Merlin lied so easily; every day, to his face. It made him sick. He inhaled a long, steadying breath. “You said you haven’t slept in weeks, Merlin. You couldn’t possibly think that this was…sustainable?” 

Merlin looked away. He made a face like he was ashamed to have admitted that—like he wasn’t in his right might before. “I know. I’m sorry, Arthur. For not telling you.” He tightened his arms around his himself again, hand worrying a spot on his lower abdomen. Arthur had seen him do that before. 

“Are you hurt?” Arthur asked, leaning forward. 

Merlin looked startled, for a moment, before letting his hand fall away. “No,” he said. “I just have a stomachache.” 

Arthur studied him. He was undeniably sick, now, face colorless and coated in a sheen of sweat. He swayed slightly, like it was taking everything he had just to stay upright. There was no telling if he was lying anymore—Arthur still couldn’t do it, even after all these years. He had no choice but to accept that as the truth.

What did it matter, anyway? No matter what he did, no matter how much he lied, Arthur was never going to stop... loving him. That was it, wasn’t it? Ever since he saw him that night after Camlann, when he wandered down here in search of something for the pain. He had known, since he looked into Merlin’s eyes that night, that he loved him; even if it took him years to admit it to himself. He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to. Not even if he tried. 

 “Come on,” he said, rocking forward onto his feet. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

*

It felt wrong, leaving him there. But Arthur was the king, and he could not spend any more time doting on Merlin than he already had— without raising some serious suspicion. Merlin had been in and out of consciousness for days, sometimes lucid, sometimes not; but he could hardly stand, and most of the time he looked as though he were dying. Arthur had no choice but to send for a physician to temporarily take over his duties. 

But he was going to be okay. He was Merlin— the idea that he might not be okay hadn’t even crossed Arthur’s mind. Or at least he wouldn’t let it. 

Most of all, Merlin’s total absence from Arthur’s daily life made him hate George. Even more than he had before, if that were even possible. 

“Are there any more services you require of me, my lord?” 

George stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back. He leaned forward slightly, as if he needed to be ready to break into a sprint as soon as he was given an order. Arthur had a quill in his hand, and he squeezed it so forcefully that it almost snapped in half. “No, George,” he said, words slipping through gritted teeth. “You’ve done more than enough tonight. You’re dismissed.” 

George bit his lip. He bounced lightly, one foot to the other. “Are you certain, my lord? Because you seem tense, and I think—”

“Please, George. No thinking. Leave that to the rest of us.” He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. He nearly forgot that he couldn’t just say something like that, and be interpreted as anything but cruel—this wasn’t Merlin. 

George’s face fell, if only slightly. But he did not seem entirely deterred. “He’s better today, my lord,” he whispered. 

“What was that?”

“Merlin. I’ve heard from the other servants—he’s been awake for hours.” 

Arthur stared. His heart dropped into his stomach, then leapt back into place. “Thank you for telling me, George,” he said softly. “You’re dismissed.” 

George bowed, gentle and meek, before  ducking out of the room. Then Arthur was finally alone. 

It was just him and his reports, which he had been struggling to concentrate on for what felt like hours. It was ridiculous—he knew Merlin couldn’t be his servant anymore. But he missed having him there, making inane comments, casting spells when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking. Sometimes, when whatever work Arthur was doing threatened to undo his sanity, Merlin’s presence was an anchor, keeping him from floating away. 

He couldn’t go see him. Not tonight. All he ever did these days was chase after Merlin; he needed to put some distance between them. Whatever he had once thought of Merlin—whatever seedling had lived, for years, unwatered in his heart—these days, it had exploded into an entire forest. He needed to contain it. Before it devoured him whole. 

It was nights like this one, when he was alone in his chambers, that he thought of Guinevere. He remembered a time when, after Merlin retired for the night, she would stay awake with him until he finished his work. Sometimes they would talk; sometimes he simply found comfort in the silence, or the soft sounds of her needlework. She would always tell him when it had gotten too late, or wake him when he’d fallen asleep face-first in a pile of paper. Her presence was a soothing balm over his life—and the lack of it made being alone infinitely worse.

It was better to remember that feeling; to live inside it, escape to it, let it soothe his racing his heart. Better than picturing her face as she took her last breaths—an image he tried to confine to the back corner of his mind. 

She had accepted she was dying long before Arthur did. She had made peace with it, somehow. He remembered her wistful smile, her unnaturally pale skin. She held out her hand and clasped it around Arthur’s with all the strength she had left to give. 

“You’re going to be alright, Arthur,” she had said. 

Arthur had been trying in vain to keep his tears at bay; but now they slid relentlessly down his cheeks. “No, Guinevere. No. I need you to stay with me. Please.” 

Her face was a halo of light, beautiful, ethereal, but fading at the edges. She smiled. “Merlin is going to take good care of you. He promised me he would.” 

“No. Guinevere—”

“I love you, Arthur.”

That was the last time she had ever spoken those words. 

Why was he dredging this up? Just thinking of it made his entire body ache. This was precisely why he hated being alone. 

He tried to focus on the papers in front of him, but his head had started pounding. It was the memories—or maybe just a headache. Maybe what he needed now was to just go to sleep. 

A timid knock at the door scattered his thoughts. “I said you were dismissed, George,” Arthur groaned. 

A moment of silence passed, and then the door creaked open. Merlin was on the other side of it. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said. He hadn’t meant to sound annoyed—but it came out that way. 

Merlin’s gaze fell to the floor, then drifted back up again. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late —”

“No. Don’t be.” Arthur gestured to the armchair beside him. “Sit down.”

Merlin seemed hesitant; but he did as he was told. He seemed mostly recovered—his skin had returned to an almost-normal shade of pale—but there was something…off.

“Are you sure you should be out of bed?”

“I’m fine. I just—I had to get out of there. Geraint is acting like he owns the place.” 

Arthur sighed. “I am sorry about that, Merlin. You were barely conscious. I had no choice.” 

“I know,” Merlin whispered, looking away. “It’s alright.”

They were silent for a moment, and Arthur, maybe on reflex, began reading his reports again. Merlin’s presence meant he could actually concentrate. Not that he would ever admit that. But the concentration was short-lived—because he found his eyes wandering back to Merlin. He sat with his hands clasped in his lap, eyes empty and far-away. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said. Merlin looked startled, for a moment, before he looked back at Arthur.

“Yes?” 

“Is there something else bothering you?” 

“No, why do you ask?” The answer came too quickly. He tried to smile, but it faltered. 

Arthur sighed. There were a million reasons why he asked; a million things he desperately wanted to understand about Merlin. About the way Merlin made him feel—as if he had any control over that. He watched him for a moment, tried to take in his presence, imagine what it would be like if he could reach out and take anything he wanted from him. “No reason,” he whispered, looking away. 

He must not have been very subtle, though, because a puzzled expression unfolded across Merlin’s face. He laughed, after a moment—it was a nervous laugh. A sound that was, in some ways, so very Merlin; and yet, at the same time, he sounded nothing like himself. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you—” he smiled, a big, goofy grin, but it was tinged with pain. 

“What, Merlin?” 

His grin fell at the edges. “Nothing. It’s silly.” 

Somehow, Arthur thought he knew what Merlin was going to say. He watched as patches of red blossomed across Merlin’s pale cheeks, and he looked away, ashamed. 

That familiar feeling in Arthur’s chest returned; it tore at desperately at his insides, exploding beneath his bones. Merlin really didn’t know, even after everything, how much Arthur longed for him. 

But then he thought of Gwen. Would she be heartbroken if she knew that, in some ways, she had always shared Arthur’s heart with another? Even Arthur himself hadn’t known that. Except she was gone, now.  Was Merlin just a replacement? Something to fill the void that she left? 

“I need to get to sleep, Merlin,” Arthur said, suddenly. He had blurted it out without really meaning to. He couldn’t tell Merlin how he felt, because then it would be real. And he wasn’t ready for it to be real. “You should too.” 

An inscrutable expression passed over Merlin’s face. He looked ashamed, almost—or maybe hurt. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He stood up, and Arthur didn’t miss the wince as he did, his hand wandering towards that same spot on his abdomen. “Goodnight, sire.” 

With that, he was gone. 

*

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you hated me, Arthur. Can’t you see I’m hurting? Don’t you want to help me?” 

Merlin had his back turned as he spoke, shoulders trembling and hunched-over. He almost looked like Dragoon. Arthur shuddered. 

“Of course I want to help you, Merlin,” Arthur breathed. “You won’t tell me what’s wrong. Please, Merlin. Tell me what’s hurting you.” 

Merlin turned around. His skin hung in loose patches off his face; his features were obscured by blood and and flesh and sinew. His eyes were black—there was no trace of Merlin inside them. “You!” He screamed. “You’re what’s hurting me! You should let me go, Arthur. Don’t keep me prisoner to your cowardice. After everything I’ve done for you? You’re the reason I’m dying.” 

“No, Merlin. That’s not — that’s not true. You mean everything to me, Merlin.” Arthur was crying, now; the tears obscured his vision so much that Merlin became a shadow. 

“Then prove it.” 

~

Arthur woke up drenched in sweat. 

It was not uncommon, lately, that Merlin pervaded his dreams; but they were usually of a different nature. This one felt real. He could reach out and touch Merlin’s pain—he could grab onto it, absorb it, feel it in every nerve on his body. 

He needed to make sure Merlin was okay. 

It was probably silly; but he was still half-asleep, and the need to find Merlin was an instinctual one. He wasn’t entirely in his right mind. 

Arthur raced through the corridors in his nightclothes, the pain from the dream lingering like hands all over his body. He had worn this path to the physician’s chambers so often, lately, that he didn’t need to be fully awake to get there. But a sound stopped him in his tracks. 

There was someone out here—hunched over beneath an alcove, trembling and shadowy under the moonlight streaming through the window. Arthur stepped closer, blinking away the sleep. It was Merlin. He picked his head up, blue eyes piercing through the night like daggers. “Arthur?” 

Arthur was awake, now. Seeing Merlin’s face—his real one, anyway—brought him back to reality. “Merlin?” Arthur whispered into the dark, crouching to meet his eyes. “What are you doing out here?” 

He didn’t respond right away, so Arthur moved closer, trying to get a better look at his face. Under faint streams of light, he could see the tear tracks. His eyes darted away. 

“Merlin.” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled. 

Arthur studied him for a moment. Even in the dark, he could see the purple skin beneath his tear-rimmed eyes.

 The realization came upon him like a stab in the gut. 

I haven’t slept in weeks—that’s what he had said just moments before he collapsed. Arthur had thought it was because he was busy. But that wasn’t it at all, was it? 

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Merlin breathed into the dark. He spoke as if no one were listening—as if he were only reminding himself. “I know you think I’m this all-powerful creature, but I — I can’t— 

“Stop, Merlin.” Arthur crashed to his knees. He reached out and grabbed Merlin by the wrist. “I don’t think that. You’re far too clumsy.” 

Merlin let out a strangled laugh. “I miss him so much, Arthur,” he choked. “It’s all my fault that he’s gone. I can’t sleep there, with all his things, I can’t—” he sounded like he was struggling to breathe, now. 

Arthur let go of his wrist and let his hand wander upwards. He placed his hand palm-first on Merlin’s chest, feeling his heart beat erratically beneath his tunic. “Breathe, Merlin,” he whispered. Merlin’s frantic eyes found Arthur’s. They were so heart wrenchingly, achingly desperate, pupils blown with longing and pain. Arthur let his hand wander to Merlin’s neck. He trailed his fingers along it, feeling his skin tremble and pulse. Merlin’s eyes fell closed; and then Arthur wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore. It was dark—and they were alone. His hand inched upwards again, thumb brushing over his bottom lip. 

Merlin’s eyes fluttered open. “Arthur—”

Startled, Arthur let his hand fall away. What was he doing?  He cleared his throat. “You can’t stay out here all night. Come back to my chambers.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. He sat up, reaching a shaky hand to wipe the tears away. “No, Arthur, I can’t do that. That would be—”

“I don’t care, Merlin. You need sleep.” He stood up, offering Merlin a hand. “Come on.” 

When they got back to the royal chambers, Merlin was silent. That generally indicated something was horribly wrong—and, at least this time, Arthur knew for sure that there was. But he still hated it. “I’ll take the floor,” Arthur said, breaking the silence. 

“No, Arthur. Absolutely not.” 

“Come on, Merlin. I’ll live. You need the sleep.” 

Merlin ran a shaky hand over his face. “Why are you acting like this?” 

“Like what?” 

Merlin shot him an incredulous look. “You know exactly what I mean. The way you…the way you are with me lately. It’s almost like…”

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Arthur cut him off. “I’m just—I’m worried about you. I don’t want to lose you.” Arthur’s voice broke on that last word, and he winced at how pathetic he sounded. “I’ve lost too many people. I — you’re the closest thing to family I have left.” 

Merlin’s entire countenance softened—and it was jarring, almost. To see him come back to himself. Become Merlin again. He smiled. “Oh,” he whispered. 

“So, please,” Arthur said. “Take the bed. I can’t have you collapsing again—or we’ll have to keep Geraint around even longer.” 

“Alright,” Merlin said softly. 

Arthur collected his blankets and pillows, and, finally, Merlin settled himself—albeit awkwardly—into the bed. 

“Arthur?” Merlin said.

“Hmm?” 

“There’s enough room for both of us,” he whispered. 

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. “What?” 

“I mean, I won’t take up the whole bed, and I feel awful about you sleeping on the floor.” 

They were silent for an uncomfortable stretch of time. “I…suppose you’re right,” Arthur whispered into the dark. “Alright, fine.” Without saying anything more, he climbed into the bed beside Merlin. 

This didn’t have to be weird, he reminded himself; Merlin was the closest person in the world to him. But it was, he realized, as they lay side-by-side in a mostly comfortable silence. Only because the urge to turn over and grab Merlin by the face engulfed his body like a raging flame. 

“Do you remember when we first met?” Merlin said suddenly, whispering into the darkness. 

Arthur turned to look at him. “Yes. How could I forget?” 

“I really hated you, that day. I thought you were a bully.” 

Arthur felt a pang of guilt. “I mean, I…kind of was.” 

“Well, maybe.” He let out a soft chuckle. “If someone had told me then, everything we’d go through together…I’d have thought they were completely mad.” 

Arthur laughed. “Didn’t the dragon tell you that? About our destiny?” 

“Yes,” Merlin said, a soft smile spreading across his face. “And I did think he was mad. But I never knew how much you would…” Merlin turned to him. Even in the darkness, Arthur found his eyes. 

“What?” 

“I don’t know.” Merlin rolled away again.  “That you’d be a pain in my arse for the rest of my life.” 

“Hey, who says I’ll be here that long? I might get tired of you.” 

Merlin looked at him again, and this time a look of sadness passed like a cloud over his face. But it vanished as quickly as it came, and he smiled. “Doubt it.” 

They fell back into a comfortable silence. But Arthur still couldn’t sleep—and he knew Merlin wasn’t either. 

“Merlin,” he started. “I, erm, I know we haven’t talked about this much. But when you made that deal at Lake Avalon—”

Merlin turned abruptly towards him, face paling a few shades. 

“We’re going to figure it out,” he said softly, trying to assuage whatever fears were swirling on Merlin’s face. “You saved my life. I owe you that much.” That still didn’t change the look on Merlin’s face—so he continued. “And, you know, it’s…that’s not the reason I want to lift the ban. It’s the right thing to do. I’m sorry it took me so long to see that.”

Slowly, a smile unfurled on Merlin’s face. “Thank you, Arthur,” he said softly. 

Their eyes met, if only briefly, and Arthur felt like the air had been drawn from his lungs. He turned away again. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep; tried to forget there was someone in his bed. But he couldn’t—because this wasn’t just someone. It was Merlin. 

“You know,” Arthur said, suddenly, speaking into the dark. Even without looking, he knew Merlin was still awake. “This wouldn’t even be all that strange if we were out on a hunting trip.” 

“What, sleeping in the same bed?” 

“Yeah, I mean—we’d sleep side-by-side on our bedrolls all the time. Out under the stars.” Arthur smiled, thinking about that—about simpler times. 

“That could be arranged,” Merlin said. 

Arthur looked at him, furrowing his brow. “What?” 

Merlin didn’t offer an explanation. His eyes ignited with gold, a roaring beacon against a backdrop of black. He whispered something so softly that Arthur thought he was hearing things. 

“What was that?” Arthur whispered. But the words were barely out of his mouth before the entire room was moving, spinning, inverting on itself. He gripped onto the bed to keep from falling. He screwed his eyes shut. “What in the—”

Merlin shushed him. “It’s alright.” 

When Arthur opened his eyes, he was looking at the sky. A million tiny stars glittered above them, as if Merlin had stolen them from the night and arranged them there himself. The cloudy blackness enveloped them, stretching forever in every direction, stitched together out of nothing but the raw  power Merlin contained. But when Arthur reached out to get his bearings—he felt the familiar silk of his bedsheets. “Merlin. How…how did you…” 

“It’s just like a hunting trip now,” Merlin said simply. 

Arthur turned to him. His face was illuminated clearly under the stars, light dancing off his features and glimmering in his eyes. He had just done something that shouldn’t have been possible—and still, the man looking at him was just…Merlin. The same Merlin he had been moments before, when he was crying in the corridor. “You never cease to amaze me, Merlin,” he whispered. 

Whatever he had thought before, about shoving down his feelings—that had vanished along with the top half of his room. They weren’t in Camelot anymore. Now it was just Merlin, and Arthur, and the stars. Arthur turned on his side. After a moment, Merlin reluctantly did the same. Now they were face-to-face, and Arthur reached out and placed a hand on Merlin’s neck, thumb resting tentatively on his cheek. He could feel Merlin tense beneath his grip. He started to pull away, but Arthur pressed his fingers deeper, bringing him back. 

“Arthur, what—”

“I’ve been keeping something from you, Merlin,” Arthur breathed. “It’s been eating away at me.” 

Merlin’s eyes pooled with concern, and he made a weak attempt at pulling away. If Arthur had believed he was uncomfortable, he would have backed off immediately. But there was something on Merlin’s face—a shadow of deep, painful want—that made Arthur think he wasn’t the only one who had thought about this. 

Arthur let out a shaky breath. “I know this is—I know I shouldn’t—”

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered. Tears were forming in the rims of his eyes. Arthur reached up his thumb to catch one before it slid down his cheek. He closed the distance between them, until their noses were nearly brushing, and he could feel Merlin’s hot, shaky breath on his face. He wasn’t meant to be doing this. He wasn’t meant to give in to these feelings that ran riot in his chest, sprouting and flourishing and threatening to claw their way out. This would change everything—if he did this, he couldn’t take it back. 

“I’ll stop if you want me to, Merlin,” Arthur whispered. “Tell me to stop, and we’ll go to sleep.” He pressed his fingers deeper into Merlin’s neck, and a gasp slipped from his lips. 

But he didn’t tell him to stop. 

So Arthur pressed his lips against Merlin’s. At first, he didn’t react; but then he returned the kiss, slowly, achingly, desperately. He slid a hand into Arthur’s hair. That was Arthur’s permission. 

He wrapped both arms around Merlin; his body was tense and trembling. He pulled until Merlin was on top of him, legs straddling his hips. Arthur reached for the edge of his tunic, gently pulling it up—and then suddenly Merlin’s entire body froze. He gripped Arthur’s hand so tightly that he let out a gasp of pain. 

When Merlin pulled away from the kiss, still on top of him, his eyes were delirious with  desire and hurt. He moved a shaky hand to scrub at the pooling tears before rolling back to his side of the bed. 

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed, trying to collect himself. “What’s wrong?” When Merlin didn’t respond—just kept his back turned, shoulders hunched in—a sick feeling swelled in Arthur’s gut. “I’m so sorry, Merlin,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t think—”

“It’s alright, Arthur,” Merlin breathed. “I just…I don’t feel well.”

Was that it? Was Merlin ill again, and Arthur had just forced himself on him? A shudder rippled through his body, from chest to limbs. “Merlin,” he choked. “I’m so sorry, I —”

Suddenly, Merlin turned to look at him. His eyes were red-rimmed and overflowing with sorrow; but he offered a smile. “Arthur,” he whispered. “It’s alright.” He reached out and gave Arthur’s hand a half-hearted squeeze. “I just need to get some sleep.”

“Of course,” Arthur said, trying to keep his voice from faltering. “We’ll talk about this in the morning?”

Merlin nodded, letting go of Arthur’s hand. 

When Arthur settled back onto his side of the bed, he realized that the stars had disappeared. Now it was just Arthur, Merlin, and an empty room, the sound of Merlin’s shaky breaths echoing in the darkness that swallowed them. 

Chapter Text

In the morning, it all came back to him in a rush: Merlin’s lips, Merlin’s hand in his hair, Merlin’s body against Arthur’s in a way that, before, had only existed in his dreams. He reached a hand out, hoping to find Merlin beside him; hoping that he hadn’t irrevocably destroyed their relationship.

But Merlin was gone.

Arthur swore under his breath, rising sluggishly and scrubbing the sleep from
his eyes. He felt as though he were waking up from a long dream; one fueled by grief and love and cowardice. He had been such a fool. The way Merlin had reacted—it wasn’t disgust, or disinterest. He kissed him back; he kissed him like he had been waiting his entire life to feel Arthur’s lips on his own. Merlin was undoubtedly hiding something else, and Arthur was done pretending it was nothing. He was the king. It was time he started acting like it.

He rushed to get dressed, throwing on whatever garments he could find before George could arrive and delay him. He was still sliding on a boot when he stumbled into the corridor, nearly toppling George on his way out.

“I’m sorry, George,” he mumbled, after the servant had collected himself. “I won’t be needing your services today. You should take the day off—you’ve earned it.”

“But sire, your clothes—”

“It will be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, he flew down the corridor, wearing the familiar path to the physician’s chambers. He received some odd glances from servants and guards along the way, but he ignored every single one. If he didn’t get to Merlin now, he would lose whatever courage he had woken up with.

He burst through the door without knocking. Merlin was seated at the table, leafing languidly through an enormous book; when he saw Arthur, his eyes widened like he had been caught doing something wrong. “Arthur—”

“I’m done with the games, Merlin,” Arthur grumbled, only slightly out of breath from his journey here.

Merlin furrowed his brow. “What?”

Arthur strode into the room, standing beside Merlin until he gazed up at him with a vague expression of fear. “Stand up,” Arthur said.

“Arthur, what is going on?”

“I said stand up. That’s an order.”

Merlin gaped at him, but he did not move—he seemed to be waiting to see if Arthur was serious. When Arthur didn’t waver, Merlin moved slowly away from the table, features hardened to stone. “What is it?” he whispered, eyes unblinking.

Before he could change his mind, Arthur grabbed Merlin roughly by the arms, holding him the way he would restrain a prisoner. He ignored Merlin’s cry of surprise, pushed past the sick feeling rising in his chest. He grabbed a fistful of Merlin’s tunic and yanked it upwards.

“Arthur—”

He spun Merlin around so they were face-to-face, Merlin’s pale, bare skin staring back at him. He didn’t know what he had expected to see—a wound, something bad enough to make him ill, to explain all of this strange behavior. But there was nothing of the sort. Only a myriad of scars, many of them years old at least, painted across his skin in a gruesome mosaic. He stared for far too long, taking in the horrific sight. Trying to understand what, if not a wound, was Merlin hiding?

Before he could begin to contemplate that question, Merlin gripped Arthur’s wrist with a sort of violence he typically reserved for his enemies. He pushed his hand away so harshly that Arthur withdrew it in surprise.

“Was this what you didn’t want me to see?” Arthur mumbled, trying not to meet Merlin’s eyes.

Merlin glared daggers at him. “What?”

“Last night, when you…” Arthur’s breath hitched. Mentioning this now, in the light of day—it caused the reality of the situation to wash over him like a suffocating wave.

Merlin’s face softened. Rigid stone opened to reveal his real features, twisting and growing back into place. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Arthur said, voice suddenly hoarse. “For…” he threw his hand up in a vague gesture. “All of it.”

After a long moment of silence, Merlin sighed. “I didn’t want you to see the scars,” he admitted. “But it was also…”

“What?” Arthur stepped closer. “Merlin, I need to know. What is it you’re not telling me?”

“It was overwhelming.” The words came tumbling from his mouth in a single breath. “To have that, after all these years, when I never thought you’d…” Merlin trailed off. He bit his lip, looking away.

“Oh,” Arthur whispered. “I…I understand.”And maybe, for once, he actually did. He reached out a hand and cupped Merlin’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Merlin. That it took me so long.”

Merlin’s eyes turned glassy, his pupils blown with something other than sadness or pain. Something like relief. Arthur moved closer. He kissed him, slowly and gently, pulling away before the feeling could overtake him. “Is that okay?” Arthur whispered. Merlin only nodded, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I, erm…” Arthur took an intentional step back. “I came down here to see what you were hiding, and I guess it’s…” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t matter right now. I also came to ask for your help. I’m going to tell the council today— that I plan to lift the magic ban.”

Merlin’s face lit up. A smile bloomed there—a real one, this time, pushing away all of the darkness and gloom. “Well, you can’t go in there looking like that,” he said.

Arthur glanced down at his clothes. He did look remarkably disheveled; but that was only because he’d dressed so hastily. “I… told George he could have the day off,” he sighed.

“He’s useless as a servant anyway,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes. “Let me help.”

“Alright,” Arthur said with a grin. “Just this once.”

*

“I don’t know what I’m so worried about,” Arthur was saying. He held his arms at his sides, lulled by the familiar feeling of Merlin’s gentle hands pulling, poking, prodding. “If they don’t like it—there’s nothing they can do. They have to accept it.”

“I can always turn them into toads,” Merlin said, voice steady as he smoothed Arthur’s sleeves. His hands ran carefully along his arms, fingers so light they sent a chill down Arthur’s spine. He turned to look at him, meeting his gaze for only a moment before Merlin drew his eyes away.

“Funny,” Arthur mumbled. “Although there are some of them I certainly wouldn’t miss.”

“There,” Merlin announced, stepping away. “Now you don’t look like you’ve just got back from the tavern.”

Arthur shot him a look. “I’ve never looked bad a day in my life.”

Merlin’s lips quirked up in a smile. “No, you haven’t,” he said, shaking his head. “But don’t,” he waggled an accusatory finger, “let it go to your head.”

Arthur grinned. “Too late.” Before he could change his mind, he reached out and grabbed Merlin’s hand. He looked startled, for a moment, and he made a move to pull away—but then he relaxed, tense shoulders deflating back to their normal position.

“Merlin—”

Before Arthur could say any more, the doors to his chambers swung open. George emerged in the doorway; he took in the scene before him, and it did not take long for recognition to dawn on his face. Arthur let go of Merlin’s hand with such ferocity that he could almost feel him flinch. “George,” Arthur choked. “I thought I told you your services wouldn’t be needed today.”

“Yes, you…” he cleared his throat. “You did, sire. But you seemed rather distracted earlier —I wanted to make sure you did not miss your meeting.”

“I appreciate that. But everything is…” Arthur let his gaze wander over to Merlin, who stood with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m well aware of my schedule, George.”

“My apologies, sire.”

When the door closed, Merlin’s eyes found Arthur’s again. “We shouldn’t do that,” he said.

“Do what?”

“If people found out you were —” Merlin stopped himself, face paling as he looked away again. “It could put everything at risk.”

Arthur didn’t bother to ask what he meant by everything; there were so many different things, all of them equally important. He knew that this—whatever they were doing—was inappropriate. He knew there was no chance anyone would understand. But he had tried shoving away his feelings. Every time he looked at Merlin, they came clawing back to the surface.

“I know,” Arthur whispered. “You’re right.”

Merlin sighed. He reached out and grabbed both sides of Arthur’s tunic collar, fiddling for a moment before letting his fingers linger there, tense and still. He closed his eyes, drew a long breath, and opened them again. “We should go. Before you’re late. Can’t have them starting to doubt you.”

Arthur chuckled. “You act like I haven’t been attending these meetings for years.”

“Well,” Merlin said with smile, “none of them have been as important as this one.”

*

They arrived together; but Merlin made a point of hanging back while Arthur stepped through the doors. Once Arthur had sat down, Merlin crept in with the carefulness of a servant, taking a seat a few chairs away, beside Gwaine.

“Finally a seat at the table, eh mate?” Gwaine said with a grin. “Must feel good.”

Merlin gave him a half-hearted smile. “I never cared about that.”

“Right. You’re far too interesting for these dull meetings, anyway.”

Arthur tried not to think too hard about that comment, or the way Gwaine looked at Merlin like the planets revolved around him. He used to joke that Merlin was unlucky in love; but perhaps it had always been the opposite. These days it felt as if everyone was in love with him. He tried to shove that thought away—there were more important matters at hand.

When everyone had arrived, all eyes were on Arthur. He cleared his throat. “Before we get started with our usual agenda, there is an important announcement I need to make.” He paused, inhaling a steadying breath. He tried not to look at Merlin, but from the corner of his eye, he could see that he looked genuinely happy. That was all Arthur needed to bolster him. “You all know Camelot’s complicated history with magic. My father’s hatred for it colored his time as king; but that hatred was born of fear. There was a time when I, too, feared magic. But I’ve…”

Arthur paused. He looked at Merlin again—only this time, they made eye contact. Merlin gave him an encouraging smile.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Arthur said. “I’ve seen firsthand that magic is only as evil as the person who wields it. And there are good, innocent magic users who…who not only deserve to live freely, but who also would be a tremendous asset to us.”

Arthur’s mouth had gone dry. When he chanced looking at the men before him, there was a mix of expressions; but only a few of them could be described as anything other than abject horror. He felt dizzy, all of a sudden. The room tilted and then snapped back into place. “Effective immediately,” he continued, “I am lifting the ban on magic.”

Arthur’s words hung in the air around them like a dense fog. Even Caradoc, somehow, was rendered speechless. But that did not last long.

“Sire,” Caradoc spluttered. “Where on earth is this coming from? Have you some kind of head injury?”

Arthur ran a hand over his face. “No,” he said. “We all know that it was a sorcerer who brought us victory at Camlann. As brave as my men are—many of us would not be sitting here today, if not for him. I would not be sitting here today.” He looked at Merlin again. There was a look in his eyes that he had not seen in so long—a look of devotion, of absolute faith, of pride. It was that look alone that tethered him to his chair; kept him from spinning loose, exploding into a mess of particles and fibers.

“This is a serious error of judgment, sire. The people will riot.”

Arthur didn’t even know where that voice came from; and at this point, he didn’t care. “The only error in judgment is that it took me this long to do it,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What about Emrys?” Caradoc said. If that madwoman was telling the truth, he’s a known threat to us. And you’re just going to let that threat go unchecked? I don’t believe you that naive, Arthur. You must know something we don’t.”

Arthur bit his lip. He avoided looking at Merlin, even though the urge to seek out his eyes was debilitating.

“Well,” Caradoc scoffed, when Arthur did not respond. “You’re so hell-bent on being different from your father. On not being a dictator.” He glanced around the table. “Can anyone support this madness?”

“I do. Absolutely,” Gwaine said.

Caradoc rolled his eyes. “Anyone else?”

Leon cleared his throat. “I trust my king,” he said.

There were a few more grunts of approval from the knights; but from the older council members, the men from Uther’s reign, there was silence. That was no surprise, of course.

“Think of the chaos that will ensue, Arthur,” Caradoc insisted. “If we simply allow criminals to walk free—”

“Criminals.”

The voice came from Merlin. Every head at the table swiveled to gape at him, as if they’d forgotten he was allowed to speak. But that level of scrutiny did not appear to shake him. His eyes were a steady sea, a kind of calm Arthur had seen before—moments before he’d killed a man with a single glance. “So they’re criminals before they’ve even done anything?” he said, voice low. “Just their very existence is a crime?”

It took Caradoc a moment to recover, it seemed, from being spoken to by Merlin. He cleared his throat. “Well, I hardly think there are many innocent, law-abiding sorcerers, are there?”

Merlin glanced at Arthur. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, sealing everything he could have said inside. He couldn’t refute that without outing himself.

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur cut in. “The point is—they’re innocent until proven guilty of an actual crime. And simply performing magic no longer is one.”

“Forgive me, sire, but I will not support this.”

Arthur exhaled a long breath. He looked at Merlin, but the intensity of his gaze was too distracting; so he closed his eyes, for a fraction of moment, to think. “The decision is final,” he said.

“My lord, what is the point of having a council if you’re just going to—”

“Because I am the KING, Caradoc. And I will not tolerate any more disrespect. One more word and I’ll have you arrested. Do you understand?”

Caradoc’s face was ghost-white, as if all the color has been siphoned from it. He pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded; but there was still anger and indignation written all over the lines in his face.

“Does anyone else have anything to say?” Arthur growled.

A low murmur of no spread across the table, and nearly everyone—except Merlin—avoided looking at him.

“Good. Then let’s move on, shall we?”

The rest of the meeting passed without incident. Arthur spoke and received very little input—only nods and grunts and yes sires. It was all very reminiscent of a council meeting under Uther; and that made Arthur feel ill. But he was doing the right thing. He only had to look at Merlin to remember that.

When everyone moved to leave, Merlin didn’t even bother to hide the fact that he was staying behind. Everyone was so eager to get out, anyway; they probably didn’t notice. Leon offered a half-smile on his way out, and Gwaine gave Arthur a rough pat on the shoulder. Then it was just Arthur and Merlin.

“So,” Merlin said, after a long stretch of silence had passed. “That went well.”

Arthur groaned, burying his head in his hands. “What was that about turning them into toads?”

“Arthur,” Merlin sighed. “We knew it would be like this. It’s a start, at least.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Arthur picked his head up. “How some of them treat you?”

Merlin smiled. “Not really. I’m used to it.”

“Yes, well, you shouldn’t be.”

“Honestly,” Merlin said. He looked at Arthur, and his eyes were achingly, deliriously blue, so intense Arthur felt he had to look away. “I stopped caring a long time ago. The only person whose opinion ever mattered to me was…” his eyes flitted away for a moment, confidence faltering. “Was yours.”

Arthur quirked up an eyebrow. “Was?”

Merlin smiled. “You know what I mean.”

Arthur wasn’t sure he entirely did; but that didn’t matter. It was strange, to see Merlin so open like this; to hear his feelings spelled out so clearly. Arthur couldn’t tell if this was a permanent change, or merely a fleeting glimpse into the mystery that shrouded him.

“If I announce this,” Arthur said, “if word gets out about the magic ban…is that it? Will the Sidhe be satisfied?”

A dark sheath passed over Merlin’s face once again, like rain clouds pouring in to push out a momentary patch of sunshine. “I don’t know,” he said, looking away.

“Merlin.” Here they were again—just when Arthur thought they were making progress.

“I don’t know, Arthur. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“But that was the deal, wasn’t it? I lift the magic ban and avoid some unknown consequence?”

“Was that all this was about, then?” Merlin snapped.

“What?” Arthur’s clenched his jaw. “You know that’s not true, Merlin.”

Merlin was silent. The more Arthur studied him, he began to wonder if his eyes had always been so blue—or if there was fever bleeding into them.

“Merlin. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Alright,” Merlin said after a moment. “I-I’m sorry.” He screwed his eyes shut, as if he were trying to compose himself, to control something inside of him. “I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

Arthur leaned closer. He reached out to touch him, then drew his hand away. “Are you alright?”

Merlin didn’t respond at first; he sat eerily still, his eyes closed. Then they exploded open, neon flames bursting to life. Arthur could have sworn he saw a flicker of gold. “I’m fine. I’m…” he paused, seeming to think about the question—which typically wasn’t a good sign. He looked sad, for a moment, and at the same time he also looked happy. A million different emotions flickered across his face, and Arthur understood none of them. “Are you busy today?” he asked suddenly.

Arthur blinked away his surprise. “Busy? Sort of. I mean, I have to write a speech for…” he paused, taking a moment to study Merlin’s face again, still finding nothing there to answer his questions. “Why do you ask?”

“Will you ride out with me? We don’t have to go far. I could pack some food. I just need to…”

“To what, Merlin?”

Merlin laughed softly, looking away. “I don’t know. Get some fresh air.” He looked back up, meeting Arthur’s eyes with a startling severity. “You know I’m going to write that speech for you anyway,” he said with a half smile. “So your schedule is practically cleared.”

Arthur almost made a joke about Merlin being such a girl—you want to take me on a picnic, Merlin? Maybe under different circumstances, that’s what he might have said. But there was something about the look on Merlin’s face—the somber, wistful expression, the sadness and the longing—that stole the words from his mouth. “Alright,” Arthur said. And that, at least, turned Merlin’s expression momentarily happy.

*

The forest was quiet. Just quiet enough to be safe; to be a haven of distant bird calls and sunlight spilling through the trees. Riding side-by-side in silence with Merlin, feeling the warmth against his face and hearing the steady crunch of leaves beneath hooves—this was the calmest he’d felt in days. They were, technically, vastly more unsafe here, out in the open. But Arthur felt confident that those threats were the kind Merlin could squash with a single tilt of the head. Out here they were themselves; they could talk about anything. It did not take long for Arthur to realize that Merlin had that very same thought. Every time he looked over at him, he looked like he were at war with himself. And that could only mean he had something to say.

“What is it, Merlin?” Arthur blurted, when he could no longer bear the conflict on Merlin’s face.

Merlin looked taken aback. He cleared his throat, averting his gaze to the path ahead. “Can we talk about something?” He asked, voice low.

Arthur chuckled to himself. “Of course,” he said. “What is it?”

Merlin was quiet again. When Arthur looked over at him, his face had changed from conflicted to terrified, and then to…something inexplicable. He looked almost on the verge of tears. “Merlin,” Arthur said, smile falling.

Abruptly, Merlin brought his horse to a stop. Arthur studied him. He looked unnaturally pale under the intensity of the sunlight, and there was a deep flush to his cheeks that had not been there when they left Camelot. He drew in a long, unstable breath, then let it out in an audible wheeze. “Arthur, you’ve become a great king,” he said. “I know it…it might not feel like it right now. But when a new fight arises, you’ll win.”

“Do you know something I don’t, Merlin?”

“You’ll overcome it. With… or without me,” Merlin went on.

Arthur’s insides turned to cold stone. “Without you? Why would I need to?” He stared at Merlin, searched every inch of him, as if the truth were written somewhere on his ridiculously pale face. “Are you planning on leaving?”

“No, Arthur. I…” he brought a hand to his forehead, held it there for a moment, then let it fall away. “I just need you to know that there’s…there will be a point where our destinies are no longer intertwined. When our…” he bit his lip, eyes fluttering closed and open again, as if he were pushing away tears. “When our story ends,” he whispered.

“No, Merlin,” Arthur whispered. He tried to ignore the way his body suddenly felt weightless, at risk of dissolving and evaporating into the balmy forest air. “You don’t know that.”

Merlin looked away. “Arthur…”

“No,” Arthur said, louder this time. He signaled his horse to keep going, not even looking back to see if Merlin was following him. “I won’t listen to this nonsense, Merlin. Can’t we forget about all this, just for today?” When he didn’t respond, Arthur threw a glance over his shoulder. He was still in in the same spot he’d left him.

“Can we stop here?” Merlin asked.

Arthur circled back. He watched Merlin sway, ever so slightly, a tree rustling in the breeze. He took big, unsteady breaths, like he was fighting to get enough air in his lungs.

“I need a break,” Merlin said.

Arthur chose not to mention that they hadn’t been riding long — nowhere near as long as they usually would. He hopped off his horse, thinking Merlin would follow. But he stayed put.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked, stepping closer.

“Not feeling well,” Merlin admitted. He started to dismount from his horse. Arthur stood beside him, watching as his knees gave out against the ground, lunging to gather him in arms before he collapsed. His fever-hot forehead collided with Arthur’s chest; he could feel it through his chainmail.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, grabbing his face with one hand. “Have you been feeling ill all day?”

“Yes,” Merlin admitted, breathless. “And yesterday, and the day before that. It never goes away. I only keep it at bay with magic.”

“Come on,” Arthur grunted. He helped Merlin stand, guiding him towards the edge of the forest and leaning him gently against a tree. Merlin inhaled a long, shaky breath. Gold flames flickered and died in his eyes, igniting and fizzling, igniting and fizzling— until his breaths evened out, and one shade of color bled back into his face. Arthur slumped down beside him.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Merlin breathed. “Seems like all I do is lie to you.”

It was true. Sometimes, Arthur wondered if anything Merlin had ever said was the truth. If their entire friendship was a ruse, if Merlin was playing some long and twisted game, and at the end of it, he would finally exert the power he had always had. Take the throne, the kingdom, bring Camelot to its knees. Then he looked at Merlin—into his blue eyes that went on forever. And all he could ever feel was love.

“Tell me something, then,” Arthur said. “The truth, just this once. What do you feel for me?”

Merlin rolled his head sluggishly to look at Arthur, cloudy eyes meeting his. “Does it really matter?”

“Yes,” Arthur whispered. “It does.”

For a brief moment, Merlin seemed to struggle against something—the same look he always had before he obscured the truth. But the expression vanished as quickly as it came. His face unfolded; layers of riddles and lies fell away, and then the man looking at him was the Merlin that Arthur had once thought he knew. Simple, steadfast, afraid. His eyes closed and then opened, clouds parting over a endless, gentle sea. “I love you, Arthur,” he breathed. “You know I do.”

“Merlin…”

Merlin pressed his lips into a pained smile, rolling his head away. “It was easier, actually, when you were only something I couldn’t have. You were meant to be with Gwen. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Then you…” Merlin trailed off, swallowing hard. He brought a shaky hand to his face, swiping at the tear tracks on his cheek.

“Merlin—”

“No,” Merlin mumbled. “Don’t say anything. You wanted the truth, I gave it to you.”

“Merlin.” Arthur grabbed him by the face, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I love you, too.”

Merlin made a pained sound in the back of his throat. “No.” He grabbed Arthur by the wrist, wrenching his hand away. “Don’t say that. Just because Gwen is gone —”

“No,” Arthur interrupted, voice steady. “I loved you when she was still here.”

It was the truth—and Arthur would be a hypocrite if he’d concealed it. Before, just thinking about it felt like betraying Guinevere. But if he were honest with himself, even she had known, towards the end.

Merlin is going to take care of you.

Merlin could only gape at him, pupils blown like a black moon obscuring the sea. “What?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Arthur breathed.

They sat in silence for a while. Now Merlin had his head turned away, so Arthur couldn’t see what he was feeling. He wanted to say more; he was going to say anything he needed to, to make Merlin believe it. But then Merlin turned back. He closed the space between them, reaching out tentative hands to frame Arthur’s face.

“We can never be together, Arthur,” Merlin whispered. His eyes blazed with a rainbow of inscrutable emotions.

“Merlin—”

Before Arthur could say any more, Merlin was kissing him.

It was slow, cautious, gentle. It was Arthur who deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around Merlin, wandering over his trembling body with splayed hands. He slipped them underneath his tunic, and this time Merlin only tensed for a moment; then he relaxed against Arthur’s touch, melted into it, pressed their bodies even closer.

“Is this alright?” Arthur whispered, pulling away for a moment. “If you’re still feeling ill—”

Merlin’s head fell onto Arthur’s shoulder, lips grazing his neck. “No,” Merlin said, breathless. “I’m okay.”

So Arthur kept going. They kissed until instinct took over, and Arthur wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore; only that he loved Merlin, wanted to know every part of him, feel every sharp edge and hidden place on his body. He no longer had to wonder if Merlin felt the same, because he could feel the evidence of that against him.

“Merlin,” he gasped, pulling away. “You need to tell me when you want to stop. If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable—”

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupted. He looked at him, eyes delirious with desire, skin flushed to a deep shade of pink. His lips curled up in a grin. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said, but there was no bite to his voice—only pure, unbridled affection.

Arthur kissed him again. He let his hands wander, until he found them slipping lower, under the loose fabric of his breeches. He trailed fingers over Merlin’s hips, pressing soft skin and sharp bone. But Merlin was far from scrawny, these days. He moved a hand to his stomach, stretching fingers to find the places where muscles emerged beneath rough, damaged skin. There were dozens of scars there, some of them raw and recent. His hand lingered in one place, on Merlin’s lower abdomen— it was hot to the touch. It pulsed, trembled, like there were something alive beneath the surface. He pressed his thumb into the skin there.

Merlin’s gasps of desire turned into something pained. He jerked away, and Arthur immediately retracted his hand. “What is it, Merlin? Does that hurt?”

“No,” Merlin mumbled, slumping back against Arthur. He kissed Arthur on the neck, slow and deliberate. He grabbed him by the backside, pulling until their lower bodies were against each other in a way that caused a groan to slip from Arthur’s lips. Whatever concern he’d had— it vanished to the back of his mind. He grabbed Merlin by the hips and rolled him onto the ground until he was on top, legs straddling him.

He could have sworn he saw a grimace pass over Merlin’s face. “Merlin,” he said, breathless.

“I’m fine.” Merlin grabbed Arthur by the face and smashed their lips together, until Arthur was too lost in the heat to argue. They kissed for what could have been hours, or minutes — Arthur couldn’t even tell. But then Merlin pulled abruptly away. “Stop,” he said, trying to catch his breath.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” Merlin said, voice a hushed whisper. “Shut up.”

“What? Why are you—”

Before Arthur could finish that sentence, Merlin pressed a hand over his mouth. “There’s someone watching us.”

Arthur rolled off of Merlin like he’d been set on fire. He watched as Merlin stood up on unsteady legs, eyes scanning the perimeter of the forest.

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to pull his mind from the place it had just been. “What is it?”

Merlin ignored him. “I know you’re there!” he called. “Show yourself.”

A moment later, someone emerged from behind the trees. It was a child, Arthur realized, upon closer inspection. He was no older than ten years. And he was dressed in robes and covered in markings that could only mean one thing: Druid. Arthur scrambled to his feet. Merlin stepped closer.

“You’re hurt,” Merlin said to the boy. There were no visible signs of injury—except his pale, sweat-coated face. Merlin clearly knew something Arthur didn’t. “Where is your family?”

The boy didn’t speak. That wasn’t surprising, if he really was a Druid. But a concerned look passed over Merlin’s face. “He’s not speaking to me,” he whispered, turning to Arthur.

“You mean in your—”

“Yes,” Merlin cut him off. He turned back to the boy. “Can you show me where your family is?”

The boy shook his head.

Arthur had still barely managed calm his heartbeat. His mind was hazy, still half-stuck in what they had just been doing, and the horrifying realization that someone—this child—had seen them. But if the child was hurt, Arthur thought, they had to help. Druid or not. “Check him for injuries,” Arthur managed to say.

Merlin stepped closer to the boy. He knelt in front of him, placing a cautious hand on the front of his cloak, where he was clamping it shut with bone-white fingers. “May I?” Merlin whispered. The boy nodded.

Carefully, Merlin pulled the cloak open. Arthur wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see—a surface wound, maybe. But beneath the boy’s cloak was a tunic soaked in blood, fabric torn and sticking to broken flesh. Merlin let out a soft gasp; Arthur felt, for a moment, like he had to look away. This was a Druid—but he was still a child. Why wasn’t he crying? Screaming?

“Can you heal him?” Arthur asked, when Merlin had turned to look at him.

Merlin’s eyes flitted to the ground, then back up to Arthur. “No,” he whispered. “Not here, I — I don’t think I’d…have the strength. We’d have to take him back to Camelot.”

“Alright, then. We’re not far. Come on—help me get him on my horse.”

Merlin sighed. He stood up, legs trembling slightly as he moved. “Arthur—”

“What? Are you going to say we shouldn’t help him? He’s going to die, Merlin.”

“No, I’m saying…” Merlin moved closer, bringing his face inches from Arthur’s so the boy couldn’t hear. Arthur tried to ignore the shiver that ran down his spine. “I’m saying we need to be careful. We don’t know if we can trust him. And bringing him to Camelot, out in the open—”

“Would show his people that I’m on their side.”

Merlin bit his lip. “Maybe. But it might also make your people think you’re not on theirs.”

Arthur scoffed. “Merlin, where…where is this coming from?”

Merlin opened his mouth to respond—but he was cut off by a sudden thud. The boy had collapsed, and now he was a pale, unconscious heap on the ground.

Arthur cursed under his breath. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous,” he said, sliding to his knees beside the boy. “I’m not just going to stand by and watch a child die.” He slipped his arms beneath his eerily motionless form, ignoring the look of doubt on Merlin’s face, and draped him over his horse before climbing up behind him. “We don’t know how much time we have.”

“Wait,” Merlin said, running a hand over his face. “I can…I can try to heal him.”

“And then you pass out from exhaustion, and I’m lugging two unconscious people back to Camelot? No. This is the easiest way.”

Merlin didn’t respond. He still looked ill; but then again, he almost always did. He rocked back and forth on his feet, arms crossed. He was thinking about something.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur groaned.

“Arthur, you—you don’t understand. This could be a trap.”

“And if it isn’t? Then we’re leaving a child to die.”

“Yes, but —”

“But what?”

“The last time I saved a Druid child,” Merlin said, voice low, “it was almost the greatest mistake of my life.”

Arthur winced, looking away. He let his eyes roam over to the pale, unconscious boy slumped over his horse. He was just a child; but so was Mordred, once. Still, if he could go back, knowing the truth—he wouldn’t have done anything differently.

“I know,” Arthur whispered. “But it wasn’t. Could you live with yourself, knowing you left him here to die?”

Merlin was silent for a long time. So long that, eventually, Arthur assumed he might have to do this on his own. But then Merlin mounted his horse. “Come on,” he mumbled. “Before he wakes up.”

*

They pushed forward towards Camelot. Every time Arthur glanced over at Merlin, all he saw was a face made of stone, fixed only on the path ahead. Something told him that, despite the feelings still clawing desperately at Arthur’s chest, they weren’t going to talk about what had just happened between them. But it was probably for the best, he knew; they needed to focus on the boy. Every so often, Arthur placed a finger on his pulse—it was strong. Normal, almost. As if he weren’t even injured at all.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, speaking for the first time since they’d started their journey back. They were almost to the entrance of Camelot—so close that the guards at the front gates were just barely visible.

Merlin looked over at him, prying his eyes sluggishly from the distant view of the castle. “Hmm?”

“The boy’s injury. Have you seen anything like this before?”

“Just a typical knife wound. Why?”

“Who would have done something like this?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “I…don’t know. Bandits, maybe.” He paused, searching Arthur’s face. “What is it, Arthur?”

“Nothing,” Arthur said, fixing his eyes ahead again. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

They continued to ride in silence. Until, only minutes away from Camelot’s entrance, Arthur realized something; it was a thought that settled over him with a nauseating wave. “Hang on,” he said. “You said he wasn’t talking to you. You know, in your—in your head. Is that why you thought this was a trap?”

Merlin looked at him, face startled. He nodded.

“But that—that doesn’t mean anything," Arthur said. "Maybe he just doesn’t know how.”

“Or,” Merlin said, gazing wanly at the boy’s slumped-over form, “it means he’s not really a Druid.”

Arthur was an idiot. Why hadn’t he thought of that? If Merlin was right, and this was a trap—it was too late to turn back. They were already approaching Camelot, earning horrified glances from the guards who saw what they were carrying. And Arthur had a feeling it wasn’t because he was an injured child. it was because he was a Druid, riding towards the castle on the king’s horse.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed. “If this is—”

Before he could finish that sentence, he was hurdling towards the ground. The boy was suddenly awake, and definitely not moving like someone with an injury. He had knocked Arthur off his horse, and now he was jumping down, just as Arthur tried to scramble to his feet. He fumbled for his sword—but it was gone. “What are you doing?” Arthur yelled.

“I’m here to end this, Arthur Pendragon.”

“Arthur!” Merlin was by his side in an instant, holding out a hand—ready to intervene, if it came to that. But he was still…still a child. Arthur could see the conflict on Merlin’s face. It was the only reason he hesitated.

“Emrys,” the boy seethed. “Stay out of this.”

“Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t hurt a young boy, would you?”

Merlin lowered his hand. He tilted his head, reading something on the boy that Arthur couldn’t see. “You’re not, though, are you?”

The boy smiled. It was unsettling, the way an adult-sized smile stretched over his small face, as though it had been cut off and pasted there. “He’s a perceptive one,” he said, looking at Arthur. “It’s no wonder you’re so enamored with him.”

“Halt!”

By now, the guards had realized what was happening. But they had barely broken into a run before the boy held out a hand, snapping their necks with a flick of his fingers. Arthur winced as their bones cracked, a sickening sound, bodies going limp and crumpling downwards like sacks of wheat. Merlin stepped in front of Arthur—which, somehow, did not even damage his pride.

“Your attachment to him makes you weak,” the boy said. “Why sacrifice so much for a man who would see your kind burn?”

“Who are you?” Merlin yelled.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m just one of thousands of others —people who have lost faith in you, Emrys. There are many stories about you, about the peace you are supposed to bring. But they’re all lies. You’re nothing but a traitor.”

Merlin backed up a step, back momentarily colliding with Arthur’s chest. He resisted the urge to wrap an arm around him. It was Merlin doing all the protecting, after all.

“I’ve…I’ve heard that before,” Merlin whispered.

“You’re not a traitor to anyone, Merlin,” Arthur interjected.

“No, I’ve…” Merlin trailed off. He turned towards Arthur, face obscured by a sudden darkness. But there was a sort of…understanding shaded there. His eyes were knowing and empty all at once. A chill pulsed through Arthur’s body.

“What is it?” he whispered.

Merlin didn’t respond. He turned back to the boy; pushed his hand out with a violence that made Arthur flinch. The boy was sent hurdling into the air, rushing back down with a crack before Arthur could even understand what was happening.

Merlin had impeccable timing. Not long before his terrifying display of power, a crowd had drawn — guards, knights, maids, stable boys. Anyone who had been close enough to hear the commotion. And there was Caradoc, who, along with a few other knights, had come rushing to Arthur’s side. They had brought more guards, who restrained Merlin with a disgusting amount of aggression. He writhed and gasped in pain, turning towards Arthur with pleading eyes. It was almost as if, even after everything, a part of him still didn’t believe that Arthur would help him.

“STAND DOWN,” Arthur roared, fighting the bile rising in his throat.

Everyone—the guards, Caradoc, gaping bystanders—stared at him in disbelief.

“I said stand down,” he repeated.

Reluctantly, the guards released Merlin. They sent him stumbling backwards, and he folded his arms against himself in pain. Arthur had seen enough lately to know the look on his face—using magic, when he was already ill, had drained him.

Caradoc looked as though his eyes might pop out of his head. “Sire—”

“No,” Arthur interrupted. “Not another word. Do you understand? Merlin has not committed a crime. Magic is—” Drawing in a long breath, he turned to the crowd that had gathered around him. “As of today, the use of magic is no longer outlawed.”

“But, sire…that was a child.”

“It wasn’t,” Merlin mumbled.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“Look,” he said, gesturing to where the boy had fallen.

But it wasn’t a boy at all, now—it was a woman, with long brown hair splayed around her head like a crown, wearing a bright purple gown that almost made her look royal. But she couldn’t have been, because Arthur had seen her before, dressed in peasant clothing. That must have been a ruse. She was the sorceress who killed Gaius.

“Well,” Caradoc spluttered. “He still killed someone. Is that not a crime?”

“Not when he was protecting the king,” Arthur ground out. No one is getting arrested here today — unless you’d like to keep challenging me?”

Caradoc looked like he wanted to. For a moment, Arthur truly thought he would. But he kept his mouth shut, lips pressed in a thin line.

Arthur glanced back at the crowd that had drawn around them. It had grown even larger, now, nearly filling the entire courtyard. It was almost reminiscent of the crowds gathered to watch Uther’s executions—and that felt fitting, somehow, in a vile, ironic way.

“Spread the word,” Arthur said. “The magic ban is hereby lifted. The use of magic will no longer be regarded as a crime—you will only be judged by what you do with it. If you harm an innocent person with magic; that’s a crime. If you use magic to steal—that’s a crime. But magic, in itself, is not something you have to hide, or be ashamed of. No one will have to live in fear any longer.”

When Arthur could no longer bear to look at the shocked faces before him, he looked at Merlin. Despite looking ready to collapse—his eyes welled with tears. He smiled like Arthur had just taken the entire world and placed in his hands. Maybe, in a way, he had.

“How touching.”

The voice shattered the moment between them. Arthur turned to find the sorceress alive, awake, standing before them as though she were entirely unscathed. It shouldn’t have been possible. Arthur had seen Merlin kill a man with less power than he’d used against her.

“It was a nice speech, truly. But I don’t believe a word of it. You’re still Uther’s son, after all.”

“What do you want from me?” Arthur called to her. He reached for a sword that wasn’t there.

“I want you to suffer. Like my people have suffered under your family. I want your subjects to watch you die, see you take your last breaths here, outside your castle. Just like you did to so many others.”

A few knights made a move to try to grab her—but Merlin held out an arm to stop them. “Wait,” he said. “She’ll kill you.”

“Stand down,” Arthur ordered. “Let him handle it.”

Merlin slipped back into his place in front of Arthur. Caradoc looked on the verge of apoplexy, trying to quell his urge to restrain him.

“Arthur is not responsible for the mistakes of his father,” Merlin said. His voice was low, grating, leeched of all emotion. Arthur shivered. “He has freed us all. When the other kingdoms get word of the lifted ban—they’ll be forced to take action. Whatever promise you think I made — this is it, fulfilled.”

The sorceress smiled. “Emrys,” she hummed. “Once again, you’re blinded by your affections. Do you truly believe he won’t have a change of heart the moment your magic frightens him? When he sees what you are truly capable of?”

Merlin didn’t respond. From his place behind him, Arthur could feel him start to lose his balance, swaying slightly to one side. Instinctively, Arthur grabbed him by the arm. That contact seemed to bolster him. “This is not about me,” Merlin said.

“Is it not? It seems to me that is all it’s about.”

“Alright,” Merlin said after a moment. “If it’s revenge you’re after. Kill me, then. Leave Arthur out of it.”

The sorceress smirked. It made Arthur’s stomach turn, looking at her—such evil and hatred painted over a beautiful face. She reminded him of… Morgana. “If you wish,” she said.

She held up a hand—but Merlin was faster. He lunged forward, and with one tilt of his head, the sorceress was suspended in mid-air, suffocating under an invisible force. She clawed desperately at her neck, fighting to breathe.

“Did you make Gaius suffer,” Merlin growled, “or was it quick and painless?”

“He—he was—” she gasped for air, a fish drowning on dry land. “He was old. Close—to death anyway.”

“That,” Merlin yelled, “wasn't your choice to make!” He tilted his head again, and the invisible noose tightened, causing more color to drain from the woman’s face. “I’m going to make you feel his pain,” Merlin said, breathless. The sorceress seemed no longer capable of speech—but in her eyes, Arthur could see the plea for mercy.

He remembered something Merlin had said, once, not long after Arthur had learned about his magic. He said that, after he’d gone to the crystal caves, he’d come into his true power. There was not much he couldn’t do; that the power was a part of him, always pulsing inside him. My only battle is choosing to do the right thing with it.

Arthur stepped forward and grabbed Merlin by the arm. “Merlin.”

He turned to him. He looked manic, his face angry and heartbroken all at once, eyes pulsing with gold. Arthur didn’t even need to say anything; somehow, just seeing his face brought Merlin back to reality. He turned back to the sorceress, and in the same instant, she dropped to the ground in a heap. Merlin stood over her.

“Leave here,” he spat. “Don’t make me regret sparing your life.”

“I—” she gasped, “I underestimated you, Emrys. I thought you were a—a tale we told our children. To give them hope.”

“I don’t want to see you in Camelot ever again. Do you understand?”

When she’d recovered enough to stand, the sorceress left. She actually left, of her own volition, at Merlin’s request. As if Merlin alone inspired that much fear in her. It seemed too easy—was that really all it took? They had seen how powerful she was, how cunning. Something didn't seem right. But Arthur couldn't worry about that now.

When she was gone, the widespread shock and horror was palpable; it blanketed everyone in the courtyard, who stared at Merlin in disbelief. Somehow, Merlin didn’t see any of them. He turned to Arthur. His face was colorless, his eyes dilated and hazy.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, stomach lurching. “Are you alright?”

That display should have been nothing to him. Arthur had seen—had heard stories of—so much more. Something the sorceress said had shaken something loose inside Arthur, jostled him free of his blindness. Merlin was the most powerful sorcerer who had ever lived. This wasn’t right—it wasn’t normal. Arthur couldn’t keep pretending that it was.

“Merlin,” Arthur repeated, when he didn’t respond. “What is it?”

“Arthur,” he breathed. “I—”

The words died on his tongue. His eyes rolled back in his head, and in the next instant he pitched forward, into Arthur’s outstretched arms. “Merlin.” Arthur grabbed him by the face. “Merlin!” He placed two fingers on Merlin’s neck, pressing into pale, waxy skin.

He couldn’t find a pulse.

Chapter Text

Arthur had seen a great number of men die, in his lifetime. Many of them by his own blade; many of them by his father’s. He had lost his parents, his sister, his wife. 

And yet, somehow, none of it could quite compare to the feeling in his stomach when he held Merlin, lifeless and blue-tinged against his chest. Maybe it was because this was Merlin, and if he was honest, he had never thought it possible for Merlin to die. He was meant to be invincible. 

…“Arthur. Arthur. Listen to me, dammit. Arthur!”

It took ages for Arthur to recognize that someone was talking to him. Finally, his vision snapped back into focus, and suddenly Gwaine was kneeling in front of him, face unusually pale and eyes red-rimmed. “Arthur,” he said. “You need to pull it together, mate.”

Slowly, feeling returned to his limbs. And then the sensation settled over him again—Merlin in his lap, motionless and heavy like lead. His throat made an involuntary sound; he fought to not be sick. 

“Arthur,” Gwaine repeated. “There’s a woman here who says she can help.” 

“Help?” Arthur choked. “He’s dead.” 

“No,” said a voice from somewhere beside him. “His pulse is weak—but he’s alive.” 

Arthur turned to see a woman, tall and slender with her brown hair pulled back. He had met her before; but his brain was too hazy to remember where. She kneeled beside them, picking up Merlin’s wrist with gentle hands. “Sire,” she said, with a slight bow of her head. “I believe I can…help him.”

Arthur opened his mouth, parted his dry lips that tasted of copper, and tried to will himself to speak. But no words came. He felt dizzy; he felt as though the crowd gathered around them—the ocean of scornful faces, all losing faith in their king—was nothing but a mirage. 

“Arthur,” Gwaine urged.  Leon and Percival were there, too, as if in a show of solidarity—to say that at least someone had faith in him. But somehow, without Merlin, it all meant nothing. 

“We don’t have much time,” the woman pressed. 

“Alright,” Arthur choked. 

For a moment, the woman hesitated. She looked as though she did not fully trust Arthur; like she could have been making a fatal mistake. No matter what he did, Arthur could not escape his legacy. 

“Whatever you have to do,” Arthur said, voice thick. “No harm will come to you. You have my word.” 

The woman nodded. She reached out a cautious hand and placed it on Merlin’s chest, over his heart. She closed her eyes, and with a long breath, she mumbled an unintelligible string of words. She looked concerned, for a moment. Then Arthur thought it was his own heart that had stopped. But she kept going—placed her other hand over Merlin, raised her voice until they couldn’t possibly hide what was happening. 

Then Arthur felt Merlin stir. 

It was as though life had been breathed back into him, however weakly. He was no longer an almost-dead weight. Arthur thought he could cry — maybe he already was. But it didn’t matter. He framed Merlin’s cold face with his hands. “Merlin. Can you hear me?” He stirred more, leaned into Arthur’s touch. But he didn’t open his eyes. “Will he wake up?” Arthur asked the woman. 

“His heart is beating as it should,” the woman answered. “I believe he will.” 

The swell of relief that Arthur felt was almost too much; it made him dizzy. He was so disoriented, he almost failed to notice that the crowd had not dissipated. They were a mass of horror and confusion, shouts of protest bubbling through like a violent current. Arthur knew, somewhere through the haze, that he needed to address them—failing to do so would have disastrous consequences. But his brain still felt disconnected from his body. Anything he said right now was going to make it worse. 

Arthur turned towards the woman, who still kneeled beside him. She looked at Merlin like she was genuinely concerned for him—as if she knew him. “I’m sorry,” Arthur said to her. “I didn’t get your name.” 

“Isolde,” she said. 

Where had he heard that name before? Scattered thoughts moved through his brain like wet mud; he couldn’t make anything connect. But it didn’t matter now. “I owe you an impossible debt,” he managed to say. “But I’m afraid I have another thing to ask of you. Will you come inside with me? In case he…” 

“Of course, my lord,” she said, moving to her feet. “Anything for Merlin.” 

*

Once Merlin was settled into his own bed, chest rising and falling normally, Arthur should have left. A physician had been called for, he was stable—all they could do was wait. But he couldn’t find the strength to tear himself away. He had this thought that, at any moment, Merlin would stop breathing again. And Arthur could never forgive himself if he weren’t by his side for that. He sat beside his bed and watched him, a pale, waxy shadow of himself, and thought that this wasn’t right—he wasn’t meant to be this fragile. 

“I can see how much he means to you.” 

The voice came from Isolde, who sat nearby, too, waiting just a little bit longer to see if she may be needed again. 

Arthur cleared his throat and leaned back, trying to wipe away whatever expression he’d been wearing that would make her say that. But at this point, it likely didn’t even matter. “He’s my closest friend,” Arthur admitted. 

Isolde smiled. “I know how special he is.”

Arthur turned to her, studied her face. Now that his senses were returning to him, he realized where he knew her from with a jolt. She was the woman who had harbored the Druids, back when all of this began. “You know him,” Arthur said. 

“Yes. He helped me, many years ago. I discovered I was not the only sorcerer in Camelot.” Her face darkened, after saying that—she must have remembered who she was talking to. “But his talents are far beyond anything I can do. He’s…”

“The most powerful sorcerer who has ever lived?” Arthur finished. “Or so I’ve been told.”

“Yes,” Isolde said, a curious look on her face. “He’s the reason you lifted the ban, isn’t he?” 

Arthur opened his mouth to say yes, then thought better of it. He was still out of it, now; but not quite so much that he didn’t realize how that would make him look. How, if anyone knew the truth—that one man was able to topple all of his convictions—he would be labeled weak. Incapable of ruling. But Isolde was a magic user herself. One who seemed to believe in Merlin, too. 

“He showed me that magic can be good,” Arthur said. 

Isolde smiled. “I always knew you would not be like your father. You just needed a nudge in the right direction.” 

And that nudge was Merlin, is what Arthur knew she meant. And she was right. 

Before Arthur could respond, a soft moan from Merlin stole his attention. He leaned closer to the bed, placing a hand on Merlin forearm. “Merlin?” 

He didn’t wake up. Arthur reached out to feel his face, and his head rolled away, recoiling like a wounded horse. He was pale and sallow and sweaty —but he was responsive. And that offered a glimmer of hope. 

“A physician from the lower town is on the way,” he said, almost to himself. Then he turned to Isolde. “Is there anything more you can do for him?” 

“I’m afraid not, my lord. All we can do now is wait.” 

“But there has to be—” Arthur was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. He turned to see Leon standing in the main room of the physician’s chambers, a grim look on his face. “Excuse me a moment, Isolde,” Arthur said. He crept carefully out of the room, and then winced at the stupidity of it—as if noise would wake Merlin, when nothing else could. He half-closed the door so Isolde wouldn’t hear whatever Leon had to say. Even through the haze, he knew it couldn’t be something good. 

“Sire,” Leon began, voice clipped. In the worry lines around his eyes, Arthur could see something different—something more than his usual concern for the king. Something like real fear. 

“What is it, Leon?” 

“There is…unrest, sire.” 

Arthur’s blood chilled. “Unrest? What do you mean unrest?” 

“Some of the townspeople, they…they’re gathering near the gates of the castle. They’re demanding an audience with the king. They’re…they’re growing violent.” 

Arthur could not recall ever seeing Leon so worried; and it was strange. Surely they had dealt with worse than this. But perhaps it wasn’t the rioting townspeople—but a sudden realization that his king wasn’t prepared to handle it. And that possibility made Arthur feel sick, deep in his bones; he wanted to prove Leon wrong, to be the king they all thought he was—that Merlin thought he was. But Leon was right. Right now, there was nothing Arthur could say or do that would fix this. 

“Well, we…” Arthur began, voice hollow. “We knew something like this might happen.” 

Leon bit his lip. “Arthur. Don’t you…can’t you see how this must look, to them?” 

“How what must look?” 

“Your relationship with Merlin. Everyone who has seen you together suspects…something untoward.” 

Those words were a blow Arthur had not been expecting. He stumbled back a few steps, feeling like the air had been drawn from his lungs. “I…I don’t…I don’t know what you mean,” he exhaled. 

“Arthur,” Leon pushed, eyes wide and blown with concern. “Whatever it is—it’s none of my business. But you need to address the people’s concerns, before this gets worse.”

Arthur let out a shaky breath. He was not a king, now. His hands trembled, and suddenly he was a child, too small for his armor, looking up at Uther and the impossible shoes he’d one day have to fill. But he could not wonder what his father would do in this situation; because his father would not have been in it. And that, Arthur realized with a chill, was what caused this. Uther had created such hatred towards magic, that his people…his people would never believe his son would embrace it. Not of his own volition, anyway. 

“Why does it matter what our relationship is, Leon?” Arthur whispered, even though he knew the answer. “Is it because he’s a man?”

Leon was taken aback, but he blinked the shock away. “Well, yes,” he said. “But it’s mostly because he’s a sorcerer, Arthur. And your sudden acceptance of magic…” 

“They think he’s enchanted me,” Arthur finished. 

Leon nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

“But Merlin is…so many of them know him. They know he’d never harm a fly.” 

“That…display earlier suggests otherwise, sire.” 

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t believe he’s dangerous, do you, Leon?” 

“I know he is,” Leon said, voice low. “But I also know his loyalty to you is stronger than anything else.” 

Arthur didn’t have the strength to challenge him on that misguided notion. He looked back at the door that separated him from Merlin and felt a deep, gnawing ache—Merlin would know what to do. It had taken a long time for him to admit how much he relied on him, but now…now he knew without any doubt. When people saw a good, just king—what they were really seeing was Merlin’s guidance. 

“I’ll fix this,” Arthur said, without looking back. “But I need time. Anything I say now is only going to make it worse.” 

“Arthur…” 

“Please, Leon,” Arthur snapped, swiveling to face him. “Diffuse the situation. Whatever you need to do. I just…I need time.” 

“Alright, sire,” Leon said. He could not hide the weariness in his voice. But he left, and then Arthur drew in a long breath to keep from passing out. 

When he returned to Merlin’s room, Isolde stood up. “Sire,” she began. “I believe he is stable. I don’t think there’s anything more I can do for him. Perhaps I should…” 

“Yes,” Arthur breathed. “Of course. Please don’t let me keep you any longer.” 

Isolde smiled. She placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “He will be alright, my lord. He is stronger than any of us.” 

“I hope so,” Arthur said. “Thank you, Isolde.” 

When she was gone, Arthur sat at the edge of Merlin’s bed. Some color had returned to his face, and he didn’t seem to be in pain. But he wasn’t awake. 

Arthur knew he needed to leave. He was the king, and he was actively neglecting his duties. His people. Merlin was going to be okay—he was Merlin, after all. Maybe it was Arthur who was broken. Merlin had broken him, and only he could put the pieces back together now.  

                                *

When the physician arrived, Arthur returned to his chambers. It was long past sundown, and he had to at least attempt to return to normalcy. He tried desperately to fill his head with something other than Merlin, and magic, and the absolute mess they had created. He tried to occupy himself with menial tasks, with ordinary paperwork and chores. Things that, in a time that felt like a lifetime ago, Merlin would have done for him. And that only made him feel worse. 

There was this nagging thought in the back of his mind. It continued to resurface, no matter how many times he shoved it away. For months he had wondered if Merlin’s condition was some kind of punishment for Arthur’s failures regarding magic—if this was the Sidhe’s sick way of forcing Arthur’s hand. But it didn’t make sense. The ban had been lifted; he’d done what they wanted. 

There was something else. Something Merlin wasn’t telling him. 

A knock at the door scattered his thoughts. He had already been pacing up and down his chambers, so he turned to open it and found Gwaine, looking less Gwaine-like than Arthur had ever recalled seeing him. 

“You look like hell,” he grumbled, before inviting himself in. 

Arthur glared at him. “Likewise.” 

“Arthur,” Gwaine sighed. He ran a hand over his face. “It’s a bloody mess out there, mate. If you don’t do something soon…”

“I was under the impression it had been handled.” 

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. “Well they’re not storming the castle, if that’s what you mean. But there’s so much fear and unrest…I can smell it in the air.” 

Arthur tried to ignore the way his legs went numb, threatening to buckle. He swallowed hard. “All because of Merlin?” 

“I don’t think it’s Merlin they’re afraid of, Arthur. They’re afraid of a king who’s lost control of his kingdom. 

“What can I do, Gwaine? Honestly—what would you do, in my place?” 

“I’d tell them the truth.”

“The truth.” Arthur let out a strangled laugh. “So I should tell them…tell them I’m in love with a sorcerer? That I did all of this for him? That I have no idea what I’m doing without him? I’m sure that would inspire confidence.” 

The expression on Gwaine’s face changed—softened, if only slightly. Arthur could see that he had not been expecting to hear those words uttered out loud. Arthur hadn’t expected to admit it, either. But he wasn’t in his right mind. 

“This isn’t you,” Gwaine said, after a moment. “You may be a princess—but you’re no coward.” 

Arthur didn’t respond. By the time he opened his mouth to say something, Gwaine stopped him. “Caradoc is leading a charge to overthrow you,” he said. “But he’ll have to kill me first.” 

That was just one more blow to Arthur’s already fragile armor. He didn’t know what to say, what to think—except that it was a miracle at least a few people still believed in him. “Thank you, Gwaine,” he managed to choke out. 

Gwaine didn’t reply. He slipped wordlessly from the room, leaving Arthur to be ravaged by the silence. He stood still in the half-darkness, feeling dizzy and heavy as he watched strange shadows emerge from candlelight. He suddenly felt the need for sleep pull at him, clawing from somewhere deep inside. When he’d woken up that morning, magic had still been outlawed—his only concern had been Merlin’s strange behavior. Then, somehow, every layer of armor he’d ever built around himself had been peeled back, all in the span of a day. 

Part of him wanted to undo it all; to take back every confession, build the walls back brick by brick. But he couldn’t. All he could do now was go to sleep. 

*

You’re okay, Arthur. 

It’s going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright.

The voice was Merlin’s, and it sent Arthur flying out of bed in a cold sweat. He blinked into the darkness, trying to remember where he was, trying to catch his breath. 

“Merlin?” 

No answer. He stepped in front of the window, into a ray of pale moonlight. The room was empty. Arthur’s chest felt hollow; he could have sworn Merlin was here, that it was his real voice calling to him—not simply a dream.

The words still rang clear and defined in his mind: Everything is going to be alright. Wasn’t that just like Merlin, to be the one comforting him? Even on death’s door; even in Arthur’s dreams.

He tried to go back to sleep. When he closed his eyes, he saw Merlin’s face, pale and coated with tears—but not sick. Not dying. Not the same Merlin who lay unconscious on the other side of the castle. It was a different Merlin, a slightly younger one, with shorter hair and softer features. He looked the way he did, sometimes, in those moments when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking—like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he feared he’d collapse under the load. 

It’s too real, he thought, eyes snapping open. Too real to be a dream. 

Suddenly, he found himself getting dressed. He fumbled blindly for the garments he’d tossed on the floor, relying only on touch and a faint stream of moonlight. Then he made his way through the castle, slipping in and out of shadows, narrowly evading the attention of the night guards. He could have worn this path in his sleep. 

He wasn’t sure what, exactly, he’d expected to see. He’d hoped that this was some kind of sign that Merlin was awake—that he was going to get through this. He pushed his way in to the physician’s chambers and up the steps into Merlin’s room. 

Arthur squinted into the darkness. He could just barely make out the shape of Merlin still in bed, motionless and silent. 

“Merlin?”

He moved closer. He wasn’t awake—and only the gentle rise and fall of his chest loosened the knot in Arthur’s stomach. He sat carefully beside him. It was only a dream. Anything else had been wishful thinking. 

Arthur reached out and cupped Merlin’s face, brushing a thumb against his cheek in slow, shaky half circles. He began to think, for the first time since all of this began, that perhaps Merlin would not be okay. That it was his ultimate destiny to die a slow, quiet death, a withered, collapsing flower, turning to dust between Arthur’s fingers. 

He let out a shaky breath. A single tear raced down his cheek and dripped from his chin. “I can’t do this without you, Merlin,” he whispered. 

Merlin leaned into Arthur’s touch, breathing a soft groan through parted lips. “r’thur…” 

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. “Merlin?” 

“Nnn-o,” Merlin groaned, throat bobbing. His brow scrunched, and his head rolled to one side. “I can’t lose him. He’s my friend.” 

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed. He slipped his hand down, placing it on the side of his neck. “It’s alright.” Beneath shaky fingers, Arthur could feel Merlin’s heartbeat quickening. 

“No!” Merlin cried. “I won’t accept that!” 

“Merlin. Hey, Merlin, it’s alright.” 

Arthur reached under the covers to find Merlin’s hand. He laced their fingers together. 

It all happened so fast after that. He felt dizzy, like the world had been tipped upside down. He scrunched his eyes closed. 

Even before he opened them again, he knew Merlin had done something; some kind of subconscious, intrinsic magic. The kind he used to light fires with a roll of the eyes, or send men flying with a twitch of the head—only more of it. Arthur felt blanketed by it, caressed by it, as if Merlin was embracing him the only way he knew how. 

How had he ever been afraid of this? Something Merlin was made of? 

Finally, he opened his eyes. Merlin’s dark room had bled away, and now Arthur stood in the forest. A lake stretched out before him, glimmering beneath rays of muted sunlight. It was beautiful; and for a moment, Arthur wondered if that was why Merlin’s subconscious brought him here.  

But something else came into focus. Merlin was here, too, but it was a different Merlin. A younger one, still wearing his servant clothes. Arthur moved to run to him—but something else caught his attention. 

It was Arthur. Another version of himself, anyway, dressed in chainmail, slumped over in the grass with the life drained from his body. Merlin stood over this other Arthur, clutching him desperately, sobbing as if something inside him had broken. 

“Please!” he called. “I know you can hear me!” 

Something emerged from from the lake, and Arthur blinked into the sun to check if he was seeing things. Dozens of tiny, winged creatures, hovering over the water in a haze of iridescence. Somewhere in the blur, one of the creatures spoke. “We will not save this arrogant, hateful man,” it seethed. “His fate has been decided.” 

“No!” Merlin cried. “I won’t accept that. There has to be a way. I’ll…I’ll do anything.”

“To bring someone back, someone must be taken in his place.” 

“Take me,” Merlin choked. “Please, take me.”

“Your time in this world is not yet finished, Emrys. There is much you have yet to accomplish.” 

“I can’t do it without Arthur,” Merlin cried. “Please. I need—Albion needs him.” 

For a moment, the creatures were silent. It felt, somehow, like the rest of the world held its breath with them, until all that could be heard were Merlin’s faint, quivering sobs. 

“We will grant your request,” the creature decided. “Arthur Pendragon will live, and you will die. But first you must do what you are destined to: restore magic to the five kingdoms. You will do it in three year’s time. Do we have an agreement?” 

Merlin drew in a shaky breath. He swiped at his face. “And what if I can’t?” 

“It is not a question of ability, warlock. You have wielded the power all along. Now you must choose to use it.” 

“Power, over Arthur?” Merlin scoffed, but he choked on the sound. “And the other kingdoms—”

“Do you accept this arrangement?” The creature interrupted. 

“If I fail,” Merlin said. “What will happen to him?” 

“We will not have the power to take his life again, regardless of the outcome. But you will not fail. That much has already been written.” 

“I accept,” Merlin declared, after a moment. “Bring him back.” 

“As you wish, Emrys.” 

The creatures unleashed a halo of white light. It enveloped this other Arthur and Merlin, circled around them, flowed between them as though, for a moment, their souls were becoming one. Then an abrupt silence swept over the forest again; the creatures vanished, taking their magic with them. 

Merlin fell to his knees. He gasped like he had just been underwater, clutching his chest in shock. “Arthur,” he breathed, reaching out. He framed other Arthur’s face. “Can you hear me?” 

Sluggishly, Arthur’s eyes rolled open. “Merlin?” he mumbled. “What…”

“You’re okay, Arthur,” Merlin said. A taut smile stretched across his face. “It’s going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright.”

It was beautiful, almost. Merlin and Arthur together, reunited, huddled against the glistening backdrop of the lake. But it wasn’t real—was it? The scene had begun fading, turning black at the edges. 

Arthur couldn’t breathe, for some reason. His knees felt weak, but he refused to let them give out, for fear that this fabricated ground would not support him. He wanted to believe that this was only a fever dream, or some strange, terrible world that Merlin had created. But it wasn’t. 

It was a memory. 

“Merlin,” he cried, as if this mirage-Merlin could hear him. “You idiot! Why would you do this?” 

Merlin turned to him. The ground was shaking, the world around them peeling away like old paint. Arthur closed his eyes, bracing himself to face the darkness of reality. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Merlin sobbed. “I’m sorry.”