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Ever since Merlin became Arthur’s manservant, he has known what he would do if his magic was ever discovered. He would pack quickly, sneak out of the castle through one of the secret tunnels, and head to the closest druid encampment on foot. He would tell no one where he was going, not even Gaius, and there would be no time for goodbyes. Instead, he has written letters. Hopefully, they will be found and distributed. There is one for Gaius, one for Gwen, one for Lancelot, one for Gwaine, and one Arthur.
Merlin has always known Arthur would come after him upon discovering his magic. But now that the day has finally come, he can hardly believe it. He can hardly believe he is now running for his life.
He sprints through the forest, his pack bouncing on his back. He can hear hoofsteps, and distant shouting. They’re catching up to me. He knows Camelot’s laws. Once they find him, he will be executed without hesitation. They won’t bother to bring him in.
He needs to use magic. Merlin presses himself to a tree, closing his eyes. He can’t risk saying a spell out loud. Hydan. He whispers the spll in his mind, hoping it is enough.
The hoofsteps grow closer, and nothing happens.
Oh no.
Hydan! Hydan! HYDAN! Still, the spell doesn’t work. He opens his eyes, looking around in a panic. He’ll be found soon. Arthur will find him, and kill him, and he will die alone, bleeding out in the forest, never seeing Albion’s rise, never seeing the people he loves again–
He can hear Arthur’s voice just a few yards away. “Hurry, we’ve almost got him!’
No.
“HYDAN!” Merlin screams it, and his magic rises inside him. Warmth surges through his fingertips, and the spell spreads over his skin, turning it the color of the bark and foliage behind him. There are running footsteps, and Arthur comes into view just as Merlin completely disappears. The king stops, looking around wildly.
The knights catch up with him, breathing hard. Merlin freezes, not even daring to breathe. They’ve ditched the horses. He curses silently–it will be harder to hear them coming. He’ll have to be even more careful now.
“Where is he?” Gwaine pants, eyes scanning the forest. “Where’d he go? Did you lose him?”
“Obviously,” Arthur snaps. “Come on, he couldn’t have gotten far. We have to find him before nightfall, it’s freezing out here.”
Good, Merlin thinks. It is too cold for them to follow me after the sun sets. He can use his magic to keep himself warm, and even if it isn’t enough, he would rather freeze to death than die at Arthur’s hand. He can’t imagine a fate worse than the person he loves more than anything running him through with the blade he made. Excalibur glints in Arthur’s hand, and Merlin feels his heart break a little more. I made that for you. I fought to keep you safe.
I laid my life on the line for you, a hundred times over.
And now Arthur wants him dead.
He shouldn’t be so shaken by this. He always knew there was a chance Arthur would find out, and there has never been a doubt in his mind that once Arthur did, the love between them would turn to hatred. However, there is a difference between knowing it might happen and seeing it play out in front of his eyes.
Arthur leads the knights through the trees, out of sight. Lancelot pauses very briefly, only feet from where Merlin stands. Merlin’s blood turns to ice in his veins. Does he know that I am here? Is he going to turn me in?
Lancelot sighs, shaking his head in frustration. “Just imagining things,” he says to himself, hurrying after Arthur. Only when he is gone does Merlin breathe again.
Exhaustion courses through him, and he drops the spell, making himself visible again. He won’t have enough strength to cast the spell again, at least not for several hours. He needs to find somewhere to hide and rest until nightfall.
He forces himself to start running again, though he feels like he might collapse any moment. The thought of laying on the ground and waiting for Arthur to find him is getting more and more tempting. What life would he lead outside of Camelot, anyway? He couldn’t go to Ealdor, Arthur knew his mother lived there and it would only put Hunith in danger. Many of the neighboring kingdoms treated magic as badly as Camelot did. The druid encampment was his only choice, and he didn’t even know if they would let him stay. Arthur ending his life sounds better than living out the rest of his days without family or someplace to call home.
No. He chases the thoughts away. Hunith and Gaius would be devastated if he died. Maybe Gwen, too, if she didn’t hate him for lying about his magic. He has to keep going, for their sakes. So he continues on, fighting the fatigue that threatens to overcome him.
It takes a long time, too long, but he finally finds a place to hide. It’s an abandoned cave, obscured by foliage. Easily defendable, a voice in his head that sounds like Arthur’s muses. Well hidden. Tactically, this is a good spot to hide like a coward.
I don’t have a choice, Merlin fires back, feeling quite insane. Arthur has only been hunting him for a day and Merlin has already started talking to the king in his head. The hiding spell took a lot out of me, it has weakened my magic. He pushes through the moss barrier, stepping into the dark cave.
Or maybe your magic is weak because you are running from your other half, Not-Arthur points out. We’re meant to be together, remember? Maybe your magic is trying to make you go back to me.
Merlin hates to admit it, but Not-Arthur has raised a decent point. His magic is always stronger when he is near Arthur. You may be right, but if I go back to you, you’ll kill me. So I have to do the best with what I have.
Not-Arthur goes quiet for a moment. I wouldn’t kill you, he insists finally. You’re my friend. You’re more than my friend. I asked you to be the King Consort, remember?
Merlin collapses against the cave wall, pain striking him at the memory. The day before, Arthur showed him the King Consort crown, and asked Merlin to rule at his side. Merlin wanted to say yes. He wanted to say yes so badly. But he didn’t.
I turned you down, Merlin reminds Not-Arthur. Because I couldn’t bear to marry you knowing there was such a secret between us. He laughs darkly. And now you are hunting me down like I’m any other criminal, like there was never anything between us. Seems like I made the right decision. His eyes burn, and he wipes at them furiously. Did you ever really love me?
Not-Arthur does not respond, because he is just a voice in Merlin’s head. The real Arthur is trying to kill him.
Merlin closes his eyes once more, and drops into sleep.
-
When he wakes, sunlight is no longer filtering in through the moss cover. It’s night. He scrambles to his feet, finding that some of his energy has returned. This is his chance to get away from Camelot once and for all.
He slips out of the cave. Arthur was right–the night air is biting, and Merlin is already beginning to shiver. He squints up at the dark clouds dotting the sky. Soon, it might start to rain. Or even worse, it might start to snow. Snowfall would be deadly for him right now. He wouldn’t be able to survive the cold.
He forges on through the forest, rubbing helplessly at his arms. He should build a fire, that would warm him up easy enough. But no, he doesn’t have the time. If he stops, he won’t make it out of Camelot by dawn, and the knights will quickly be on his trail again.
Suddenly, a dog barks from close by. Merlin stiffens. The knights don’t use hunting dogs–there is someone else nearby. He opens his mouth to cast the camouflage spell again, but before he can, two massive dogs burst through the undergrowth and tackle him to the ground.
“Wáce ierlic!” Merlin yells, and the dogs are thrown off him, crashing to the ground several yards away. He feels guilty for just a moment, and then a heavy weight crashes into the back of his head, knocking him to the ground. Before Merlin can recover, a foot steps on his back, hard, pinning him to the ground.
“We’ve got him!” a deep voice bellows. “This is the sorcerer they’ve been looking for, this is Emrys!”
His arms are wrenched behind his back, and iron shackles snap around his wrists. Cold iron. Merlin struggles weakly, but it is of no use. The man pinning him down is much stronger than he is, and with the cold iron chains he can’t cast any spells. He’s trapped.
The man lifts his foot and rolls Merlin onto his back. Merlin glares up at him. The man is wearing all black clothing, with a cloth obscuring the bottom half of his face. A sword is sheathed at his waist. There’s a second man behind him, holding a crossbow.
“Everyone wants Emrys, and it turns out he was in Camelot all along!” the second man crows. “We’ll make a pretty penny off of him, many will be interested in his talents. The former Pendragon ward especially, it’s rumoured she’d pay any price for him!”
Morgana. Merlin goes completely still, realizing the gravity of the situation. These men are slavers. They want to sell me off to the highest bidder. He resumes his frantic struggling, and the first man crouches down next to him. Merlin barely has time to register the glint of metal in his hand before pain explodes in his side.
The world goes black, and when he comes to, his side is wet. A familiar, coppery scent overwhelms him, so strong Merlin thinks he might choke on it.
Oh. He’s bleeding. That’s why his side is wet.
The slavers are arguing, the first man waving his hands wildly. “No one cares if he’s in one piece or not!” he yells at the second man.
“Yes, but they will care if he’s dead or not!” the second man shouts back. “He’s not just any catch, he’s worth enough to make us rich for the rest of our lives! We can’t risk killing him!”
“Fine,” the first man snaps. He grabs Merlin’s shackles, using them to hurl the warlock to his feet. Merlin cries out in pain, everything inside him burning in agony.
In the distance, he thinks he hears someone screaming his name.
He falls into darkness.
-
Merlin’s limbs feel so heavy. His wrists hurt. Why do his wrists hurt? He tries opening his eyes to find out, but it’s too hard. He wants to go back to sleep, where nothing hurt. He wants to feel numb. He never gets what he wants. He wants to be safe, but he hasn’t been safe since he came to Camelot. He wants to be free, but he has a destiny he must follow. He wants Arthur, but Arthur doesn’t love him anymore and probably never did.
It’s not fair.
Someone slaps his face. “Hey, wake up. Emrys, wake up.” He is slapped again, and finally opens his eyes just a bit. He’s lying on a log next to a fire. His hands, which are now in front of him instead of behind him, are in heavy chains. That must be why his wrists hurt.
The second slaver is hovering over him. “Get on your feet,” he orders, shaking Merlin violently. Merlin flinches as it makes his side burn with agony. “We can’t drag you all the way to Essetir. Come on.”
Merlin tries to sit up, and almost immediately falls back down again. “Useless,” the second slaver mutters, hauling him to his feet. “The most powerful sorcerer in the world, and you’re utterly useless.”
Merlin frowns. The man is right. He’s the most powerful sorcerer in the world, why can’t he just kill them? Then he remembers the chains, and the stab wound in his side. Yes, that would explain it.
The second slaver yanks him over to where the first slaver has saddled three horses. Merlin is manhandled onto the smallest horse, a tiny stallion. He slumps forward, nearly falling, but the second slaver shoves the reins into his hands. “Hold on to those,” the second slaver instructs. “Let go, and I’ll take your hands as punishment.”
Merlin obediently grips the reins, and the second slaver mounts his own horse. The first slaver spits a harsh command at the horses, and they break into a lazy trot.
“We need to hurry,” the second slaver growls. “The king of Camelot and his knights are right behind us.”
Of course they are, Merlin thinks numbly. Arthur is a stubborn clotpole, he never gives up when he has a job to do. Even when that job is killing me.
It’s not Arthur’s fault, though. It’s Uther’s; the late king was the one who raised Arthur this way. Arthur just doesn’t know the good magic can do, he has only seen the evil.
He tries to shake himself out of his stupor. Cautiously, he manages to shift himself enough that his shirt rides up ever so slightly, revealing the wound on his side. It’s been haphazardly bandaged, and Merlin vaguely recalls the slavers not wanting him to die. They need him alive so they can sell him to Morgana.
He can’t let that happen. Morgana will use him against Camelot. All the people he loves will be in danger if he ends up in her hands.
Merlin examines his cold iron shackles. He has heard tales from Gaius about how they restrict the powers of magic users, but he isn’t just any magic user. He is the most powerful warlock to walk the earth. The cold iron limits him, yes, but it can’t cut him off from his powers completely.
With much effort, he leans down to whisper in his horse’s ear. “Ga on wuda,” he says softly. The horse perks up immediately, and whips around, galloping back the way they had come. The slavers bellow after him, and Merlin can hear them following close behind. If they catch up, it’s over. He isn’t strong enough to fight them off.
“Wáce ierlic!” he cries, repeating the spell from before. The two slavers are thrown off their horses, landing on the ground hard and not getting back up. Merlin doesn’t bother wasting time feeling guilty about the fact they are likely dead. They were going to sell him to Morgana. He did what he had to.
Merlin clutches the reins of his stallion as a wave of exhaustion crashes into him. Using magic with the cold iron cuffs on has drained him completely. He loses his balance, falling to the ground, and his stallion sprints off into the forest.
This is how I die, he realizes. The wound in his side is bleeding badly, and he doesn’t have enough energy to get up, to try to find help. There isn’t anyone who will help him, anyway. He’s going to die out here, in the cold, all alone.
I’m sorry Gaius, Mother, Gwen. I tried.
He’s lying next to a lake, a very familiar lake. The Lake of Avalon. Freya’s final resting place, and now it will be his as well.
Merlin blinks up at the sky, which has never looked a clearer blue. Snow begins to fall, and he laughs even though nothing is funny. He will not be given a burial, but at least he’ll have this. The snow will cover him like a coffin.
He shivers so badly his entire body shakes. It’s cold, Arthur, he thinks pathetically, reaching out to the voice in his head one more time. I’m so cold.
I know, Not-Arthur responds. I’m so sorry.
Merlin’s eyes close.
There are suddenly running footsteps. “Merlin!” a voice yells. It is very familiar, but Merlin is too tired to recognize it. “Oh, god!” Hands lift him from the snow. “ARTHUR! HE’S HERE!”
Merlin cracks his eyes open. “Percy?” he says weakly. Percival looks down at him in horror.
“It’s me, Merlin! You’re going to be alright!”
No. Merlin pulls away from Percival, dragging himself toward the lake. They’re going to kill him. Arthur is going to kill him. He lets out a sob, the tears freezing on his face. Percival reaches for him again, and Merlin slaps his hand away. “No…stop…please…” He can’t pull himself any farther. There’s so much blood, pooling beneath him. “Please…”
“MERLIN!”
He would know that voice anywhere. Arthur.
Arthur shoves Percival out of the way, bundling Merlin into his arms, holding the warlock close to his chest. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you–” Arthur’s breaths are coming in frantic gasps. “I found you. It’s going to be okay.”
Merlin can barely move, but he can still beg. “Please, don’t hurt me…I’m sorry…” he pleads. His voice is so faint, he wonders if Arthur can even hear him. “I’m sorry…”
Arthur runs a hand through his hair, cupping his ice-cold face. He’s…crying. Yes, Merlin isn’t imaging it. There are tears running down Arthur’s face. “Shh, shh,” Arthur soothes, voice breaking. “I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.” He presses a gentle kiss to Merlin’s forehead, and Merlin feels himself instinctively leaning into Arthur’s touch. “You’re safe now. You’re safe now, my love, let’s get you home.”
“Not gonna…” Merlin’s breath hitches. “Not gonna kill me?”
Arthur’s eyes flash. “Never,” he says firmly. “I’m so sorry you ever believed I would. I’m so sorry you’ve had to live in fear. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”
For the first time since Arthur started chasing him, he feels a little warmth return to him. It’s far too late, but at least he will die cradled in Arthur’s arms. “Good.” His eyes close.
“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice is high with panic. Merlin distantly feels hands pulling his tunic up, and gasps from the knights. “LANCELOT, HELP ME! WE NEED TO GET HIM TO GAIUS!”
Merlin is being lifted, being carried, and he realizes Lancelot is now holding him. He is wrapped in Lancelot’s cloak, and the cloaks of at least three other knights. “Lance…” he mumbles.
“Stay with us, Merlin,” Lancelot says desperately. “Just hold on a little longer, okay?”
He’s being lifted again, and then Arthur is there, pulling him close. They’re on a horse. Arthur is carrying him. They won’t get to Camelot in time. Merlin knows they won’t. But it’s okay.
He lets himself drift into darkness once again.
-
When he wakes up for a third time, he is tucked under a heavy assortment of blankets. He’s in Gaius’s chambers, his bare chest wrapped in bandages. Arthur is sitting in the chair next to his bed, fast asleep but still gripping Merlin’s hand. At first, the sight of Arthur only makes Merlin feel warm. Then the fear returns, and he yanks his hand away. Arthur hunted him down. Arthur wants him dead. Arthur knows about his magic–
His spiral is cut off by Arthur’s eyes opening. The king’s gaze drifts wearily across the room before settling on Merlin, and he jolts upright. “Merlin!” he says. “You’re awake!”
Merlin stares at him, paralyzed with fear. Arthur seems to pick up on his terror, as he goes completely still. “Hey,” he says gently. “Do you remember what happened?”
Merlin gives a silent shake of his head. The last thing he can remember is falling asleep in the cave. Everything after that is a blur of color and sound and pain.
“You were taken by slavers,” Arthur explains gently. “You were injured, and when we found you, your condition was grave. You were near death.” The king clears his throat, looking away from Merlin. His eyes are red. “You thought I was going to kill you.”
“Are you not?” Merlin’s voice is rough. He must have been out for quite a while–his throat feels like it was made of sandpaper. The words near death sink in, and he feels like the ground has been snatched out from beneath him.
Slowly, Arthur takes Merlin’s hand again, intertwining their fingers. Merlin lets him, though he eyes Arthur warily. “I am not going to kill you,” Arthur promises. “I am not going to hurt you. You have nothing to fear, Merlin.” Seeing Merlin’s unconvinced expression, Arthur adds, “I know you must have thought I was after you to end your life. But the knights and I were only going after you because we were scared. You ran into the woods without waiting for my reaction, and I was afraid you would never come back. I was afraid you might become lost out there, or freeze to death, or get hurt.” He squeezes Merlin’s hand. “In the end, all of that happened anyway. I’m…” He swallows. “I’m so sorry, Merlin.”
Merlin can’t bring himself to believe what Arthur is saying. After so long hiding this deadly secret, Arthur doesn’t care. Arthur doesn’t hate him. He’s…safe.
“Do you still…” Merlin stops himself. He’s not sure he wants to know the answer to his question.
“Do I still love you?” Arthur guesses, and Merlin gives a small nod. “Of course I do. You having magic doesn’t change that. Though,” he says as an afterthought. “I would like to know the truth. How long you’ve had it, who else knew about it beforehand…and Gaius mentioned that you’ve done quite a lot for me, I’d like to know about that, too.”
Merlin feels a disbelieving smile tug at his lips. “Okay. I’ll tell you about it, all of it. You deserve to know.”
Arthur smiles back, so soft and caring. Merlin has never felt so loved before. “Does any of this make you reconsider my offer?” the king asks. Merlin frowns, trying to recall what Arthur means, until Arthur picks something up off a nearby table.
A crown. The King Consort’s crown. It catches the torchlight, and the polished gold flashes in a hundred different directions, taking Merlin’s breath away.
“Marry me?” Arthur whispers.
Merlin doesn’t even think before he answers. “Yes. Yes, Arthur, I’ll marry you.”
Ever since Merlin became Arthur’s manservant, he has known what to do if his magic was ever discovered. He would run, as fast and as far as he could.
He doesn’t need to run anymore.