Work Text:
It began with a fire.
A village three days' ride from Camelot had reported strange scorch marks on crops, unnatural storms, and sudden sickness in the livestock. Arthur sent a group of men—Leon, Gwaine, and Merlin among them.
They were meant to return in five days.
On the sixth, only Leon and Gwaine came back.
Without Merlin.
Bleeding, furious, and terrified.
“He told us to go,” Gwaine growled, eyes rimmed red. “Said he’d found the source—some cursed relic in a cave system nearby. He said it was reacting to his magic and we had to move the villagers out. When we got back, he was gone.”
Leon added grimly, “There were signs of a struggle. Blood. Drag marks. And cold iron.”
Arthur’s heart stopped.
Two weeks.
It had been two damn weeks. Two weeks of searching. Of interrogating. Of calling in favours from anyone and everyone. But no one had seen him.
And then… a letter arrived.
Delivered by an anonymous hand. No crest. No seal. No identifying marks at all.
'The sorcerer who plays servant to Camelot’s golden king is yours to claim. If he’s still breathing that is. His screams were so sweet.'
Arthur burned in his anger.
An abandoned hunting lodge in the eastern woods was circled on the map.
Arthur left immediately.
They found Merlin on the third floor, he was chained to a stone wall in a room that smelled of rot and burned flesh.
Arthur was the first through the door.
And when he saw him—barely conscious, trembling, bloodied, cold iron wrapped around his wrists and ankles like twisted vines—he stopped breathing.
“No—” The word choked out of him. “No, no, no, no, Merlin—MERLIN!”
He rushed forward.
Merlin, barely conscious, flinched violently back, trying to shrink away from the sound, from the shadows, from the person aproaching him.
“Don’t,” he gasped. “No, please, not again. Dont touch me, Dont touch-”
Arthur dropped to his knees and reached out gently.
“Merlin. It’s me. It’s Arthur.”
Merlin blinked, eyes struggling to focus.
He blinked again, and then his eyes widened.
He gave a small sigh, then a tiny, broken sob.
Then Merlin collapsed into Arthur’s arms, burying his face in his neck. Still chained to the wall.
Arthur held him tight, arms wrapped tightly, protectively around Merlin's back.
“I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I'm here. You’re safe, I've got you, my sweet. Ive got you now. My Merlin.”
He hadn’t meant to say it.
But the words came freely.
He kissed Merlin’s soot-streaked temple and held him closer, whispering over and over again, “You’re safe. You’re safe. I’m here.”
The knights were silent as they entered—Gwaine weeping, Leon trembling with fury, Percival, the most peaceful of all the knights, dragging the captor’s body into the courtyard with barely-restrained rage.
Merlin didn't see any of this, as he passed out in Arthur’s arms.
Arthur didn’t let go. Refused any help in carrying him back to the horses.
The injuries were worse than they feared.
• Cracked ribs
• Severe burns across his back and chest
• A shattered leg that would probably never heal properly
• Dozens of lash marks, some still bleeding, some infected
• And his magic—gone. The iron had been on so long that it had sunk into his core. It would return, slowly. But the pain would last for months.
For days after returning to Camelot, Merlin barely spoke.
When he did, it was quiet, stuttering, restrained.
“Are you—mad at me?”
Arthur blinked confused. “What?”
“I—I got caught. I was meant to protect you, protect the kingdom. I failed.”
Arthur stared at him, then slowly knelt beside the bed and gathered Merlin into his arms.
“You bloody fool,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You think I care that you got caught? You could’ve died. I care that you got hurt, that they took
you from me. I thought—I thought you were gone.”
Arthur gently took merlins hand in his and pressed a kiss to the back of it, trembling.
“I’ve never been so afraid in my life.”
Merlin’s chin wobbled. “But I’m—different. I — I'm scared, and I don't know if — when my magic will come back, or if it will be the same as before. I’m not—”
“You’re mine.” Arthur said fiercely, cupping his cheek. “Magic or no magic. You are the best man I’ve ever known. And I—I need you.”
Merlin blinked.
“Arthur… i dont? What do you—?”
Arthur leaned in, voice trembling, eyes bright with emotion.
“I mean that I love you. I think I’ve loved you since the first time you insulted me. And I didn’t know how scared I was of loosing you, I didn't know that I —" Arthur sighed, stroking the back of Merlin’s hand that he still held. "when I saw you on that floor, it felt like my entire world had ended.”
Arthur slowly let go of Merlin’s hand, reaching towards his other one and pulled off a ring—gold and silver entwined, looking like vines, with small emeralds scattered over it, as the leaves.
“This used to be my mother’s. I’ve worn it for years.”
He gently took Merlin’s hand and shyly, glancing up at Merlin as he did so, slipped the ring onto his finger.
“I’d like to court you, Merlin. Properly. Officially. Not because you've spent most of your time here saving me, my kingdom. But because I can’t imagine a world without you.”
Merlin’s eyes filled with tears. Smiling very faintly.
He reached up with his hand and gently caressed Arthur's cheek, and kissed Arthur softly.
Arthur kissed him back.
Slow. Sweet. Reverent.
Then Merlin tugged him closer, onto the bed, and the kiss deepened—hungry, shaking, heated. Desperate for comfort, for closeness.
For Arthur.
When they pulled away, Merlin rested his forehead against Arthur’s, closing his eyes.
“Yes Arthur." Merlin whispered softly, "I’ve loved you for a long time, too."
Arthur smiled, hand cupping the back of Merlin’s head.
“Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”
Merlin sighed and leaned into Arthur’s chest, finally safe.
And Arthur held him like the most precious thing in the world. And he was, at least to Arthur.