Archive of Our Own

I.

The day of King Uther's funeral had dawned cold and dreary—which seemed only appropriate for the last journey of a man who had been much the same throughout his life. As the cortege moved down from Buckingham Palace towards Charing Cross, a faint drizzle started to fall on the sea of umbrellas stretching out along the street, and Morgana was glad that she was sheltered inside the carriage, hidden away from prying eyes behind a veil.

Earlier, in the grey light of morning, she had watched as Arthur got dressed in front of the mirror of his bedroom at Clarence House, putting each garment on as if it was part of an armour.

“I'm sorry about your father,” she had said, leaning against the door jamb, and it had almost surprised her how much she meant it.

Arthur had paused, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “He was your father, too.”

“It doesn't work that way, Arthur.”

Morgana walked over to unnecessarily adjust his shirt-collar and smooth out the non-existent wrinkles in his coat. “I don't have a father,” she said, and when Arthur stilled her hands, trapping them against his chest, Morgana looked up with a small smile. “But I do have a brother. And that's the only thing that counts.”

While Morgana grew up in the royal household, right under Uther's nose, he had never—not even once, not even in private—acknowledged the elephant in the room that was her parentage. But with Arthur it had always been there: in his eyes and in his smile, whispering in her ear when they were hiding under the blankets during a thunderstorm. You're my sister. When they were eight, and Morgana was crying—because her mother got mean when she had too much gin, but she also got honest, and the ugly truth was even uglier for an eight year old girl—Arthur would hold her tight. They had been co-conspirators, secret-bearers in a cold and hostile environment, and whenever things became too much, whenever Morgana wanted nothing more than to burn down the world around her, her brother was there, and she could breathe again.

Arthur was riding behind the casket now, looking every inch the fairytale prince with the rain beading like jewels on his dress uniform and golden hair. He carried himself with impeccable composure, but Morgana was sure the people watching had not forgotten the blond, little boy who had followed another casket, trying to be brave in the face of devastation. They had always loved their prince, and now they would love their king, who would pay them back by carrying the cross of duty seemingly with ease, willing to look out for everyone beside himself. Morgana had never shared these kind of noble aspirations. The list of people she cared about was very short. Her brother was right at the top of it, though, and there were no lengths she wouldn't go to see him happy. 

*

Morgana had always loathed protocol, just like she loathed every shackle that her birthright had ever put on her. But as painful as it was to watch Arthur accept the condolences of people who were not distraught at all that his father was dead, at least the procedures gave him some sort of crutch to hold on to. 

Uther had not had the good grace to die of illness or old age. Instead he shocked the world when he fell from his horse and broke his neck, right in the middle of political upheaval and economic uncertainty. Arthur had been on an extended tour in South America and had to rush home when he got the news that he was king—and also an orphan—now, which hardly left him any time to come to terms with it all.

And while Uther had hardly been popular, famous for being a hard-head, he had been a bulwark against the modern age, a last vestige of the archaic values many of these old, white men still clung to, and they were obviously disconcerted to see Arthur ascend the throne so unexpectedly. Morgana very much looked forward to Arthur proving himself to be a great king while simultaneously shaking up their musty traditions.

As she watched him standing with the Archbishop of Canterbury, apparently engrossed in conversation, and doing a fantastic job of keeping a stiff upper lip, he radiated such poise and confidence, that Morgana immediately noticed when he lost it. Arthur's whole body went stiff, his eyes caught on the doors leading out to the entrance hall, and his jaw hardened, as if he was gritting his teeth. When he turned back to the Archbishop, it was with a smile that looked so forced it must have been painful.

It was an unsettling moment of vulnerability for someone like Arthur, and Morgana narrowed her eyes, scanning the crowd. Then she pulled herself up to her full height and stalked across the room, ready for evisceration.

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

For once, Gwaine was in the appropriate attire for the occasion—the porters wouldn't have let him in otherwise—but his courtesy had apparently not extended to picking up a razor. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed after lazy morning sex. Morgana opened her mouth, ready for a cutting remark, when her eyes caught on the man standing right behind Gwaine, and all the tension that had been building up inside her chest exploded into a thousand shards of ice.

“You've got to be kidding me,” she said dangerously.

Morgana couldn't deny that the years had been good for Merlin Emrys. The boy she had known was a man now. He had grown into his cheekbones and gangly limbs, and he really cleaned up nicely in a suit. But his worst feature—the big blue, innocent doe eyes—were still the same.

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. "May I introduce you to my—"

“Absolutely not,” Morgana interrupted him, her eyes still on Merlin and fighting to keep her voice low. She was well aware of all the prying eyes around them. “Whatever you think you're doing, I won't let you.”

She reached out, wrapped her fingers around Merlin's arm like a vice, and roughly started to tug him along as she steered them both towards a set of doors to the left. They led to a vestibule and further to the terrace and gardens, and Morgana knew a few spots where she would be able to commit murder undetected. 

As soon as the doors had fallen shut behind them, Morgana let go of Merlin and took a step back. “What the hell is this?" she spat. "Haven't you done enough to him? Now you have to show up at his father's funeral with Gwaine of all people to... what? Rub it in?”

Merlin blinked at her, looking truly taken aback by her fury. “I just wanted to talk to him. I haven't been able to talk to him—“

"And who's fault is that? It's not like Arthur left school and vanished like a coward.”

“What—? That's not what happened! If you'd just let me explain to him—”

“I'm not sure what's to explain,” Morgana said coldly. "But you had that chance seven years ago.”

“And you don't think I wanted to?” Merlin voice was rising with agitation. “Of course I did, but—“

Morgana held up her hand. “I'm going to be honest with you, Merlin. What you did to Arthur was inexcusable. But you once helped him to help me, which is the only reason I'm not calling security on you. On one condition: that you leave now, and neither Arthur nor I will ever see or hear from you again.”

Merlin's face looked stricken; it was obvious that he had not expected Morgana's reaction, although she had no idea how he could have possibly hoped for anything else. But as she watched Merlin turn away defeated, it wasn't as satisfying as she had assumed. His face looked like a bloodless mask, every movement he made seemed forced, and Morgana felt a strange unease creep in. Merlin was already by the door, his long fingers wrapped around the handle, when he stopped himself.

“I didn't want to leave school,” he said quietly, keeping his back turned towards her. “My scholarship was rescinded out of the blue. I wanted to tell Arthur. I wanted to wait for him, but it was made very clear to me that if I ever contacted him again, it would have consequences, not just for me but for my family.”

Merlin pulled the door open with more force than necessary and before Morgana could demand that he explain—before she had even fully comprehended what Merlin was implying—he was gone.

II.

With the longest day of his life finally over, Arthur felt so exhausted that even the task of getting undressed and ready for bed seemed too much of an exercise. The coat of his dress uniform was undone, and he had loosened his shirt and lost his shoes, but that was as much of an effort as he was willing to make. Slumping down in front of the fireplace in his private quarters, he closed his eyes, turning his face to the flames. The events of the day all blurred together behind his eyelids in a dizzying dance of solemn faces, the sound of organs and hoofbeats echoing on wet asphalt. But from all that one thing stood out: the glimpse of a face once so familiar it had haunted his dreams, now matured into that of a stranger.

Arthur's first memory of Merlin was—somewhat to his embarrassment—the sight of taut nipples and long limbs, glistening wet in the light of the afternoon sun. He could still recall, with perfect clarity, how he had stared mesmerized at the droplets of water making their way down that pale chest, unable to breathe from the sudden pressure in his chest and the mortifying stirring in his pants.

He had been out by the pond on the far end of the school grounds, stretched out on the old jetty with his sweater rolled up under his head, when suddenly the wooden structure beneath him creaked under a new weight. Arthur opened his eyes and was met with the vision of a boy hoisting himself out of the water in a painfully erotic rendition of every wet dream Arthur had ever had.

Catching sight of Arthur, the boy hesitated, blushing as he brushed wet hair from his forehead, and Arthur's heart started beating in his throat.

“I haven't seen you here before.”

Arthur winced when his voice came out like someone had just stepped on a toad.

“Yeah, no. I'm new.” The boy gave Arthur a shy smile. “And you're... I'm sorry, I don't know the right way to address you.”

The boy pulled his bottom lip in with his teeth, starting to worry at it.

“Well, usually it would be 'Your Royal Highness',” Arthur said, because his brain was suffering from acute lack of oxygen. “But that seems rather silly when we're both in our undergarments.”

The boy gaped and blinked very quickly, and then he burst out laughing. A sound so unexpected and infectious that Arthur couldn't help the grin that spread over his own face.

With his eyes still twinkling with amusement, the boy held out a hand. “I'm Merlin,” he said, and Arthur reached out, trapping those long, elegant fingers with his own.

“I'm Arthur.”

Merlin grinned. “Yeah. I know.” 

The sound of someone clearing their throat startled Arthur out of his reverie, and he jerked up from his slouch, eyes flying open to the sight of his sister.

“I thought you might want this.”

Arthur instinctively wrapped his fingers around the drink she was pushing into his hand, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Double shot?”

“No point in doing things by halves.” Morgana let herself fall into the chair beside him and lifted her glass in a silent salute.

Arthur gave her a tight smile in return before he took a swallow from his own drink, savouring the alcohol burning down his throat.

“It's been a long day."

“Understatement of the century.” 

Morgana slipped off her shoes and wriggled her toes, swirling the brandy in her glass, seemingly engrossed in the glowing reflections from the light of the fire. “So." She rolled her head over to look at Arthur. "Can we talk about this?”

Arthur inhaled deeply and, for a second, contemplated feigning a lack of understanding. “There's nothing to talk about,” he said finally, hoping against hope that she might let it go.

Morgana made a derisive sound at the back of her throat. “You can't tell me that you don't care. Not when you spent years pining after—“

“I didn't pine,” Arthur snapped. “And I'm not a schoolboy anymore. Whatever delusions I once had about him and me—that was a long time ago.”

It was painful to think about now, how quickly Merlin had drawn him in with his boyish charm and complete lack of reverence. Arthur had believed that they were becoming friends—even if it had been a strange and unlikely friendship from the start. At first sight, they didn't have much in common, but they both loved that stupid little pond, and their paths kept crossing there.

“What are you even doing here?” Merlin would ask on one such occasion, plopping down next to Arthur. “Don't you have to train with the football team or lead the debate club?”

“I keep telling you, you should join,” Arthur gave him an amused look. “I've never met anyone as opinionated as you.”

“Harhar. It's called passionate. And you could only benefit from the perspective of someone who wasn't born with a golden spoon shoved up some bodily orifice.”

Arthur nearly choked, half scandalised and half delighted. “I... uh... think the spoon is supposed to be silver?”

“Really? Next you'll tell me you don't dine from golden plates. Don't shake my world view, Arthur.”

“I'm not sure your fairytale-based fantasies can be considered a world view.”

He was still trying to recover, when Merlin leaned over and plucked a piece of foliage from Arthur's hair, brushing his cheek in the process, and Arthur was struck dumb, staring at Merlin who was prattling on about something else, completely unconcerned—or most likely unaware—that he had nearly caused the heir apparent a heart attack. 

Arthur shook his head, trying to dislodge these thoughts, and pushed himself to his feet. Just a moment before, he had felt dead tired, but now that old pain and anger rushed through his veins, itching under his skin. He went over to the high windows and stared outside, with unseeing eyes. For all these years he had been perfectly fine to—not forget about Merlin, that would have been too much to ask—but to push any and every thought of him aside. To the point where Arthur was half convinced that it had never happened. That Merlin was just a story he had made up.

“You're right. You're not a schoolboy anymore," Morgana said, and he could feel her heavy gaze resting on him. "But you keep acting like one, running away because you got hurt once.”

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath. Morgana could be blunt to the point of rudeness, but she usually didn't push him like that. She hated to talk about pesky things like emotions even more than he did.

"What is this about, Morgana?" he asked, turning around slowly. "If you're trying to make a point, get on with it."

“I spoke to him.”

For one glorious moment, Arthur didn't understand, but then his brain caught up, and he felt as if his heart had just dropped out of his chest. He was tempted to look for it on the floor, but all he could do was stare helplessly at his sister, who met his gaze with a challenge that he had no idea how to answer. 

“Why can you never let anything go, Morgana?” he pressed out. “I was young and dumb—"

"There are things that have never added up, Arthur. Maybe because we never got the whole story. He said—"

"—what?" Arthur bit out, breathing harshly through his nose. "What did he say?"

Morgana watched him for a long moment before she looked away, turning her gaze to the fire. "In the end it comes down to whom you believe, doesn't it?" she asked. "And that's difficult if you don't trust anyone."

It was not an answer, and it made Arthur feel as if the ground was slipping under his feet. "I've always trusted you," was all he could say.

Morgana raised her head with a look on her face as if she had been skewered, and Arthur was pulled back to a cold night in February, when his life became a runaway train on a dead track, ready to crash and burn.

He had been on his way back from study group when his phone started buzzing in his coat pocket, and he had to wrangle it out left-handed, causing him to lose the grip on his pile of notes and books. It was a call from the one number he would always pick up for, no matter the time of day or the circumstances.

“Morgana?” he gasped, pressing the phone to his ear with a white-knuckled death grip. “Where are you?”

“Arthur. I—I don't know what to do.“ There was a choked-off sob and Morgana's voice sounded tinny, as if it was coming from far away, “Please, you need to—can you come? I fucked up, Arthur. Please.”

An icy cold settled in Arthur's stomach. He had never heard his strong-headed sister sound so small or so scared. “Don't—where are you?”

“In Alvarr's flat in Brixton.”

“I need an address, Morgana.” Arthur crouched down on the ground, hastily searching for pen and paper. “What's Alvarr's surname?”

“Williams. He's... he's not here, right now, but I don't know when he'll be back.”

Arthur gripped his phone so hard, it dug painfully into his palm. “Has he hurt you?”

“No.” The pause before Morgana's answer was not reassuring at all.

“I'm coming,” Arthur told her, forcing himself to speak calmly even though he was almost shaking apart with worry and anger. “I'll figure it out, and I'm coming to get you, okay? I promise.”

Arthur only took a moment to scoop up his books, before all but running across the grounds to the dormitories. He only had been to Merlin's room twice, and never this late, but Arthur didn't stop to examine his choices. He knocked on the door impatiently and out of breath, and luckily Merlin opened only a moment later, still in his school clothes.

“Arthur.” Merlin blinked at him in surprise before his face broke into a happy smile. “What are you doing here? I mean, not that you're not absolutely welcome, but you—I mean it's a bit late, but—“

Arthur swept inside without a word, but as soon as Merlin had closed the door behind him, he turned around and blurted, “I need a car.”

“What?” Merlin looked at him bewildered.

“You have a car, don't you?”

“Well, yeah,” Merlin said, still frowning. “I mean, Kilgharrah is really just an old piece of junk but he's been very faithful to me—“

“I need to borrow it.”

“What, right now? Why?”

“Because I need to get to London and no one can know.”

Merlin's eyes widened. “Okay,” he said slowly, giving Arthur a contemplative look. “But... I mean, no offence, but do you even know how to drive?”

It was Arthur's time to blush. “I tried once or twice on our estate in Scotland.”

Merlin nearly choked, looking at him with disbelief. “Uh... okay. That's great, but... trust me. London traffic? Not the same.”

“It's important, okay?” Arthur pressed out, trying not to glare. “And I don't have time to explain or come up with something else.”

Merlin's face softened then. “Alright.” He went over to his bedside table, rooting through the top drawer until he came up with a single key that dangled from a key-chain with a goofy-looking, purple dragon attached to it. “Let's go then. We'll have to fill up on gas first, but after that we should be able to get to London in under three hours.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. “We?”

“Don't even try to pretend,” Merlin replied, rolling his eyes. “You need me. I'm the Scully to your Mulder. The Spock to your Ki—“

“Or the pain to my arse,” Arthur said, smiling and feeling inexplicably lighter just from the sight of Merlin's cheeky grin.

“You know,” Morgana said, staring into the fire with an unreadable expression. “I was really pissed at you at first, when you didn't show up alone, but brought some gangly, gawking kid with you.”

“That gangly kid was the only way I had to get there.”

“I'm not saying it was rational. I just had my heart broken, and I was scared out of my mind. I wanted my brother, who had always put me first, and I wasn't prepared to suddenly step into a romance novel that I wasn't part of.”

"It wasn't—" Arthur broke off when Morgana gave him a look, and then added more quietly, “I'm sorry.”

Morgana snorted. “Don't be ridiculous. You've always been my knight in shining armour, and you came running in the middle of the night—in the middle of the school year—to help me sort out the mess I had gotten myself into.”

Arthur looked at her fondly. “Of course I did.”

“My point is, I changed my mind. When I got to know him, and saw how different you were with him...”

Morgana trailed off and the question was out of Arthur's mouth before he could stop himself, although he was almost certain that he didn't want to hear the answer.

“How was I different?”

Morgana smiled at him sadly. “You were yourself.”

Arthur knew that Morgana wasn't trying to be cruel, but it still felt like a punch to the gut. Because it was true. Arthur had never been more himself than in the days that followed. With Morgana, it was a different story.

Arthur didn't know what he had expected, but when they arrived at the address she had given him, he stared at the building in dismay. It was four stories of grimy brick, the downstairs windows plastered over with layers of half-torn posters, and a pile of old junk stacked against the side of it. It seemed unfathomable that this was the place Morgana had been living at for the past months.

“You sure this is the right place?” Merlin asked uncertainly, and Arthur shrugged helplessly.

He got out of the car and hesitantly walked up to the peeling front door, scanning the names next to the bell for the one Morgana had provided him with and, yes, this definitely was the right place.

When Morgana opened the door for them on the third floor, Arthur was shocked. She looked awful. Thinner than ever and with dark circles under her eyes, her nails bitten to the flesh and her hair pulled back from her face in a lank ponytail. She had an oversized cardigan wrapped around herself and looked like she was trying to vanish inside of it. Unfortunately she was still stubborn like a mule. Over the course of the next hour Arthur yelled at her, hugged her, and punched a hole through a wall, but by the end of it Morgana was collecting her belongings even while she was glaring at him through her tears as if she dared him to say something about it. He didn't. He didn't say a word. Just pulled the door closed and thanked the powers that be that Morgana would never see this dump of a flat or the worthless loser who called himself her boyfriend ever again. 

When dawn broke, they had left the city limits behind, and grey streets gave way to quaint rows of houses and finally to trees. There wasn't much talk between the three of them, and they only stopped once, at a rest stop where Merlin bought them all coffee and stale sandwiches for breakfast.

While he was gone, Morgana raised her head from Arthur's shoulder and gave him a searching look. “He seems nice,” she said a little begrudging.

“He is. I wouldn't have known what to do, if he hadn't offered to come.”

“Are you two...?”

Arthur felt his face heat up, and he opened his mouth, ready to deny what Morgana was implicating, but what came out of his mouth instead was, “I don't know. I don't know whether he'd even want that.”

“But you do?”

Arthur hadn't really allowed himself to truly contemplate that. It was hard to fight the images inside his head when he touched himself at night, or to stop his eyes from being drawn to Merlin's mouth whenever they were together, but that was it—a fantasy. But as he stared out through the windscreen at Merlin, who was just coming down the stairs from the shop, trying to balance a tray of paper cups full of coffee and a stack of food, it suddenly seemed absurd to deny it.

Morgana gave Arthur the side-eye while topping off her glass from the decanter on the side table. "You know, there is no actual law excluding the monarch from the pursuit of happiness. Just because your father was like an all-year-around Grinch—"

"There really is no way for you to end that sentence that would make me feel better, thank you very much."

"For Christ's sake, Arthur!" Morgana rolled her eyes in exasperation. "When was the last time you took a risk?"

Arthur opened his mouth to protest—he'd seen action during his military service as a fighter pilot, thank you very much—but Morgana cut across him.

"For yourself. For something you wanted. Admit it, coming to get me was the most reckless thing you have ever done."

Arthur didn't object, even though Morgana was wrong. Coming to get her had not been what was reckless, it had been what came after, when they drove all the way down to the coast and the cottage that had once belonged to his mother.

Arthur had not been there since they were children, but it was still the same. Made of grey stone, it sat at the end of an overgrown path, nestled against the dunes and surrounded by dog roses. The sea, visible from the wide living-room windows, lay grey and forbidding under the stormy winter sky, but there was a raw and familiar beauty to it all that felt incredibly soothing.

Later that afternoon, when Morgana fell asleep on the couch, Arthur spread a blanket over her and then signalled for Merlin to join him as he stepped out into the pale sunlight that was fighting it's way through the clouds. They made their way down to the beach and strolled along the shoreline, mostly in silence, the collars of their coats turned up against the wind.

“I wanted to thank you,” Arthur said after a while, looking out to the blurry line of the horizon. “For your help and... for not asking any questions. I know you didn't sign up for this kind of drama and I basically bullied you—“

“Arthur.” Merlin grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt. “Shut up, okay? You didn't bully me into anything. I offered. I'm glad if I could help. I'll always want to help you if I can.”

Arthur looked down at where Merlin's fingers wrapped around his elbow, and then up to his face. “Why? Why would you want to—“

Merlin huffed. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

“Okay.” Merlin ran a hand through his hair, glancing at his feet for a moment. “Geez, this is embarrassing.” When he looked up again he met Arthur's eyes with a determined expression. “I like you, okay? I mean... we're friends, or at least I hope we're friends—“

“Of course we're friends!”

“—but that's not the only thing I want us to be. And I know it's stupid of me to think I'd ever have a chance—and I guess, I don't really—but you can hardly blame me for falling in love with you when you're so completely and perfectly... you.”

Arthur stared at Merlin, at his uncertain face with the wide blue eyes that Arthur loved to see crinkle with mirth, the lips that Merlin worried at until they looked all pink and abused and obscene, the little freckles, the line of his nose and the stubborn set of his chin. He was acutely aware of the water soaking through his shoes from an unexpectedly high wave washing up against the shore, the bite of salt on his cheeks and the tickle of hair the wind was blowing into his face. His hands were cold and his throat felt tight and his heart had just launched a little explosion in his chest.

“Could... could you say something?” Merlin asked, sounding pained. His eyes were still on Arthur but his body was already starting to turn away.

Arthur really would have loved to comply with Merlin's request, but his mind was absolutely blank and he was not sure his brain was even still connected to his larynx. So he did the only thing he could think of. He reached out and cupped Merlin's face and let himself fall into that kiss he had been thinking about since forever. Merlin tasted like the sea and like caramel, salty and sweet, and his skin was warm against Arthur's hands, but his mouth was a furnace and Arthur couldn't get enough of it. Merlin pressed into him with the full length of his body and they stood like that, entwined and fused together, kissing like their life depended on it, like this would stop being real the moment they came up for air.

It had been the single most perfect moment in Arthur's life.

"I took a risk once. You know how it ended."

"Arthur—"

Arthur screwed his eyes shut; they felt dry and sore, probably from staring into the fire for too long. "You know, I never could get myself to really hate him. Maybe that makes me stupid. He was only seventeen. I don't know why he did what he did and I never got the chance to ask." 

Morgana stared down into her glass as if it held all the wisdom of the earth. “Maybe that was the point.”

“The point to what? What are you talking about?”

“I'm saying maybe we severely underestimated your father and the lengths he was willing to go to to secure the future of the Pendragon line.”

A sour taste was spreading in Arthur's mouth. "What—what do you mean? Morgana? What did he do?” 

“I'm not sure. I just—do you remember the pictures?"

Arthur closed his eyes and swallowed, nodding because thinking about that still made him want to throw up. He remembered the glossy, black and white images as if it had been yesterday. The shock and disbelief when his father had thrown them down in front of him, turning the happiest moment in Arthur's life into something sordid and shameful.

“What if it wasn't Merlin at all?" Morgana asked softly. "What if that's just what your father wanted you to believe?” 

"Do you know—?"

"Merlin said they threatened him. Him and his family. His scholarship was rescinded. I mean... I don't know, but—you know what Uther was like.” 

Arthur shook his head. He wanted to dismiss the idea, and the fact that he couldn't—the fact that he could imagine his father doing this—made bile rise up in his throat.

“If that were true—" His legs gave out then, and he slid to the floor with his back against the wall, his fingers shaking around the glass he was still holding. If that was true, everything he had believed these past years had been a lie. That his father had saved him from the worst mistake of his life. That Merlin had betrayed him. His feelings—and maybe even Merlin's feelings—they had been real. If it was true, Arthur had found something special and had let it slip away because he was too much of a fool and too much of a coward to stand up and fight for it.

“If that is true, then this is exactly what I deserve,” he whispered and drained his glass in one last swallow.

III.

Morgana watched her brother drown his soul at the bottom of the third drink, and cursed herself for bringing this all up without actually knowing what was true. Arthur was a master of self-flagellation at the best of times, and without any concrete information Morgana had nothing to dissuade him. There wasn't much else to do for her but take the empty glass out of his hand, pull him to his feet and start pushing him into the direction of his bedroom. He didn't deserve this—all he deserved was happiness—and the words were burning on her tongue, but Arthur was moving with all the awareness of a zombie now, and Morgana never had been good with finding the right thing to say when it wasn't for the purpose of cutting someone down. 

“I'm fine, Morgana,” Arthur said, lying through his teeth and giving her a pathetic attempt of a smile. “You don't have to keep hovering. Get some sleep.”

“Shut up,” Morgana answered without any heat and pulled the covers up over him, which at least earned her an amused look. “You haven't been crowned, yet. You can't tell me what to do.”

Arthur snorted. “As if I'd have any chance with that after,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“You need someone to keep you on your toes,” Morgana joked and then froze, cursing herself silently when she remembered where she had heard that exact phrase thrown at Arthur before, recalled the joyful grin that had accompanied it. 

“I know,” Arthur said after a heartbeat. “I'm lucky to have you.”

The 'because there's no one else' hung in the air unspoken. There might have been a time when Morgana would have felt smug about that, but she wasn't a selfish teenager any longer and seeing Arthur happy meant so much more than having his undivided attention now.

“And don't you forget it,” she whispered when Arthur's breaths evened out and vowed to herself that she would fix this.

*

It didn't surprise her to find out that all of Merlin's story had been true. What surprised her was how easy it was to find out that all Uther had told them had been a lie. It made Morgana feel incredibly stupid to think that she had never questioned any of it, even though she had known that Uther was exactly the kind of man who would pull strings and ruthlessly pursue his objective.

And if Morgana was completely honest with herself—and that was something she usually avoided—there might have been a tiny part of her that had not wanted to look any further. That had been glad that she wasn't the only fuck-up, wasn't the only one who was stupid enough to fall for someone who was only in it to use her for his own gain. Selfishness and betrayal was something Morgana understood. And when Arthur turned to her with a bleeding hole in his chest, all she had to offer was cold rage and fierce loyalty, when what he really would have needed was someone with a cool head and some better angels left.

Morgana had been in a dark place back then. She had wanted nothing more than to run away, and at first Ygraine's cottage had seemed like a perfect refuge from the world, but some things followed you wherever you went.

Staring out at the rolling sea from the window in her room, surrounded by the bags she had dropped right where she was standing, Morgana’s thoughts kept chasing one another in the ever same circle, and by the time Arthur knocked on the door it almost came as a relief to turn around and look at him and just say it.

“I'm pregnant.”

Arthur, to his endless credit, managed to hide his shock. He only said, “Okay” and stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. He held his arms open and wrapped Morgana into them when she crushed herself against his chest, whispering into her hair that is was going to be all right. That he would be there for her.

“I want for it to go away,” Morgana said, and Arthur's arms tightened around her.

“If that's what you want.”

It was. She wanted to wipe the slate clean, go back to the start, before she found her pride and her heart strewn on the floor in pieces.

"Alvarr was ecstatic.”

“Yeah?”

“He managed to produce a child that will be in line to the throne. He thinks it would destroy Uther, and he'd gleefully parade it in front of the press."

Arthur stroked her hair, taking a moment before he carefully said, "We don't have to tell anyone that he's the father. It's not his to claim."

He made an effort to sound neutral, but Morgana could hear the tiny note of hope, and she knew she had to squash that, couldn't allow for either of them to get caught up in it.

"It's not mine either." Morgana raised her head and it was only when she looked at her brother that she realized that she was crying. "I can't be its mother. Please, Arthur. I need someone to take care of this."

Arthur kissed her on the temple. “Okay.”

Merlin had been the one who offered a solution, who called his uncle and arranged for him to come down to the cottage, and for a while Morgana felt better, as if she had been reborn in the solitude of that windy coast. If possible, she would have been happy to stay there forever—just her and Merlin and Arthur, who were sweet and kind and adorable in their newly found romance.

But after a week Merlin couldn't delay his departure any longer. He hugged Morgana and then lingered half an hour next to his car with Arthur before they finally kissed goodbye and Merlin drove off. Arthur took her back home the next day, took the brunt of Uther's ire and promised that she could call him at any time and he would be back as soon as the term was done.

When she told him to go and snog his boyfriend silly and not worry so much about her, the answering smile on Arthur's face had been glorious. But when Arthur got back to school, Merlin was gone, and Morgana never got to see him smile like that again.

Uther had never known his son very well. He had thought that with Merlin out of the picture, Arthur would stop acting reckless, concentrate on his studies and at some point start dating an appropriate girl of the peerage. But Arthur could be very persistent, and when he cared about someone, there were no stops or limits to it.

So Uther had to go further. After Morgana talked to Geoffrey, Uther's private secretary, she stormed into the gallery and yelled at Uther's portrait until she was hoarse, but while that made her feel better, it didn't accomplish much. Morgana knew what she had to do, and it was something that didn't come easy to her. She had always been ready to stand with Arthur against the rest of the world, but now she had to prove that—for his sake—she was willing to reach out and embrace it.

*

The hardest part of it all was actually finding out where Gwaine lived. The idiot liked to be avant-garde and unconventional, and so he had transformed an old green-house on the farthest reaches of one of his family's properties, something his mother told her with a pained smile frozen on her face.

“Do you know where Merlin is?” Morgana demanded when Gwaine opened, her patience already wearing thin after hammering against the door for a good five minutes.

“And hello to you, too,” Gwaine drawled, cocking his hip against the frame. He looked as if he'd just fallen out of bed, even though it was already afternoon, and Morgana hoped to god she had not interrupted anything.

“I'm not in the mood, Gwaine—”

“For what? Manners?”

Morgana crossed her arms in a mirror of his posture. “I wouldn't waste them on you. Is he here?”

“Why do you think he's here?”

Morgana pursed her lips and shot him a contemptuous look. “I honestly don't know,” she said. “It's not like you deserve him.”

“I don't?”

“Please,” Morgana scoffed. “Arthur is amazing. He's smart. He's noble and generous and secretly kind. He's also much better looking than you.”

If anything, Gwaine looked amused. “I think that sales pitch might work better without the death glare, but maybe I'm the wrong person to judge that.” He leaned back a little and raised his voice to the room at large. “You're interested in this, darling?”

Morgana's eyes widened when she saw Merlin come up behind Gwaine. He looked as if he hadn't slept much, but at least he was dressed, so that was something.

“Hello, Morgana,” he said with a hard edge to his voice. “I thought you never wanted to see me again?”

Gwaine put an arm around Merlin's shoulders—which got him an exasperated but fond look—and raised his eyebrows at Morgana expectantly.

“I know.” Morgana hated being on the defensive, especially in front of Gwaine, but she swallowed her pride, telling herself this was for Arthur. “I'm sorry for the way I reacted. I didn't know—Merlin, I didn't know anything of this. And neither did Arthur.”

“No.” Merlin gave her a sad half-smile. “I didn't think you would.”

“Can I—can we talk?”

Merlin looked at Gwaine, who pulled a face, but dropped his arm and stepped aside making a mockery of a welcoming gesture. “I guess, you can come in if you must.”

Morgana ignored him as she stalked past with her head held high, and let Merlin lead her to a big leather couch in the far corner of the room. When she sat down, she crossed her legs and gave Gwaine an expectant look. “Tea would be nice, thank you,” she said. Gwaine glared, but from the corner of her eye Morgana saw Merlin duck his head to hide his grin.

“Why are you dating him?” she asked Merlin when Gwaine had scuttled off with a pissed expression.

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “I'm not sure it's any of your business who I'm dating.”

Morgana pressed her mouth into an irritated line. “You could do better.”

“Could I?”

“Arthur—”

“Never tried to find out what had happened to me. You asked why I didn't explain back then. Why did Arthur never—he could have tried—”

“He did.”

“What?”

“He searched for you, but Uther told us—” Morgana sighed. “He told what turned out to be a lot of lies.”

“And you believed him.” Merlin's mouth pulled into a bitter smile.

Morgana shrugged. “Looking back, it's easy to see his manipulation for what it was, but he was pretty convincing at the time.”

“See, I don't get that. You knew me. Arthur—”

“There were pictures.”

“What?”

Morgana pressed her fingers against her eyes for a moment. She should have known that Uther would have had her followed and she still felt revulsion at the thought of someone spying on her, taking pictures and reporting back to Uther. The only thing that could have made it worse was that Uther had used them to frame Merlin and destroy his own son's hopes and dreams in the process.

Morgana had been there when Uther had called Arthur into his office. She wouldn't let him send her away, and Uther had just huffed impatiently and then pulled out an envelope, dropping the stack of black and white pictures on the desk in front of Arthur where they spilled all over the gleaming surface in a cascade of heart-breaking intimacy. There had been dozens of them, and they weren't lewd or even gaudy, which maybe made it worse. Whoever had taken these pictures had caught the look in Arthur's eyes, the vulnerability and unguarded happiness. Right there on his father's desk had been Arthur's soul—laid bare.

The disgust had been plain in Uther's voice when he told them that Merlin had them taken, that he had contacted his office, asking to be paid off. He wanted this to be a lesson, Uther said and, boy, had Arthur ever learned it. There had been no girl—and certainly no boy—however much appropriate. Arthur had thrown himself in his studies, in his military service, in charity work and princely duties, but he never again had opened his heart for someone who had the ability to break it.

Morgana looked at Merlin, hoping against hope that maybe there was still a chance, that maybe the end of the story had yet to be written.

“I'm not dating Merlin.”

Morgana looked up, only to see Gwaine standing next to her, holding out a mug with the string of a tea bag hanging over the rim.

“Gwaine—” Merlin started, but Gwaine ignored him.

“And believe me, it's not for lack of trying.” He shrugged, a self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Unfortunately that lad here has only ever been interested in one guy.”

“Gwaine!”

“And don't you know it? It's our new noble sovereign with the stick up his arse. And even though you guys completely fucked him over, Merlin is head over tits in love with him." 

Merlin dropped his head into his hands, groaning.

“Really?” Morgana turned around, fixing her eyes on Merlin. “Still?”

Merlin peeked at her from between his fingers, his face as red as a tomato. “Don't—don't tell him, please?”

Morgana let out a long breath as a heavy weight crumbled from her soul. She leaned back against the cushions and took a sip of her tea, wincing and shooting Gwaine a half-hearted glare at the taste of peppermint. “Don't worry,” she said with a wicked, little smile. “I won't.”

IV.

For decades the royal family had celebrated Christmas at Balmoral, and since this was one of the few traditions Arthur and Morgana actually enjoyed, they had decided that there was no reason to break with it. Winter had taken its time this year, but Christmas morning dawned with a dusting of snow covering the trees and fields around the castle, and it didn't take much to convince Arthur when Morgana proposed going for a ride after breakfast.

The sun was a pale disk in the sky, and their breaths formed little white clouds in the cold air when they set off north towards the lake—first at a brisk trot, but soon spurring their mounts into a race over the frozen grounds. They were cresting the ridge leading to the lake when Morgana suddenly slowed down, but it took Arthur a moment until he spotted the lonely figure walking along the rocky shore.

The man must have heard the horses approach, because he turned around, pushing dark hair out of his face, and Arthur pulled the reins so sharply that his horse jumped and shook its head irritably, but that hardly registered with Arthur. All the air in his lungs had left in a dizzying rush and he could only stare in disbelief, afraid the vision before him would vanish into thin air like a figment of his imagination when he took his eyes away.

When Morgana brought her own horse to a stop alongside his, he turned to her, his insides contorting in a confusing turmoil of shock and betrayal and gratitude, because it was obvious that this had been her work. She just looked at him with a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips, and then jerked her head forward in invitation. Morgana had never been good with words or emotions, keeping them to herself like closely guarded secrets, but Arthur had long ago learned to read all the things she didn't say. Thank you. I'm sorry. I love you. He smiled at her, trying to convey to her that he understood, and watched her turn her horse around, content now that her task was accomplished.

And then it was just him and Merlin.

It was as if he had fallen into a different reality, had been propelled into the past and was just skipping lunch to meet Merlin by the pond with an apple and a Cadbury's bar in his pocket for them to share.

After all these years, Merlin still had the same sparkling blue eyes, the same kissable mouth that had been Arthur's downfall back then—when he had done the incredibly foolish thing and fallen in love. Against all reason and common sense, and with a boy, no less. But neither of them was a boy any more, and Arthur was well aware that he knew nothing of this Merlin—not about his life, and certainly not about the reasons he had for being here.

After a moment of hesitation, Arthur carefully spurred his horse forwards and then slid down from the saddle, steadying himself with one hand against the warm coat of the animal's neck.

There were so many things he wanted to say: explain how, back then, he had looked for Merlin; why he had stopped; that he had never been able to forget the way Merlin had made him feel. But it all seemed too big to put into words. His throat was closing up and his eyes were burning, and in the end all that came out was a soft, “Merlin.”

Merlin looked at him from under his lashes with one of his sheepish smiles. “Hello, Arthur,” he said. “It's... really good to see you.”

Arthur nodded dumbly, still unable to take his eyes off of Merlin, whose ears and cheeks had turned red from the cold. It made him look so dear and adorable that all Arthur wanted was to reach out and pull him close. Bury his face against Merlin's neck. He had been an idiot—a complete moron, really—to think that he could put the past behind him, to think he was over this.

Merlin was eyeing him with an uncertain expression, and Arthur thought 'fuck it'.

“I really want to hug you right now,” he blurted, startling a laugh out of Merlin that made Arthur's face split into an answering grin as hope was slowly flooding into every nook and cranny of his soul.

“I see that becoming king hasn't changed you at all,” Merlin said with a wry smile.

Arthur frowned a little. “I'm sure the country will be disappointed to hear that.”

Merlin shook his head. “Don't be stupid. The country has always loved you.”

Arthur sucked in a breath, looking at Merlin with the words burning on his tongue. 'Don't ask', he thought, but Merlin had always had a way to destroy his higher brain functions and turn him into a reckless madman.

“How about you?” he whispered, taking a daring step forward.

Luckily Merlin had never seemed to mind Arthur's crazy tendencies. He cocked his head and then warm fingers closed around Arthur's—just a little more calloused now—and Merlin gave him a lopsided smile.

“What can I say? I'm a patriot. I take my love for king and country very seriously. Or the king, really, because I'm selfish like that.”

“I'm not, usually,” Arthur said. “Falling for you was the only selfish thing I ever did.”

There was no way of saying who moved first, and it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Merlin had his arms wrapped around him, that his warm breath was ghosting over Arthur's lips, and then there was the bliss of kissing Merlin. And even though it was different, even though there was a hint of stubble now and a lot more aggression and determination than when they were teenagers, it felt like the world had been rightened—as if it was finally turning on its axis again.