Archive of Our Own

Merlin was woken late into the night, covered in cold sweat and filled with fear that wasn’t his own. 

His shoulder was shaking: a hand with nails digging into his flesh. He practically jumped out of his skin, feeling like the bones themselves were thrust to the surface, his heart hammering against his aching ribs. 

His first impulse was to magically send the person flying into a wall, but logic was a fickle mistress, who caught up just in time. The cold of iron should have been enough of a clue. It sure was, good that he held back in time.

Think. Never time to think.

One of the knights crouched in front of him - an older man. His beard was greying, and so were the eyebrows that framed the tired eyes of a man who had seen entirely too much in the name of King and country. A name danced in the back of his thoughts, just a little out of reach. Haggart? Henry? Harold? 

The knight’s face swam, lost in a swirl of images like in a scrying pool. A few extra blinks told Merlin it was just the sleep from his own eyes. 

Finally, the face was thrown into focus. And so was the name. 

"Hussar?" He managed, voice drenched in sleep. As the knight’s eyes bored into his own. Watching. Waiting. 

Distantly, Merlin knew he liked the man, even if he certainly did not like the stern expression the soldier was sporting. Hussar gave Merlin another good shake before he spoke, just for good measure. 

"The King ordered your presence in Prince Arthur's chambers. Immediately."

For any other Lord those words would be–at least somewhat–normal. A sudden urge for a bath in the middle of the night, or to try out new outfit combinations. Merlin had heard it from other servants, tales of masters who would send for them in the middle of the night because they had simply woken up and decided something needed doing, and they weren’t doing it themselves.

Merlin had long thought himself lucky to be spared that particular fate.

For Arthur – especially if requested by his father – this spelled disaster. The kind that Merlin would inevitably be haunted by, until his next unduly traumatic event came knocking.

He moved to get his work clothes, but a hand caught his shoulder before he could reach them. A hard hand. One without any gentle nature to find, so very unlike the knight Merlin knew – even if only by association.

"You are to go instantly. No time to dress yourself."

The words were like stones, thudding to the bottom of Merlin's stomach through the sheer force of them. 

He broke free and made a mad grab for his jacket, pulling it on over his nightclothes. 

"Medical supplies?" Merlin distantly found himself asking, still unsure of what was going on, but knowing deep down that it was something very urgent indeed. 

The knight responded only with a quick, impatient shake of the head.

It seemed they still had time for Merlin to put his boots on. Not a second beyond that, as the knight had caught hold of him once more and all but carried him down the corridor, towards Arthur's rooms.

The fingers bit into his flesh, even through his jacket. His shoulder had already started to go numb. A quickly whispered spell (hidden by a very dubious sneeze) stopped the pain from spreading further by simply numbing the arm. The fabric, being as cheap as it was - and just a little too small - also pulled, cutting into the side of his throat. 

The guard hadn’t stopped clutching Merlin. So close up, he could see the man’s face, through the candlelit hallways. Cheeks red with the exertion. Thick circles under the eyes and a long scar cut clean through his eye.

Hussar looked even more exhausted than Merlin. If Merlin were in the mood to make jokes, he'd have mentioned how impossible a situation that was.

Without quite intending too, entering the Royal Wing, the two men broke into a mad sprint, dashing down the long corridors. It was only then that Merlin was reminded exactly why he had gone to bed so late, as hastily tethered stitches yanked on his stomach as he ran.

But he was used to it.

Used to it enough to know he needed to push through.

For Arthur.

His jacket should be thick enough to cover any bleeding anyway. And he doubted magic would let him bleed out quite so easily. The wound itself wasn’t bad (or so Merlin would tell himself) - a madman who broke in earlier that night with a blade, and a few whispered words he was surely hoping would do more than give Merlin a chance to hit back. 

His sleep-filled mind had started to clear with the cold of the corridor. It was many hours now before the fires would be lit. And many more before the halls would warm with the light, mixing with the sun until the entire castle seemed to hold a deep glow.

Visuals flashed through Merlin's head, a thousand different possibilities as to what could have happened to the ridiculous man whom he followed daily. Blood came to mind first. Lots of it, pools and rivers around the room. That thought, at the very least, he threw aside. 

Gaius had been left sleeping. 

It was Merlin the guard had been sent to fetch. 

And they said he didn’t need the medical supplies. 

Or, perhaps, he’d implied there wasn’t time to get them.

Still, they raced down the corridor. Even a few years ago, Merlin would have panted, struggled, and begged to slow down. Even uninjured. 

That was over long ago. 

This was not the morning walk he usually took, meandering down the halls, greeting the passersby as they came and went, with a broom or bucket as company. Always willing to stop for a little chat. Always knew his name. Always angling the chore just out of Merlin’s reach. Whether out of desire to not hold up the Prince’s manservant, or simply because they thought he might drop it, Merlin never could be sure.

It wasn’t even comparable to his night-time hunts through the castle.

Because then, it was always a foe he knew. At least, on some level; footsteps he could hear or growling and grunting he could chase down. 

All that met his ears was silence, broken only by the metal clanking as the knight ran alongside him in armour that truly wasn’t designed for such a purpose, and the heavy breathing of the man inside it. 

Had there been another incident? So soon? It seemed like so much longer, but it was, after all, only a few hours since that assassin had slipped past Merlin's defences and found his way into Arthur's room. 

(And Merlin had thrown the man off one of the rooftops, but what other options did he really have? There was no saying what backup plans he might have had, what he could have done next.)

This was going to be worse. 

Far worse than just being stabbed in the gut. 

Merlin never realised quite how long it took to make his way to Arthur's rooms, even with a knight pushing him forward with an iron grip upon his arm, urging a speed that Merlin and all his wounds didn’t have the strength to keep up with. 

And yet, he found it anyway. 

Arthur. 

Always for Arthur. 

He could have sobbed when he finally saw the door. Whether out of relief or worse, he couldn't say. 

Merlin had long learnt not to cry.

And yet, when he finally heard something from the other side, he was sorely tempted to; for the first time in years

A scream.

It filled the hallways, the walls almost shaking with its intensity. 

They must have been, after all Merlin couldn’t be shaking on his feet. 

Merlin had heard many screams before; caused them even. He knew monsters falling to the floor with a final cry. The groan men made when they knew they’d been beaten. When the last of life fell out, leaving behind an empty, hallowed husk. That he’d heard just a few hours before…

But nothing compared. Nothing in the world.

Because he knew that scream. 

It was enough to make his blood run cold, and his heart thrash like a tentacle beast in his chest. The knight knocked hurriedly on the door. It flung open in front of them, and despite everything, Merlin had to fight the urge to let his jaw drop to the floor. 

Never had he seen, or even thought of King Uther as...dishevelled, as he was. Even after that night with the troll. Dressed in his nightclothes, short hair all sticking up at the back, and robe thrown loosely around his shoulders; he hardly looked like a nobleman, let alone, the King of Camelot. The time with the troll vaguely sprung to mind: the devastation haunting Uther’s features. An oddly funny image for such a damning situation.

Uther just stood by the door, hand clenched around it. 

"Leave us,"  Merlin commanded the knight, as if he was some important, noble visitor rather than a manservant whose insides more closely resembled a writhing sea creature rather than anything remotely human. Uther, in his strange parade of behaviours, simply gestured Merlin inside with a wave of his hand.

He hastened to follow. 

The door closed with a harsh click, before Merlin finally had the courage to look over at the room. The floor was normal, no pools of blood or piles of bodies or viscera. The table was still laid for breakfast, as he’d left it earlier that evening. Arthur liked to eat early and frankly, it saved Merlin time. He shook himself. 

His eyes crept higher, the windows were closed, the shutters drawn. Then further, and further across the room.  

And then, finally, the bed. 

Arthur was there, shirtless as always, thrashing in the sheets, head flung back. His body was covered with a sickly sweat that made him both look slick,  dangerously red, and over-pale, all at the same time. His fists clutched onto the sheets around him, even as his mouth opened for another heart-wrenching scream.

His eyes stayed closed, tight and almost angry looking. Entire face scrunched so very tight, everything but the mouth which opened to scream. 

"You must wake him," Uther hissed, low and quiet in his ear. Merlin turned to give him a look of pure astonishment, to be met with a…much less composed expression than he typically saw from Uther. Deeply unlike the disapproving glare Merlin was usually faced with.

An attempt was made, to put up a strong face, but Merlin knew better. He had seen desperation in a man's eyes more times than he would care to admit. 

Merlin ran to Arthur. 

One touch to Arthur's arm revealed the prince was boiling to the touch; lathered in searing sweat. Even if he had never witnessed him having a nightmare before, for better or for worse, the years handling the prince's bedding had given him an inkling of the sweltering perspiration they'd invoke on the man he served.

It seemed his imagination had not been strong enough. 

Arthur screamed again, close to Merlin's ear, and Merlin could have cried out  himself. That time, he knew that the room wasn’t shaking - because, of course, he was. The cry had reverberated up his arms and deep into his muscles. 

Arthur writhed, coated in his own sweat, panting like a drowning man, on his side, like he really had just washed up on the shore.

Arthur. Help. Needed. 

That much, his brain could always manage. 

He started to rock Arthur, just a little. He had no idea what was happening in this dream, after all, and even his sleep-deprived brain knew better than to make it worse. 

Especially with the King watching.

Waiting.

Waiting….for what?

"Come on, let's have you lazy daisy," he muttered, giving Arthur another shake. "A kingdom never waits for a lazy prince." He must have sounded ridiculous, but Uther stayed quiet, his burning gaze searing the back of Merlin's neck. "Shake a leg! Wake up!" His voice grew louder the more desperate he became. 

He gave Arthur one final jolt.

Then, blissfully, Arthur gasped, his eyes flying open. 

Merlin couldn't help but wince at the painful sound.

Arthur seemed confused, turning sideways, looking left and right, before grabbing Merlin harshly around the waist and pulling him in for something resembling a hug. In reality, it ended up more like Arthur was trying to plaster himself against Merlin's skin. 

Perhaps Merlin would have appreciated it a lot more had Uther not been in the room. The king was still staring at them, with an oddly neutral expression (from what Merlin’s quick, over-the-shoulder glance was able to gather). It hurt his neck, practically sprawled at Arthur’s side as he was - it was hardly the best position to be trying any sort of secret observation, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

His hand found its way into Arthur's wet hair. He fiddled with it dumbly, not sure what else he could possibly do. There were no candles lit, and with the shutters closed, only the ghosty moonlight from the corridors poured in. 

Arthur’s hair still seemed bright, even in the dark. Especially so very close up, as he was. 

He’d never hugged Arthur before. The chance had never come up. 

Arthur never seemed to want that.

As it was, Merlin could hardly bring himself to enjoy it. Arthur was hot as a brand, practically soaked from the distress. He needs a bath, Merlin thought desperately. Wanting to think of something; anything other than what he had just seen. 

Over Arthur’s heaving shoulder, Merlin met King Uther’s eyes again. For just a moment, before Arthur took priority again, he allowed the rage to build against the King who’d rather call a servant than to touch his own son. Who would rather let him scream and wail and thrash, soaking his bedsheets through with his own distress, than dare touch him back in any way that meant anything.

Arthur let out a low whimper, and Merlin practically buried Arthur’s face in his shoulder, yanking the sweaty man forwards with all the force he could muster. Unsure of what else to possibly do. Hot. Wet. Cold. Damp. 

Arthur, who was somehow all of it at once. 

The door closing behind them once more made them both jump, Arthur more so than Merlin. Plastered to the prince’s chest as he was, Merlin caught every reverberation of the painful jolt. The added heat, as well as everything else, was bad for his stomach - or rather, the wound that lay on it.

Arthur shot up again, sweaty palms still pinning Merlin against his chest.

Soon after, they dropped down, and for a few moments, the cold made him shiver, compared to the warmth of Arthur. 

Arthur practically threw Merlin onto the sheets; staring around the darkened room with wild eyes. Arthur’s hands braced themselves across Merlin's torso. Seeing no sense in interrupting whatever it was that Arthur was going through, he just allowed it, limp like a child’s rag doll.

It dragged on and on, endless as they stuck and time blurred together like old, thick honey, so late into the night. It wasn’t as if there was anything he could see–even if he lifted his head– and, truly, he didn’t know what Arthur could be seeing. 

And, surely, Arthur would be terribly angry at Merlin come morning; he certainly wasn’t the type for physical affection. Especially not when his father could see. The screaming and yelling was practically expected, as was the throwing around of various bits and pieces until he worked his anger out and a good few pots were dented.

But as it was…

It was nice, in a sad way. Arthur never held Merlin. Not close. Not like friends. Nobody really did, not like this, for more than a moment of greeting, or a short embrace after a long day. Arthur was clinging, worse even than the tentacles of worry that haunted Merlin’s insides. 

Nice enough, that Merlin’s heavy eyes slowly began to droop once more. There he was, completely trapped under Arthur’s chest, surely as Arthur looked left and right frantically. As if Merlin was something to be protected. 

Then, Arthur seemed to process where he was. His pulse didn't slow - Merlin could feel it pounding against his own skin, where Arthur’s palm pressed flat, it was going so fast. But, when Merlin chanced a look up in the darkness, the prince’s eyes seemed to clear, just for a second. 

So very blue. 

Merlin mentally shook himself. Away from the sleepy comfort of Arthur. Comfort that wasn’t for him, and that he didn’t need. 

Arthur knew where he was. That was something. 

"Arthur?" Merlin tried, gently reaching up to touch the shoulder his head had previously been laying on. "It's just me. Merlin. You're alright."

But Arthur wasn't listening, instead his arm was shooting up, grabbing for his sword from it’s nearby holder. 

Merlin's hand naturally jolted out to stop him, but Arthur's pulled easily out of his loose grip. That’s what happens when you lose focus. Let yourself relax. 

"Merlin....cover....watch out...." Arthur was mumbling, the rest of his words all mangled and Merlin's stomach shot to his feet. Was Arthur wounded? The sweat covering him seemed to say as much. But, no, Arthur's eyes gave one final firm dart, then the man clambered out of bed, before he could be stopped.

Merlin swung his legs over the side of the bed, eyes widening as Arthur seemed to be making his way to the door.

"Arthur, it's okay!"

Arthur held his arm out, stopping Merlin in his tracks. Pushing him back.

"Stay!" Arthur’s voice was still straining, like even he wasn’t quite sure if he was awake. "It’s…safe…not…stay." Breathless, was the word Merlin might use, if he had enough brain power to think of it. 

"Arthur, it was just a dream! You’re okay!"

Merlin reached out suddenly, hand clasping Arthur’s shoulder tightly.

His heart clenched uncomfortably in his chest when Arthur froze.

Silence. One second. Two.

"You’re okay!"

With all that he had seen, Merlin had hoped he would be better at comforting people, but  clearly he wasn’t. He never could, the same way healing magic never leapt out his fingers the way the destruction did.

At least, never when it mattered.

Merlin slowly reached down, hand trailing past Arthur’s shoulder, taking him gently by the arm. 

"You’re okay," he said again, voice gentler than even he had intended. "You’re in your room. In your castle. In Camelot. Camelot castle. With me. With Merlin."

And Arthur just seemed to go limp against Merlin’s hand. Even as a bead of sweat dripped down Merlin’s wrist, having trickled off Arthur in his distress. 

"Come on, clotepole," Merlin muttered, slowly leading him back to the bed. He sat Arthur on one side, whispering a quick spell to dry off some of the sheets. "Back in bed now."

Arthur was shaking under his hands, a full body tremble that made Merlin want to hold on and never let go.

But he had to.

He pried the sword from his grip, removing each finger from the listless hand individually. Then, he neatly slotted it back into Arthur’s preferred hiding place, just out of sight for anyone who might decide to surprise him on a late night. 

But that would never happen. Merlin would get there first. 

He always got there first. 

Arthur had to try and go back to sleep, if there was any hope of him not being a complete prat in the morning. Merlin wanted to chuckle a little at his own thoughts. Even in his own head, it ended up more like a sigh, before he started coaxing Arthur back down towards his sheets. 

It felt like hours before he moved at all, let alone got underneath the covers.

Clearly, Arthur was far from ready to let go. 

"Merlin!" he gasped, staring into Merlin’s eyes with a near frightening intensity. 

"Arthur," Merlin replied, doing everything he could to keep his voice calm and steady. "You had a bad dream and-"

"The hall," Arthur mumbled, and Merlin fell silent. "Merlin we were…you were young again, and not my servant."

"I’m sure that was enough to really bring the fear out," Merlin muttered, attempting a joke, but Arthur hardly seemed to hear what he was saying. 

"Then she came…and she sang…"

"Who came? Who sang?" The words were out before Merlin could stop them. It didn’t matter. Arthur was still talking, almost as if to himself. 

"It was so beautiful…and then…then everything went cold, and it was like…like I was watching from a distance as everything was covered in…webs and dust…like we had all been abandoned for centuries. Everyone but…you."

If Merlin had thought his heart couldn’t drop further he was wrong. The same image Arthur described appearing back in his mind; from so very long ago. 

"Arthur, I’m sure…"

"You tried to cover your ears but the music didn’t work on you the same, and she sang closer and closer to me and…"

Merlin’s own eyes flickered. He knew what happened next. Of course he did. But there was, of course, no way that Arthur should know the same. That, even distantly, Arthur could know the same. 

And yet, he did. 

"And then…and then…Merlin you…"

"Shh," Merlin interrupted quickly, insides going numb. Even the pain from his wound wasn’t enough to distract from the blinding panic hitting his sleep deprived frame. "It was just a nightmare, Arthur. That’s all."

It wasn’t all. It was so far from all that Merlin wanted to scream, magic itching and scratching against his insides. But he couldn’t tell Arthur that. Not then. Maybe not ever. 

"But-"

"Just a dream," Merlin insisted, even when his throat seemed blocked. Every day he was reminded what a terrible liar he truly was. And of the last person in the entire world he ever wanted to have to lie to.

And yet, there they were. 

Like Morgana all over again. 

And it was that thought, more than anything else, that made Merlin feel as though he was about to be sick himself. So, instead, he talked. 

"I think I’ll open the shutters, just a bit. No sense being left in the dark after such an…experience." Some part of Merlin begged, pleading almost for Arthur to respond to that. For him to come back, mocking Merlin for describing a nightmare as such. 

But Arthur remained silent. Limp on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, as if he couldn’t get the vision away from his eyes. Like it was seared there. 

Which of course, Merlin knew it was. 

Merlin pulled the shutters open, just a little, allowing the dim moonlight to trickle into the room in one long beam, dancing across the floor near Arthur’s bed. For a few moments he did nothing but fiddle with the placement of the shutters, waiting for Arthur to say something. Anything. 

Nothing. 

And so, Merlin began to talk again. 

Talk and do. Talk and do. 

He gently guided Arthur by the arm out of bed and into a plush chair. It was quick work to remove the bottom sheets, swapping them out for fresh ones and ignoring the various sweat stains. He also swapped some of the upper-layers, just in case they had been too clammy. 

Bending over made the wound flare. Merlin couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered. 

"Nice clean sheets for you, sire. Here, I’ll clean you up a little." Merlin grabbed a nearby rag, and much to his surprise, Arthur allowed him to wipe him up and down. Even in the poorly-lit room, with only a little moonlight peeking through the shutters, Merlin’s clothed hand traced down Arthur’s strong arms, his pecs, and down, down his chest until almost his trouser line. 

Merlin shook himself hard, and quickly moved away, up enough to nudge Arthur’s arms up to attempt to dry his underarms. 

"Isn’t that better?" he said, almost numbly, clutching the cloth just a little too tightly in his fingers. "You’ll be back to sleep in no time! Ready to greet the day as Camelot’s prince."

Arthur just stared at him, eyes blinking slowly. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. 

"Merlin-" Arthur’s voice came again, more distant, hazy almost. Merlin pulled the sheets back, waiting for Arthur to get in, when he didn’t, Merlin simply grabbed his arm and laid the man back in bed.

"Don’t stay up for my account, try to go back to sleep." Merlin pulled the cloth away and tucked it limply under Arthur’s bed along with the last few he stashed under for easy keeping. "Just a few hours until sunrise, but I doubt anyone will mind giving you a bit of a lie-in."

Arthur’s head moved up, and then down again. It took Merlin a full moment to realise that he was nodding, albeit very slowly. 

"Sleep now," Merlin said again, and Arthur’s eyes drifted closed. "Sleep," he repeated, dumbly. "All will be better, come morning. I’m sure of it." He wasn’t, of course he wasn’t. But he didn’t know if it was Arthur or himself he was trying to calm, and frankly it didn’t matter either way. 

Merlin waited, watching as Arthur’s eyes flicked under the lids, wondering if perhaps he was just a little bit too close to the prince. If Arthur needed him a little further away to truly fall back into the kind of sleep that he needed to recover. 

A sigh left his lips, stomach deflating with the weight of it. Everything was alright. He could breathe again. 

But, of course, he couldn’t. 

Merlin moved to stand up, stretching out his sore muscles, wincing as it jostled his stomach. 

And something was holding his arm in place. Something tight. 

His eyes shot down to realise Arthur’s eyes were once again open, fingers clinging once more. But not to a sword. To Merlin. 

His hand was slick, sweaty from the distress, and Merlin gently tried to slide it off his arm. But, Arthur was, of course, stronger than him. And he clung tight. 

Tight enough to bruise, even. 

"You need to sleep Arthur," Merlin tried. "And I need to sleep and-"

"You used magic," Arthur said, and Merlin was so glad he hadn’t managed to get Arthur off him. Otherwise, he would have fallen to the floor, legs having given away completely. 

"Don’t be silly, Arthur, of course I-"

"But I saw it!"

"In your dream," Merlin said, forcing each word out of his lips. It hurt. It hurt so much. But he couldn’t say any more. He knew he couldn’t. 

"Your eyes went gold, it was so bright so-"

"Shhh," Merlin tried again, finally sliding free of Arthur’s grip, and reaching forward to manually close his eyes. "Shhh." Arthur allowed it, eyes gliding closed, and even his face relaxed at Merlin’s touch. Enough so that Merlin ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair again, the sweat thick on his fingers, but that, at least, was safe ground. 

Even with his lids closed, Merlin could see when they really began to droop. Flicker. And then relax. His shoulders too, slowly sliding back into the pillows as Merlin rubbed a soothing hand down and through his hair. 

Arthur’s breathing evened. 

"You saved my life," Arthur murmured.

Then, his voice drifted off, and his breathing was finally even. 

And, other than that, the moonlit room was silent. 

Merlin allowed himself a long moment, breathing deeply in and out, as if that could fix whatever it was that had just happened. 

He made his way out of the door, and back into the corridor. This time, he slid the door shut carefully, worried the slightest noise would wake Arthur once more, and there would be an entirely new issue to deal with. 

He didn’t take his eyes off him until the wood blocked his view. 

Then, he sagged against the wood, eyes flickering, twitching almost. He could just wait out here, work out what he needed to do in the morning. Leave, surely or…stay? 

"Is everything…quite alright?"

Merlin startled, looking up in surprise. 

The two guards had resumed their post outside Arthur’s door - the way they always did after an attack. Uther must have sent them away, he realised distantly. So they wouldn’t hear Arthur like that. 

"Fine," Merlin muttered, pushing himself to his feet. "Just a late night. Gotta run."

And run, he did. 

*

Merlin ran for quite a long while, he doubted even he could tell you quite how long. His belly ached. All he did know, quite for sure, was that he had somehow made it back to his room, and that morning was still nowhere in sight. 

The door closed behind him with a click. Unlike the care he placed into Arthur's door, his own had been left open when he went running to Arthur's aid, and there was almost nothing he could really do about that. It happened so often - all of his own things abandoned in Arthur's name. It didn’t matter much, in the end, the only one other than the guards who could look would be Gaius and yet…

Merlin shut his eyes, forcefully. Arthur knew. Or, rather, Arthur didn't know but somehow Arthur dreamed it. 

His belly twinged again, and he gritted his teeth. The stitches seemed to have been pulled. Badly, by the feeling of them. 

Now, alone in his room, Merlin didn't bother with a candle, instead choosing to simply snap his fingers to bring up some glowing, flaming light, floating through the air in front of him. Almost without thinking, he checked the door again, opening it before quickly shutting it again, making absolutely certain no guards were going to come running once more. 

He made his way over to the bed, the little light following him as he did, and allowed himself to sink back onto it. Nothing at all like Arthur's bed, with its soft feather mattress and warm sheets. His own dipped in the middle, where the old, poorly made mattress had spent years adjusting under his weight until almost a perfect Merlin-shaped imprint remained.  

He clutched the bottom of his sleep tunic for a moment, allowing himself a deep breath. He never liked this part. Some part of him always thought that he would grow used to it over time, especially once he was trained under Gaius, once he had taken over most of his own medical care, to avoid worrying the old man. 

But not so. 

He knew he was only delaying the inevitable - that once he had a good look at the wound, knew how to treat it, that everything would seem much better than it did now. He was playing into his own anxieties, which he knew better than to allow. 

He peeled the tunic back, surprised when he didn't feel the tell-tale feeling of blood pulling at old scabs. Perhaps he had been lucky. Lucky enough to catch it early and stop it before he was coated in blood from the top downwards. 

He lifted it the rest of the way, his eyes closing without his permission, unwilling to look. When he first patched it up, just a few hours before, he had the energy running through his bones, the force of the fight ringing in his ears. There had been enough of that to keep him from fearing the wound. 

He had none of that now, in the flickering light, stinging his eyes, even when closed. 

After everything, this was the last thing he needed. But, he also knew, he had no choice. 

He forced his eyes to open. 

And then, he stopped, looking down at the skin where the wound was...except it wasn't. The skin around it wasn't red or inflamed as such a new wound should be, but pale, like the rest. The cut itself, as well, seemed to have quite closed, the stitches gone in the name of a thin, still puckered line of healed skin. Freshly healed, not scarred. 

Through his shock, the tunic dropped from his hands. 

Merlin fell back on the bed, feeling the magic from his little light flash, then blink out of existence. 

Some part of Merlin wanted to wake Gaius up. Beg him to tell Merlin what was happening on such a strange night. Potentially, he could go to the druids, do much the same. 

But of course, he did neither, choosing instead to blindly pull the bedcovers up to his chest, and lay his head back down on his thinning pillow. 

All of it...it would all have to wait. Wait to see how Arthur was in the morning; after such a dream, Merlin didn’t imagine it would be well. What Arthur was going to say? What would Merlin say back?

How could he explain everything, after so many years? With Arthur's father still King?

The tiredness seemed to creep up on him all at once, where it had been swallowed down by the complete mess of that evening.

Or, the more frightening idea, would he have to lie to Arthur again? Really, truly, lie this time? Not just covering the truth, not a few changed words, but a full on, from his chest lie?

The tiredness seemed to overwhelm him, truly and utterly, until his eyelids flickered closed, and the world seemed to stop, even if just for the moment. 

Perhaps he was the one in the dream after all, and the next morning he would discover that none of it had been real.

*

When Merlin next awoke, it was to something quite strange– or, well, strange for him. Sunlight spilled through the window and onto his face, forcing him to blink his weary eyes open. 

Gods. He was late. 

Merlin scrambled to his feet, mind fluttering about as he pulled on his everyday tunic, and catching sight of the new little scar across his stomach. 

For just a moment, his eyes caught his stomach again. And his heart dropped. It had been real. All of it had, from the night before, from the very start. 

He forced down whatever it was that threatened to escape from his throat, instead fiddling with the fastenings on his trousers. There was so much he needed to do that day, of course, so many tasks he could focus on instead. He might not even need to see Arthur, might never need to address all of the strange happenings of the night before. 

Merlin grabbed one of his pouches and dashed into the main chambers, determined to gather a quick breakfast. 

"You need not bother with picking up breakfast," Gaius grumbled from where he was standing, sorting books into piles on the floor. 

Merlin blinked at him for a moment, before speaking. 

"Is all the food gone?"

Gaius turned to face him, with a stern look that told Merlin he was being quite the fool, even if he didn't fully know why. 

"It's already on the table for you. You've been given the morning off–" 

Merlin's heart dropped completely, right to his boots. It had happened, finally, after all this time, Arthur wasn't even going to give him the chance to explain, he was being sent away so Arthur could think and–- 

"...by the King," Gaius finished, snapping Merlin completely out of his thoughts. 

"The King?" Merlin said, the disbelief loud in his voice, "Are you...sure?"

Gaius gave him the look again, and Merlin held his hands up in mock surrender. 

"Quite sure, seeing as he was the one to come and inform me of the matter this morning. As well as to ask if I'd come up with an improved version of the nightmare draft I used to give to…others." Merlin remained silent, spoon dropping into his bowl with a loud clang. Gaius’s eyebrows drew so far back, they were practically in his hairline. “Merlin…if there is anything you aren’t telling me…”

At that point, Merlin tuned his mentor out. He slumped over to the table, feeling his weight slip under him, falling into the chair, and picking up the spoon. He was quite sure what he had been given was some sort of oat-dish, but it could have been air, from all he could taste of it. 

"And, of course, to request your presence in his chambers after you wake."

Merlin dropped his spoon. It clattered loudly against the bowl, and globs of oat landed flush on the table. 

"Merlin!"

Merlin quickly moved to mop up the mess, staring blindly forward as he did so. Every movement seemed forced, not his own. Completely out of his hands. Like his own mind was a distant, faraway thing he couldn't quite reach, couldn't quite touch. 

"Did he say what he wanted?" Merlin heard himself ask. 

"He did not," was the only reply he received. Or, at the very least, the only he could have possibly heard. His ears were full of nothing, quite like the rest of him. 

*

King Uther's chambers were not so far away from Arthur's, but they rather seemed like it – mostly because Merlin hardly ever went there. He had walked past it any number of times,  he had heard other servants bustling about inside overheard the occasional whispers of meetings within when he fetched Arthur his things... 

But never had he been invited inside the King's chambers. He rather doubted any other servants had ever been either, outside of cleaning. 

The double doors were wooden and finely carved. 

Merlin reached up, knocking once. Twice. Before quickly pulling back his hand, worrying that it could somehow burn him. 

"Enter."

Merlin twisted the two handles, shimming the heavy door open. 

The room was bathed in both candle and sunlight, and not so terribly different from Arthur's own. Grander, certainly. The bed was larger. The banners too. But, then again, it would be. 

It had been designed for two after all. 

"Sit."

Merlin jolted, finally turning to see the man himself at his desk. It was not placed in front of the window, as Arthur's was, but instead tucked in a tight corner, imposing in its grandeur. 

He hurried over, doing as instructed, and pulling out the chair that had been placed on the other side of the desk. It was cushioned, soft velvet to the touch. The kind of thing a noble would sit on. 

Not a servant. Never a servant. 

Merlin sat in the chair.

"I would loath to assume anything with you, but I'm sure even you could guess why I have called this meeting." As he spoke, the King fixed him with a stern look, eyes on Merlin's own. If he didn't know any better, Merlin would say that Uther could read his very soul, tell him all of his own secrets, before laughing at him for trying so foolishly to hide. 

He bottled everything. Tucking it deep inside his chest. 

And then, he felt himself nodding. He wasn’t quite sure why, but his head moved without his permission, knowing somehow that he might have made a mistake. 

"I thought as much," Uther continued, pulling a roll of parchment to the centre of his desk, before signing it with a scratchy quill. The noise was loud against his tuned in ears. Loud enough to make him uneasy. "You have been a remarkably loyal addition to this household."

Merlin's eyes widened at that. 

Uther turned back up, looking at him for just a moment before grabbing another role of parchment. 

"Indeed, foolish though you may be, your unreserved loyalty to my son has not gone unnoticed nor unappreciated." If Merlin had recovered from the shock of the entire situation, even a little, his jaw would have fallen open. As if the last few hours couldn't get any stranger…

Uther simply continued, as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Indeed, you have served us long enough to know the dangers and  political instability posed by  any perceived vulnerabilities,” Uther said, with an equally intense look on his face. “Perfectly reflected by… a certain lady, who once held a place in my court.” At that, Merlin’s breath caught. Ever since Morgana had run, announcing her magic use to the world, it had been more than just an unspoken rule that she would remain unspoken. What was he supposed to say to that? Could he say anything? But it didn’t matter. Uther was already speaking again. The final, devastating blow.  “I will not allow that to happen again.”

That, of all things, left them in a cold silence, before Uther picked it up again. 

"You stated yourself once that you and my son share a bond, of sorts," he said, scratching something else on the parchment. "You would, of course, forgive my folly, but I had assumed it to be merely a passing fancy of youth..." Uther dropped the quill onto the table. "It has become clear to me that is not so."

Merlin could only stare, his brain swimming through millions of thoughts. Words stuttered across his mind, none of them quite making their way to his lips. He tried a few times, but as he opened his mouth, the words were caught in his throat. Uther paid his gaping mouth no mind. 

He couldn’t really…the King couldn’t actually think…

The King just continued. 

"Your loyalty to my son is unquestionable...as is his loyalty to you." Their eye contact had almost begun to burn. "I will fully admit, I found it odd for years. So very bizarre that my son, heir to the Pendragon line, would choose a servant as his...but now I see why. And I am willing to admit, I quite…understand his choice."

If Merlin had not been sitting, he would have fallen. Even as he was, his entire body felt strange, lightheaded. 

"But even if I hadn’t seen it before, I allowed this bond to form. I will allow you to stay as you are. And I expect something as a result of that kindness."

Merlin's fingertips tightened on the table itself. 

"Yes, sire," he muttered, his voice feeling like it had been run through something horrid. Like he hadn't spoken in many years. And he may not have had. It was all so very strange. 

"There are few he would trust any part of himself to, but he has chosen you to to share his burdens with. I trust I don't need explain what a great honour that he's bestowed you; nor that I fully expect you to offer him the best of yourself in return. I understand that to be king is to choose; but I hope he will not end up disappointed."

More eye contact. Deeper, and deeper into his soul. 

Then his eyes dropped again, Uther's attention drawn back to the parchment in front of him. 

"You may leave."

Merlin stood on shaky legs, walking towards the bedroom door. 

His fingers had just clutched both the handles when Uther spoke again. 

"And Merlin? You shall tell no one about this."

"Of course, my Lord," Merlin said, letting out a long breath and escaping into the corridor. 

Just as the door closed behind him, a sudden pain gripped his skull. Merlin gasped, hands clutching up to the side of his head. 

It burned. That was the first thing he knew. 

The second was that it squirmed. Like his very brain was twisting itself into pieces. 

It felt...like something was crawling out. Trying to escape from his very brain. 

Out. Out. He needed to get it out. 

And then, as quickly as the pain had started, it was gone. Merlin staggered, letting out a long breath and blinking the tears that had formed in his eyes. 

Something was wrong. Something was so very, very wrong. 

*

The thing was, Merlin had quite adapted himself to the strange, to the odd scenarios, and how to deal with them – even if this was an entirely new kind of odd that he had never quite experienced before. A new sort of oddness that should certainly have never happened, or, more specifically, never happened around him. 

And, like all people who have been around the truly bizarre for a long enough time, he learned to do the one thing they always did: carry on as normal. And so it was, after having the strangest conversation of his entire life, after one of the strangest nights of his entire life, he found himself making his way down to the kitchens, ready to fetch Arthur's lunch. 

Despite being given the morning off, he decided that doing nothing was by far the worst thing he could possibly do. Being left to dwell in everything that had happened sounded like a much worse fate than any work Arthur could throw at him. 

"Here for the Prince's lunch," Merlin mumbled, throwing out his arms dramatically, wincing as no pain throbbed in his abdomen. No pain where there should have been. Where there definitely, certainly should have been. Something about the sheer lack of it made him more uncomfortable than anything else. 

"You're right on time, for once," the cook said, fixing him with a truly vicious glare. Or, well, vicious for anyone who didn't know her. Merlin had been around just about long enough to know what she looked like when she was being sweet. Or, at least, as close to sweet as such a woman like her could possibly get. "Consider making that a habit then?"

"Never," he replied easily, pleased that at least one person was reacting normally to whatever it was that was going on in Camelot that day. "You'd get bored."

The cook scoffed, turning her attention back to the pot in front of her. 

"You'll have to wait for it then."

"Why?" Merlin cried out, mock aghast and hand to his chest. "You said it yourself! I'm on time!" 

He would never admit it to her, but (secretly, or perhaps not so secretly) it was nice to have some proper banter again after the complete and utter weirdness of that morning. 

"Too used to you being late. Try to stay out of the way until it's ready."

Merlin jokingly let his jaw drop, but moved out of the way, towards where some of the serving girls were chatting away, with the intention of gaining some truly good gossip. Something about an ill mother…something…something…

Instead, his attention was drawn to a quiet crackle somewhere nearby. He turned, only to realise he had, at some point, wandered dangerously and bizarrely close to one of the open ovens. Within the cracked surface, a fire burned red hot. 

Merlin stared, the fire licking one of the many pans that had been thrown within it, lighting up the area red hot. So close. So close that if he reached out...if he reached out he could almost touch it. Would it climb up his arm? Would it....

"Boy!" Merlin spun around suddenly to find the cook standing and staring at him, judgmentally. "I thought I told you to stay out of the way, not stick your face into one of the ovens! You're going to burn your face off!"

The tray was thrust into his hands, and he caught it automatically, fingers fumbling against the weight. 

"Hurry now!"

Merlin didn't need much more convincing than that. 

*

"Merlin. You're here."

Arthur greeted him, and although Merlin had known Arthur might have been a little strange today...  that had been far from what he expected. Angry accusations. Refusing his friendship. Screaming at him for years of lies. 

But rather Arthur looked...  exhausted. Poorly put together. His hair was still plastered all over his forehead at the front, and somehow the back of his hair was all sticking up, leaving him looking altogether disjointed. His shirt was creased, his eyes bloodshot. 

He looked like a man who hadn't rested in weeks, rather than a single night. 

"Arthur? Are you...quite alright?"

"What?" Arthur snapped, lifting the tray out of Merlin's hands and walking off. "Yes, yes I'm fine. Clearly."

"Right," Merlin responded, raising an eyebrow dramatically. "You look it."

"Indeed, indeed I do." Arthur said, picking one of his sausages up with his fingers, and biting into it. "Say Merlin," he said through a mouthful, "have you heard much about this sickness going around? All those people going missing?"

"No?" Merlin asked, more of a question than anything else. "Why should I know anything?" He said, immediately on the defensive. 

Arthur, even through his clear tiredness, gave him a look like he was a complete fool. Merlin had started to feel like that remarkably often. 

"Because you're the physician's apprentice?"

"Of course, clearly I know all about it," Merlin said sarcastically, starting to pull some shirts onto his arms that had been left lying about the floor. "But I suspect you will enlighten me, despite this."

Arthur nodded, full of smugness. If it wasn't for how dishevelled he looked, Merlin might have completely forgotten how he had been just the night before. 

"One of the knights mentioned something outside. Yesterday night, Gaius was called out to the town on the account of someone being suddenly ill, and then sent away again and the poor man just...hasn't appeared today." 

Merlin thought about that for a moment. 

"He might just be trying to not pass whatever it is to others," he said finally, wondering just how late it was that Gaius had been called out, as he had still been soundly asleep when Merlin had been fetched. And how much of a bad mood Gaius had been in due to the whole thing. 

"Well, according to the guard, they didn't even let Gaius in to see them. Either way, father came up to tell me I wasn't allowed to visit the lower town today because of it. Not while Gaius doesn't know what it is and what's causing it."

Merlin found himself nodding along, before he realised that Arthur had abandoned his lunch in favour of pulling his favourite blue cloak out of the wardrobe. In all honesty, originally it had been Merlin's cloak, and Arthur had stolen it years ago. Gods could only know why Arthur, the Crown Prince of Camelot, would rather have a ratty blue cloak made of cheap materials as opposed to a nicer one made by the Royal tailors. 

Although, as Arthur's primary use of it was to try and go unnoticed while sneaking around, Merlin supposed the old cape would work quite well. 

"So...I take it we're going anyway?" Merlin said, with a long sigh. 

"You're more perceptive than you look sometimes, Merlin."

"Really?"

"I did say sometimes."

Arthur pulled on his cloak, tugging it all the way up to his head. (Meaning, of course, that he pulled it over his shoulders, it almost fell off, and Merlin had to come and rescue him by doing the ties differently. Honestly, he knew Arthur could put on this cloak, at the very least, on his own. The amount of times Arthur had tried to run off wearing it would have been quite insulting, if Merlin wasn't able to spot him quite so quickly.)

However, once the cloak was on, whatever Arthur did next was quite out of Merlin's hands, and so the two descended upon the lower town. They passed several guards, who clearly knew it was Arthur, but soon forgot after a few whispered words from Merlin, with a little gold mixed in. Not that Arthur would’ve noticed either with the hood pulled down so far over his face. 

They might have let them pass anyway, but...it was better to err on the side of caution. 

"Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, they could all just be keeping to themselves for a reason."

"On the contrary, Merlin. They might not be keeping to themselves…but rather away from us. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

The village drew closer, looking rather like it always did. Children ran about outside. Women were cleaning various items of clothing in the nearby stream then ran through the middle, chatting with each other. Various men worked from different stations, even the town tailor sitting out in the sun, working on his latest piece. 

Almost deceptively normal. If Merlin was being a little picky, he would say that it looked a little emptier than usual, but it couldn't be more than a few people less than it typically was. 

Arthur strode ahead, and Merlin hurried to catch up with him. 

It didn't take long before his foot caught on a protruding mound of earth and he went flying. He looked up, only to realise it was a very familiar mound of earth. He was almost certain that, when he had been chasing the assassin from the previous night, he had tripped over the exact same one in the dark. 

*

Merlin had chased the man on foot. 

The wind blurred his senses, the moon shining down as they ran. 

Most would-be assassins tried to escape the city directly from the castle – , at least somewhat. This one, though...this one had started there, and quickly ran to the outside. Not an unheard of escape route but still…

"You stay away!" Merlin roared, as the man started ducking between the houses. He needed to get the man away. There were children inside…

"Or what?" The man's voice was cold and cruel, as he clicked his fingers, and a spark of flame drew up. So close. Too close to the thatched houses. "What will you do?"

Merlin could do nothing. 

Stopping where he was, Merlin held up his hands in surrender. Merlin had put fires out before, but he doubted he could do it quickly enough. 

But that second was all the time the man needed, turning around to bolt back towards the castle, clearly unwilling to give up on his goal. Especially since he had already gotten so very close. Right into Arthur's bedroom. 

The man raced forward, Merlin hot on his heels, before suddenly, his foot was caught and all was lost...

*

Above him, Arthur had returned and tapped his foot, clearly frustrated. 

"Merlin!" he said in a harsh whisper, "What have you done now?"

Merlin sat up from the ground, and immediately felt a twinge of pain from somewhere down his leg. 

"I think I twisted my ankle," he said honestly, cupping it for effect. 

"Honestly," Arthur muttered, bending down to half-haul Merlin to his feet. "Should have never brought you with me to begin with. Fat lot of use you'd be on any stealth mission."

"You'd be surprised," Merlin found himself saying, thankfully quiet enough that Arthur hadn't heard. He really would rather not have to explain that one. 

"Let's get you to Gaius then," Arthur finally decided, pulling Merlin harder along, practically carrying him back towards the entrance to the town. "Can't have you slacking on your chores later."

"Agreed. Can't have that, sire," Merlin managed, leaning his head against Arthur's shoulder, and tentatively trying to take a step on his ankle. 

Much to his continued horror, although still weak and shaky, the pain had very much so disappeared. Which, as far as he could remember, it was very much so not supposed to be able to do. 

*

Arthur very unceremoniously dropped Merlin off with Gaius, muttering something about going to relax and get some work done, two things which, in Merlin's opinion, very much didn't belong in the same sentence. 

Gaius pulled at Merlin's trouser leg, and started trying to examine at the ankle underneath. He palpated it,  waiting for Merlin to have a reaction; which, of course, didn't happen. 

"Clearly not sprained," Gaius muttered, "doesn't seem swollen, or otherwise red."

"It was," Merlin muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Gaius gave him a firm look, reaching to grab one of his many concoctions off the table, in a little glass bottle. 

"Merlin! If you used your magic for this and Arthur noticed..."

"I didn't!" Merlin said quickly, giving pleading eyes to Gaius, "Anyway it wouldn’t be the strangest thing that's happened today if it magically fixed itself on its own."

Gaius looked at him to explain, and Merlin found himself doing so. Starting with the assassin from that night, and going further and further until he felt he had covered all ground. Much to his surprise, Gaius kept a straight face throughout, with the addition of a painfully raised eyebrow, of course. Merlin stumbled over his words as he did, more often that not he only bothered Gaius with particularly worrying stories; knowing how anxious his mentor would become for him. 

It was only when he got to the part about the mysteriously healing wound that his lips quirked into something quite different. 

"Show me," Gaius said, gesturing at Merlin's shirt. Seeing no harm in it, Merlin grabbed the bottom of his tunic and lifted it up. 

Only to be met with a startled gasp, making Merlin look down. 

The first thing he saw was red. His first thought was blood, as it seemed to dart over his skin, then infection, before his eyes adjusted. 

It took long enough that Gaius had already made his way across the room, locked the main door and returned with a magnifying eyepiece. 

Little flecks of reflective red stood against his skin, in little half ovals all the way around the wound. Gaius hesitantly reached forward, touching it, only to find they moved and adjusted in their little patches across where the wound had graced his belly. 

Scales. 

Merlin had scales across his stomach. 

It took a lifetime of conditioning of the strange to ensure that he did not scream. 

He did, however, very thoroughly panic. 

"Gaius? What are those?" he found himself asking, despite knowing full well. The panic was clear in his voice, sliding to a higher pitch than would typically be considered normal. 

Gaius stared at him for a long moment, before his legs seemed to buckle, and he fell back into a chair. 

"Why is it, my dear boy, that nothing with you can ever quite be normal?"

Merlin found that he didn't have an answer for that. 

"So you don't know?"

Merlin was once more fixed with a truly vicious look. Then, a long sigh. 

“I will look into it.”

“Thank you, Gaius.”

“And as for now…”

The following conversation had been a strange one. Mostly considering that neither Gaius nor Merlin really had any idea on where to even start from what they knew. Which, considering everything that happened, wasn't an awful lot, in the grand scheme of things. But, still, it ended up being a long one as they tried (and failed) to find any common threads that could lead them to some answers. 

Long enough that by the time Merlin looked out of his bedroom window again, the night sky had already come into clear and perfect focus. Almost blindingly so, with the moon still full, shocking against everything else with its bright light. 

Then, the headache started. Pulling around the very top and sides of his head, pounding in tune with his heartbeat. Merlin blinked through the mild discomfort, and back towards the bright light out his window. 

Arthur liked the moon, Merlin found himself thinking, pulling the bedsheets up to his chest. Then, he froze. Arthur would be mad that Merlin hadn’t bothered with the rest of his chores.

Of course. 

Arthur. 

This time, he had the sense and time to pull on some of his normal clothes, choosing to keep the sleeping trousers in the name of both practicality and speed. Not a hard trade-off, especially considering how comfortable they were. 

This time, he had the chance to put on boots. And socks. Miracle of all miracles. 

Then, he was running off down the corridor again. 

He ignored Gaius's alarmed shout of "Merlin!" as he did so. Of course. There truly was no time to explain. Gaius really should have adapted to that way of thinking by now. 

Still, despite it all, Merlin couldn't believe he had been quite so foolish. If Arthur was having another dream...if someone else woke him...if he told anyone…

Merlin ran harder, feet paving their way on the castle stones. Various servants called out to him but he ignored them all. The only important voice was Arthur’s. 

Arthur was all that mattered. 

He skidded just outside of Arthur's chambers, feet coming to a very decisive halt. 

The lead up had been almost silent, barring the pounding of his own feet. And perhaps it was good that was the case, as almost as soon as he placed his hand on the handle of the door, the first scream came. 

Not wordless, like the last time, this was Merlin's name. 

He threw the door open. 

Eyes quickly darting to the bed, only to find it empty. 

Another scream came, and Merlin turned, only to find Arthur lying down in one of his chairs by the fire, clearly asleep, and clearly very distressed. 

In his best bid to hide the sound, Merlin shut the door behind them, blocking it all out. 

"Arthur!" he hurried right over to his side, this time wasting not a single moment as he began to viciously shake Arthur. "Wake up! Up, now!"

If he was quick, maybe he could hide it. Maybe he could hide whatever it was that Arthur was going to see. 

"Merlin! Merlin, no!"

"Arthur I'm right here, it's just a dream! Please!"

Merlin wondered if he said it loud enough, he could convince Arthur to believe it, even before he woke up for real. He could really only hope. 

Behind Merlin the fight crackled, and his eyes darted towards it, entirely without his permission. His tongue darted out, across his lips, before he forced his attention away. He turned, so that the fire was just once more warming his back.  

"Come on Arthur!"

And, of course, that was when Arthur's eyes snapped open. 

He looked frantically left and right, before once more yanking Merlin straight against his chest. It was more uncomfortable than the bed, by its very nature of being a chair, but Merlin couldn't say he minded. Certainly it was better than being awoken to rage; Arthur madly going for a blade to kill the sorcerer in front of him. 

A hug was much, much better than that. 

"It's alright, Arthur," Merlin tried, rubbing his hands across Arthur's shoulders. "You can relax. It was just a dream."

"No, it wasn't," Arthur said, drowsily, still out of it. Even so, Merlin's blood ran cold through his veins, excuses already bubbling up from his throat. 

"What are you talking about? Of course it was! It was just another..."

"I was in that tournament again," Arthur murmured. "The first one you ever attended."

If it was possible, Merlin's heart clinched more. 

"Well, it was a hard day," he said quickly, trying to move the conversation onto much safer ground. “I was a disaster with the armour, aren't you glad I've got better?”

The distraction, of course, failed. 

"You....Merlin....I....the snake....you forced it out the shield."

And there it was. 

If Merlin had been any lesser man, he would have collapsed. If it wasn't for Arthur holding him so tightly to his chest, like he was something precious. And yet he had seen...knew....

"Why is my brain doing this to me?" Arthur said, in an anguished voice. Merlin looked at him confused. "I don't understand Merlin, it's like my own mind is trying to..."

Arthur dwindled off, voice still as slurred as before, and eyes blinking. 

"Come on," Merlin said, finally deciding that he should step up and take back some control over the situation. Easier said than done, as his entire body was shaking. "You need to be in bed. It's not doing you any good trying to sleep in a chair like this. You'll just be more uncomfortable in the morning."

Arthur seemed reluctant, but didn't protest too much as Merlin essentially pulled him into bed, still in his day clothes, and pulled the covers up to his chin. 

Almost without thinking, he found himself soothing Arthur's brow, wiping away some of the sweat that had started to form, and following it into the line of his hair. For a sudden, shocking moment, the impulse to kiss that forehead came into his mind. He pushed it away just as quickly. He couldn’t. Especially not when Arthur was...when Arthur was in the state he was in. It would just have been wrong, in so many ways, to even have this idea pop in his head, let alone as something possible.

Still, he continued stroking  Arthur’s forehead. Wondering if it made Arthur feel safe, comfortable. It certainly seemed that way, as Arthur's eyes slowly flickered closed, staring up and Merlin through heavy lids. 

"Try to sleep now. You might get a better dream." Merlin doubted that whatever magic was at work would let Arthur have a pleasant moment to himself, but he could never actually say that to Arthur. 

Arthur's arm came up again, slower than the first night, to grip Merlin's sleeve. So gently. So worryingly, sweetly, gentle that it made Merlin's heart just ache. There was nothing he could do. 

At least, not then. Not at that moment. 

Nothing he could do but sit next to Arthur's bed, and pet his hair until once more, he fell back asleep. 

Eventually, Arthur's hand fell, releasing Merlin's sleeve from its grip. 

Merlin lifted the limp arm, moving it under the bedsheets, fighting the strange urge to bend down and kiss that too. Far from the first time that day, he wondered what in the Gods name was going on inside Camelot this time around. 

When Merlin was quite sure Arthur's breath had evened out enough to move away, his attention was once more brought forward by the crackling fire. He found himself wandering over towards it, staring into the flames that licked the wood, and before he knew it, he was crouched in front. 

It called to him. 

Like the dragon had once called his name from below the castle, the fire seemed to whisper at him. Closer and closer. 

Merlin's hand moved forward, almost completely without his permission, and suddenly, his hand was doused in flames. 

Some part of his brain screamed, even when his lips remained silent, and he pulled back in an instant, looking down at his own hand in horror. 

And yet...his hand wasn't even red. 

It didn't hurt, either, but Merlin knew, being a physician’s apprentice – no matter how much Arthur wanted to joke about it – that burns could sometimes take a while to sink in, and needed to be placed in cool water immediately. After quickly checking that Arthur was still asleep, Merlin summoned a bucket, and filled it with cold water. 

He placed his hand in, finally allowing himself a wince at the sting that met him back.  That was just from the burn of the cool water. But it couldn’t be. 

Merlin didn't know how long he sat with his hand in water, staring at it through the dim candlelight in Arthur's chambers. He knew full well how much burns hurt when they were removed from the water, and yet, when he eventually found the courage to do it, there was no pain. The skin remained pale, pasty and without a hint of red in sight. 

It was impossible. 

Even with the short time his hand had been in...something should have happened. Something should have burned him, at the very least. 

It should have hurt. 

And yet it didn't. 

Just like his ankle had stopped hurting almost instantly. 

And the wound on his belly, that should have incapacitated him. 

They just...didn't.

And Merlin didn't know quite what to do with that. 

From everything he had ever read, nothing should give sorcerer powers like that. Unless some God had finally taken pity around just how bad his healing magic was, and decided that he needed some kind of helping hand. 

Considering his luck, that seemed unlikely. 

And still, that wouldn't explain Arthur's dreams that started that same night, that seemed to kickstart everything else. 

With a wave of his, very wet, hand, Merlin banished the water, and sent the bucket back where it was before. 

Then he got to his feet. 

One last check on Arthur, who was still sleeping at least somewhat soundly. Surely another nightmare would soon take hold, of that Merlin had no doubt in his mind. But until then...Arthur could rest. 

And Merlin?

Merlin had a dragon that he needed to talk to. Urgently. 

*

Merlin made his way into the woods outside Camelot. 

It had been a long while since he had called Kilgaharrah to him, and he was already wishing he never had to. It was a dangerous thing to do in Camelot. And the dragon had never quite dropped his talent for ridiculous riddles and partial truths. Still, he knew that it would be safer to get as far away as possible before he even tried. 

He felt as if he had been walking for hours, although in reality, it must have been much, much less, for when he looked up, the moon hadn't changed. 

Some part of him wanted it to. How could the stars, the sky, the heavens be so unaffected by how strange everything was? Should everything not have been a different colour? A different layout?

Something to show that all the strange happenings weren’t just in Merlin's head. 

That he wasn't actually crazy. 

Merlin looked up at the sky, and let the ancient power pour through his voice, calling the dragon to him. 

Then, he sat on the ground to wait. 

For a while, he watched the stars, waiting for the familiar wings to bat overhead and fill his vision. He allowed the memory of the last time he’d seen Kilgharah to enter his mind: the great beast flying slowly, wings not as loose and free as Merlin had once seen. I lived in a cave for many years, young warlock. Such tight, cramped spaces…hurts the very bones. 

So Merlin waited for the familiar sight of the grouchy old dragon. 

The sky remained clear. 

When his neck grew too sore, he lay back on the ground, still staring up. 

He had watched the moon trace its way across the stars, until it set in the darkness. 

It was only then when he realised the obvious, the truly clear, what anyone else would have seen before him. 

The dragon wasn't coming. 

Wasn't going to come. 

Had ignored him. 

And he certainly shouldn’t have been able to do that. 

If Merlin had it in him, so very late at night, he might have sobbed. As it was, he simply looked into the sky, and thought about Arthur lying in bed, screaming. 

*

Life, as it always did, continued forward, although certainly not for the better. 

Merlin had thought, perhaps foolishly, that either Arthur would come to accept the dreams as some sort of odd event that just so happened to return every night – a play by his own imagination, and simply move forward. Or, if that failed, could simply blame it on the truly extreme amount of time he spent around his manservant, perhaps putting the idea into his head that the two of them needed a little time apart (Merlin hated that idea, but it was far better than Arthur doing something directly dangerous). 

As it was, Arthur seemed rather inclined to spend his time investigating the lower town- much to Merlin's personal displeasure about the matter. 

It seemed almost every day, once Arthur would arise – after another nightmare, which kept Merlin up as much as it did Arthur– and go about his day. Or, at least, go about his day in the new 'normal' they had both somehow established. 

And what nightmares they were. 

Merlin could recall them all. 

From snakes, to creatures, to fights through the town; it rather seemed that the dreams–, whatever their cause– were determined to rout out all Merlin's secrets and put them on full display. Gaius researched late into the night; and Merlin would have joined him, but he was almost never able to pull himself from Arthur’s side. Only during the day could Merlin sneak back out to the library, and start looking on his own. 

Looking in the loosest possible sense: without much sleep, he was useless. 

And yet, somehow, that was not what Merlin hated the most about the whole ghastly affair. 

Rather, he hated what it did to Arthur. Arthur, who, despite it all, seemed determined to not believe what his mind showed him. Arthur, who had started struggling to get any sleep at all. 

Merlin had to lean even harder on his lies, every day. Arthur didn’t tend to obsess, but when he did, Merlin knew better than to try and discourage him. Especially when it came to his people, his Father; everything seemed to ring of trouble.

Far more than just the people going missing. 

*

Merlin himself had been woken up once more, although not to the shaking of his shoulder, but to pain. Vicious pain that shot up the sides of his jaw and mouth. 

A season or so ago, he would have stumbled his way to Gaius, asking about potions for jaw ache, or perhaps even just gone back to sleep. 

He had learned differently. 

And so, jaw aching horribly, he stumbled his way to Arthur's room. 

As always with Arthur’s nightmares, it was dark outside, the floor of the castle was cold, and Merlin had long ago stopped bothering with the boots at night, or a change of clothes. 

As had everyone else. 

They had stopped bothering to send for him. 

They knew he would be there soon enough anyway. 

Merlin still hadn't adapted to the screaming. 

He had thought, after the first week or so, that he might  learn how to cope with that sound that was so un-Arthur, and yet, had become so painfully familiar and expected. But the sound still shattered something deep inside of him. That large, devouring part that wished for nothing more than to reach out, to protect, to help. 

His jaw screamed. The pain seemed to sink through his very jaw, pulling apart his gums. 

He yanked the door open, rushing to Arthur's side, knowing still, as he had learned with the pain, that it would be too late. But it wasn't too late to protect Arthur from whatever it was Merlin had done that ate him so. 

Arthur was back in bed for this dream, and Merlin had long-since gotten past the habit of trying to wake him up immediately. It didn't do any good, as the quicker he tried to wake Arthur, the more distressed he seemed to become upon waking, when the dream and the real world had not separated far enough that he could ground himself back down. Of course, it all was the real world, but Arthur didn't need to know that. 

Merlin summoned the bathtub out of a nearby cupboard, enjoying the way his magic buzzed in his ears, drowning out the sound of Arthur's screams. How much he wanted to cover his ears, fill them up with something so he'd never have to hear them again. He’d started applying various muffling spells around Arthur’s rooms, but nothing he did seemed to contain them enough. 

Worse still: Arthur might scream and Merlin wouldn’t know, especially if the spell worked too well. It had happened once. After that, he’d  stopped trying. At least he'd learned that Arthur did best when there was something, like a bath, to calm him down straightaway.

And so Merlin filled it with water. Lit the fireplace. Heated the coals under to make everything look normal. 

And then, he turned back to Arthur. 

The screams had died down, giving away to heart-breaking whimpers into the bedsheets. His breathing was harsh, drawn-out, and his face was pasty and pale. 

Although his insides screamed in disgust at his own cowardice, he watched, just for another moment. Unsure if he was strong enough to wake Arthur yet. Unsure if he was strong enough to face what he had done, that brought Arthur to the place he was in. 

His teeth ached once more, and almost simultaneously Arthur let out a long, heart-wrenching scream. 

That was all Merlin needed to rush forward and start shaking him, gently at first.

But it appeared he was too late. Arthur had already begun to mumble. 

"Gaius...not Gaius...."

Merlin's brow creased, before his stomach dropped right down. 

There was only one fight Merlin could think of, one night that could truly be the source of Arthur's nightmares. And it certainly wasn't one that Merlin wanted to re-live. The image of the cup, of Nimue, searing across his mind like a brand. 

He shook Arthur harder, desperation in every movement, the plan of letting him wake slowly thrown out with the pigs.

"Lazy daisy!" he tried, and he was in luck, because Arthur's eyes snapped open, and he shot up with a gasp. He looked left, and right, as he always did, before his eyes finally settled on Merlin in front of him. Merlin who had also been avoiding sleep, just as Arthur had. Merlin in his nightclothes, clutching Arthur's arm as he had quite taken to doing on most nights. 

And slowly, Arthur's eyes began to adjust. 

"Bath for you," Merlin murmured, keeping his voice low, and kind. 

Arthur's expression didn't change, even as he allowed Merlin to try and remove his sweat-soaked top, leading him over to the bathtub. 

"She was going to...mother...ill....dying....for me....Nimueh!"

"Shhh," Merlin tried, quickly removing Arthur's trousers, and helping him step into the warm water, before the cold could get to him. "It was just a dream."

Just a dream. He'd said that one lie so many times, it didn't even feel like a lie anymore. And, in a way, to Arthur it really was. Just a bad dream that he could wake up from, move on with his day, after being comforted back. Or, so Merlin wanted to think. Deep down, even he knew…Arthur was far from able to move on with his day. 

Arthur leaned back into the warm water, which lapped up his sides. 

Merlin just watched, pulling over a nearby stool to sit next to Arthur. Just in case. 

Some nights Arthur wanted banter. Others, he would happily sit in silence. 

Merlin's jaw twinged, and he flinched again, unseen by Arthur who lay in his bath, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Really, Merlin's jaw hadn't hurt so badly in a very long time.

*

The assassin ran back towards Camelot, ready to scale the walls of the castle, if he could. 

Merlin couldn't let that happen. 

And so he clambered on the wall too, fingertips grasping the old stone with all his might. He clutched so hard he feared he may bruise. 

But the assassin was so determined, and Merlin could only watch, magic almost spent, as halfway climbing up that wall, the assassin kicked out…

Merlin was hit straight in the jaw, sending him tumbling...down....down....

His magic caught him, of course it did. But, when he looked up again, the Assassin had already made his move back onto the barracks, and towards Arthur's room once more. 

And Merlin had no choice, aching and sore, magic spent, to chase after him. 

*

"What happened to your hands?"

Merlin startled out of his daze, only to see Arthur looking up from the tub, staring intently down at Merlin's hands. 

Merlin followed his eyeline down, fighting back the sudden gasp that wanted to leave his lips. 

His fingernails - that had gone ignored by ever pressing headaches that followed him, and the newly occurring tooth ache, had grown. And not in the way of a normal man, but instead they had grown long, curved at the very tip. And dark, thicker as well, as if prepared to cut through something very sharp. 

Like claws. 

And, somehow, Merlin hadn't noticed. 

"Nothing," Merlin said quickly, reaching out to smooth some of Arthur's hair into the water, and effectively moving his hands out of Arthur's eyeline. "Just tried to take care of them recently. You've heard Gaius's lectures about how keeping parts of the body healthy keeps the whole thing together!"

It was a bad excuse, and it rested heavily on Merlin's lips. 

"I don't think he was talking about fingernails," Arthur shot back, and Merlin relaxed. As they always did, they were going to move on. He tried to ignore how tired, how out of it, Arthur’s voice sounded. 

"And who's training to be the next physician?" 

"And who spends all their time washing socks instead of learning herbs?"

Merlin snorted at that, and even Arthur allowed a small smile to lift the corner of his lips. But then, as quickly as it came, it was gone again. 

Merlin smoothed Arthur's hair once more. 

"I tried to stay up, tonight," Arthur muttered, and Merlin just started forward. "Wanted to see if I could go a night without seeing him again. But it was like I couldn't. One moment I was fully awake, and the next I was completely asleep."

Merlin fought the urge of letting his grip tighten within Arthur's hair. 

"You need to sleep, Arthur," Merlin said finally, "a good kingdom needs a rested Prince."

"But I'm not rested!" Arthur shot out suddenly, sitting up and sloshing water all down the side of the bath, and onto Merlin's legs. "Every night he...he taunts me! It taunts me with visions of you doing magic!"

Those words silenced the room. Even the water seemed to rest still for a moment, waiting for Arthur's next words. 

But it was Merlin who spoke next, the practised calm clear in his voice. 

"Who taunts you, Arthur?"

Arthur slumped back down in the water again. 

Merlin licked his lips nervously. “Me?”

"No! Not you, although in some ways you, I was talking about the man."

Merlin peered down at him, jaw throbbing. He placed his hands - claws and all - carefully into his lap. 

"What man, Arthur?"

Arthur took a long, deep breath. 

"You'll think I'm mad."

"You're already mad, I couldn't think any different of you if I tried."

Merlin's attempt at humour fell rather flat, but Arthur seemed to appreciate it all the same. 

"It's...not a figure, not quite...but in my dreams there's this man who sits there, dressed all in black. Like a shadow. I didn't notice him at first, but now he's always there, and you're...well..."

Merlin nodded, as if he had any real idea on what was happening. 

He tried to be comforting. 

"We could try Gaius's sleep draught again?"

Arthur shook his head vigorously. 

He'd been reluctant to try it in the first place, knowing it was the same one Morgana used before she disappeared, all those years ago. But even more so once he tasted it...that night, Merlin had tried to wake him up as usual, but found himself unable to. Arthur said later that it was like he was trapped, stuck in the dream with no way of getting out or moving. 

A few hours later, Merlin had returned to Gaius's quarters, and taken all the bottles out to the woods, and smashed them. Before firmly telling Gaius there would be no more need for such potions. 

He told Arthur immediately after, drawing him a bath for his nerves. 

“I don’t want to try any other draughts either.” Arthur said, after a while, letting out a long, deep breath. 

"Okay then," Merlin replied, letting out a breath of his own. The warm fumes from the bath filled the room, pleasant in the night. Arthur as well, looked like he was benefitting, the sweat washed away, the tension removed from his muscles bit by bit, until he was far more relaxed than Merlin remembered seeing him be for quite some time. 

They sat in silence for another long moment, as Merlin's mouth pulsed in pain. He fought back a visible wince, knowing Arthur would take it in completely the wrong way, and assume that it was him doing something wrong. 

"You don't have to keep coming to wake me," Arthur said, after that long moment. "I know you can't be sleeping well either. You look just as exhausted as I do." 

Merlin didn't have an answer for that, and so he said nothing. Knowing, deep down, that that was somehow worse than a bad response. 

"I just mean, if you wanted to send someone else...or leave me be..."

"I could never do that to you, Arthur," Merlin finally said, through the pain in his mouth. "Never."

Arthur titled his head back, golden hair floating in the water besides his face, where it had grown out, just a little. 

"You know, Merlin, sometimes you say things that, just for a moment, make me realise..." Arthur trailed off. 

Merlin waited for a moment, sucking inwards with his mouth to pull back some of the pain. Was he bleeding? 

"Realise what?" he said, after a long moment, wincing as the cold air made contact with his sore gums. 

"That makes me realise just how loyal you are."

And with that, it seemed Arthur had reached his limit of conversation for that evening, and Merlin didn't try and bring out any more in him. Instead, Merlin chose to lead Arthur back into his bed, drying him off, and covering him back up with the blankets. 

Once more, that strange urge hit. To kiss him on the forehead, as he smoothed the covers, like he would do for a scared child. 

Under them, he could feel Arthur trembling. Just waiting to be forced back into the horrible dream world where everything was all wrong, and his world was falling apart. 

"There's guards outside," Merlin said finally, just before leaving. "Call if you need me. I'll come."

Arthur nodded slowly, eyes slowly drifting closed, and body still trembling. 

“I will.”

Merlin didn't wait that time, unable to watch as Arthur was pulled back into his own mind, where Merlin was helpless to keep the bad things at bay. 

Instead, he walked back out into the corridor, gums still aching. He nodded goodnight for the knights at the door, who looked at him unsurprised. 

After a long moment, and many dark halls, his curiosity got the better of him. 

He lifted one long finger and pushed it against his gums, wincing as he did so. Feeling around the aching teeth, until he pulled back in a start from the sudden, sharp pain that gripped him. 

When he looked down, not only was his finger coated in a light layer of spit-slicken blood, but a drop of it ran down the pad. Where he had pricked himself. 

On his fangs. 

Merlin had thought so many times over the years that he knew what true despair meant. But, as it turned out, nothing quite compared to those weeks. 

Nothing. 

*

But still, that did not bring an end to Merlin's curiosity, at least not for that evening. 

Even on his walk back, the rest of the way, his attention had been drawn back to his arm, where it bled lightly, punctured by his new claws. 

He looked at his fingernails, knowing that now he would have to file them with pure steel, just to keep them safe enough to hold anything. 

Out of some dark, horrified question in his mind, Merlin stopped halfway to Gaius's quarters, before pulling off his boots and cheap stockings. 

Sure enough, his toes were like it as well. But, there the nails were dark, almost black, but just as thick as the ones that now covered his fingers, looking ready to clutch something, or climb it. 

He moved to put everything back on quickly, before anyone walked by - their guard shift interrupted by the horrific sight. 

And the undeniable proof that Merlin had turned into a monster, the kind he had always feared he may become - although he always imagined it would stay firmly in his head. 

Not on the outside of his skin as well. 

The walk back to Gaius was long and quiet, boots scuffing along, fingers stretched out, yet he risked hurting himself further. He doubted he would be able to do anything else until they were properly filed. He used his hands for everything. 

He used his hands to wake Arthur. 

To bathe Arthur. 

To care for Arthur. 

And for magic. 

He needed his hands for magic. For Arthur.

*

Arthur deteriorated. He wouldn't let it show, but lack of sleep was a slow killer, Merlin had been done in by it many times. Sleep and trust, and lack of sleep grew distrust into a horrific beast. 

"Merlin!" Arthur spoke suddenly behind him. It was mid-morning, the sun streaming through the window. Although one look at Arthur would tell you the opposite; even though Merlin had dressed and bathed him, he looked awful, swaying on his feet, eyes heavy and arms limp. A thought suddenly to him, and he spoke again. It was the anger in his voice that shocked Merlin. "I saw you!"

"Saw me..."

"Doing magic!" Arthur whisper-shouted, although whether it was to avoid alerting the new guards, or because his voice was so sore from screaming, Merlin didn't know. 

Merlin couldn't bring himself to reply, as Arthur stalked closer, almost tripping over his own feet. Arthur's finger shot out, pointing at Merlin; although his arm looked limp and heavy, like Arthur himself was struggling to make his own body work. "I saw you...I...I saw...."

Arthur blinked heavily, looking down at his hand. Then back up at Merlin, ever so slowly. 

"Arthur?" Merlin managed, mind already racing through the thousands of possibilities, horror threatening to consume him at any given moment. 

"No..." Arthur said, blinking heavily again. "No-it was...no...my dream? Merlin!" Arthur seemed to wake up, just a little, staring at Merlin with a horrified look on his face. "Merlin-I-"

"It's okay, Arthur," Merlin said comfortingly, his insides twisting horribly. "You're just tired and-"

Arthur surged forwards, until he was right in front of Merlin. But the position was far from intimidating. Arthur seemed withdrawn in himself, shoulders hunched so he didn't stand at his full height. 

"It's not real, is it Merlin? It's just a dream. Like you promised."

Merlin felt sick. He could have very well been sick on the floor, if it was not for Arthur staring at him with so much trust in his eyes. Arthur sounded meek. 

Merlin had never heard that voice. 

"Yes," he said, feeling oddly like Gaius. "Just a dream. Like I said."

Arthur slowly nodded, drawing himself up, visibly shaking himself. He blinked hard, once, twice. 

"This stays in this room. Nobody hears about this."

Merlin nodded enthusiastically. 

"Of course!" The words came out a little too eager. He hoped Arthur didn't notice his voice trembling. 

Arthur nodded, neck trembling, trying to pull on some of his old regal grace, before walking to the door. 

"Just a dream," Merlin heard him mutter. "Just a dream..."

*

Weeks passed, but not as they always did. Not as Arthur always did. But for Merlin, his days remained the same. Somewhat. It was cold, for the month in question, and Merlin had been up nearly all night, cutting and forcing his nails down into something he could bear witness to,that wouldn't hurt Arthur in the way that he feared. 

"You look awful," Gaius said simply, as Merlin walked in. And Merlin knew it too. He looked terrible - like he hadn't slept in so long. 

And so, he just nodded, taking his place and eating breakfast. 

Gaius only stared at him. 

Merlin swallowed before speaking. 

"What?" he said, "does the King want to have another meeting with me?" He hoped that wasn't the case. His mind flicked back to what Arthur had said. What Arthur had thought, even for a moment. 

If he didn’t believe Merlin. If he went to his father anyway…

Thankfully, Gaius shook his head slowly, before slowly averting his eyes, like he was trying to give Merlin privacy from something. 

"What?" Merlin said again, trying to stop the annoyance creeping into his tone. 

"There's more going on than you're telling me. I can tell."

Merlin opened his mouth. Then closed it again, thinking of how best to answer, if he even wanted too. In reality, Gaius knew most of what happened. Just what happened. Not how Merlin was feeling. 

Never how Merlin was feeling. 

After a moment, he grabbed his bowl and made his way out of the physicians chambers, Gaius's eyes following him as he left. He knew Gaius wanted to know more about his wound. As a man of science, and as his family. But Merlin couldn’t find it in him to say.

As was their new normal, Arthur was already awake, and demanding to be dressed quickly for their day out. 

Merlin did so. He learned long ago that it was no use arguing with Arthur when it came to his people, and the best thing he could do was just agree and go along. 

Or, at least, that was what he was trying, before Arthur shook him off, when trying to do up his laces.

"Arthur!" Merlin protested, but Arthur was already pacing around. Waiting for something. "I need to finish those!"

But Arthur didn't seem to be able to hear him, walking around and round in circles, and turning to face Merlin suddenly. All the softness from the previous night was gone, and the sun seemed to reinforce the paleness of his face. 

Arthur's eyes had bags under them. Horrific ones, not just like Merlin had, but as if someone had punched him in both eyes until they swelled. Merlin knew it was bad, but there was nothing he could do (aside from trying to borrow some of Morgana’s old makeup, and he doubted that would go down overly well with any party). 

Besides, although he didn't own a mirror, he very much doubted that he looked any better, in the long run. In that sense, at least Arthur wasn’t alone. 

"More people have gone," Arthur muttered, and Merlin simply sat down on the bed, waiting for Arthur to say more. 

"Gone where?" Merlin prompted, after too-long a silence. 

"Nowhere. Just to their homes. They go in and refuse to leave again. Just as before. Nobody lets Gaius in. And it's like....like people are trying to pretend they don't exist! Like everything is fine! But I know nothing is, and nobody seems to believe me!"

Merlin nodded slowly. 

Suddenly, Arthur strode towards him grabbing Merlin by the shoulders and shaking him. For a moment, he looked almost manic. 

"You believe me, don't you Merlin? You've seen it, in the towns. The emptiness, the one washerwoman instead of four. The eight children instead of ten at the local school. You have to know."

Merlin lifted his hands, stopping Arthur shaking him. 

"I know."

At that Arthur seemed to relax, slumping onto the bed next to Merlin. 

"Thank the Gods," Arthur said, voice breaking. "I've not slept well in so long, Merlin. I thought maybe I..."

In Merlin's head, it all fell nearly into place. 

"You've not lost your mind, Arthur," he said, gentleness in his tone. "And I don't think people are lying to you on purpose, I-"

"Then why else? Why else would they hide this from me? Do they not trust me? Do they not-"

"Arthur," Merlin firmly interrupted. 

"Merlin," Arthur shot back. 

"I don't think they want to admit it to themselves. Whatever it is that's going on."

That, at least, seemed to shake the last nerves from Arthur. 

"Maybe they'll speak to me today," he said, looking for his cloak. "They have to. We could help them."

Merlin stood, placing a hand on Arthur's arm. 

"Not today, Arthur."

Arthur blinked back at him. 

"If you haven't forgotten, I am the prince and you-"

"You have delayed your duties for several weeks. Your father has allowed it under the guise that you are unwell, but you need to do something else. Go to the meeting today. Talk to everyone. Maybe some light drills - just with yourself, you're not well enough to fight someone else."

And it was true. They both knew it. 

Yet, Arthur's face was hesitant. A kind of vulnerability that Merlin would have thought was rare, not so long ago. 

"I can't just leave them? What if today's the day they finally-"

"I'll go," Merlin said quickly. "They'd be more likely to talk to me anyway, servant to servant and all that. Less intimidating." 

Finally, Arthur grinned, face contorting around the purple under his eyes. 

"So...you find me intimidating?"

"Go! Clotpole!" Merlin said, waving one of Arthur's shirts at him, batting him out the door as he laughed. But Merlin could still feel the hoarseness in his throat. Hear it in Arthur's as well. Somehow, they were both in it together, whatever it was that was going on. 

Then, Arthur stopped, just for a moment, staring straight ahead. Merlin watched in confusion as Arthur continued to stare. 

“Merlin?”

“Yes?” he replied, only somewhat impatient. 

“There isn’t anything moving in the corner, is there?”

Merlin leaned forward, staring into the perfectly still patch of shadow. 

“I don’t think so?”

Arthur sighed, shaking himself bodily.

“No. No I suppose there wouldn’t be,” Arthur said, with a sad chuckle, before turning and leaving the room.

When the door closed, Merlin let out a long, sore sigh. 

He stole the rest of the mulled wine from Arthur's desk, drinking it down with a long gulp. 

His fingers slipped, and the entire goblet fell to the floor, covering him in the bright red, shocking against his blue shirt. It was warm to the touch. 

And, just for a second, Merlin couldn't help but be reminded of blood. 

*

"You'll never get there in time to save him now!"

The assassin had been laughing, so very far ahead, dancing down the corridor, as Merlin–winded and tired–could only hopelessly chase from so far behind. Every few moments, he would hear the laughter from right around the corner, but when he ran around to check, he was met with nothing but flickering candlelight. 

Until, of course, he ran around one too many. 

"Too late, little sorcerer."

Soaring pain hit his stomach, and his legs just collapsed under the strain. 

When he looked down, he was met with the red of blood, soaking his top. 

And a dagger, protruding out from his belly. 

The assassin stood at the end of the hall, hands on his hips and a small smirk, visible in spite of the shadows that covered his face. 

"Little slow on the uptake?" the assassin jeered, looking down at Merlin from where he stood. 

Merlin gasped, grabbing at the handle of the blade. 

He stared at the assassin, who simply laughed. 

"Wouldn't want to be around when the guards find you in the morning!" he said, with a long, drawn out laugh. Then, he strode the rest of the way across the hall...and back towards Merlin. 

He stopped a few feet short, kneeling down until they were eye level. Merlin could only pant through the pain clutching the dagger. 

"It's okay," the assassin said, voice deathly quiet. "You wouldn't want to find out what happens when you kill me anyway."

And before Merlin could even fathom a reply, the assassin was off, back down the corridor. Back towards Arthur. 

*

Merlin dried his tunic off with a spare cleaning rag, before whispering a quick spell to vanish the red. He knew he couldn't wait long. Arthur had given him a task (or, rather, Merlin had given himself one and was quite determined to complete it), and he needed plenty of time to do it. 

And so he began his stroll to the lower town. 

For a moment, he wondered if he should put on a disguise, if they might be more willing to speak to him about whatever was going on, as long as he wasn't so clearly a part of the royal entourage, but decided not to bother. 

Besides, he was quite sure Arthur would be sending men down to check if he really had gone to the town after a while, either way. 

Much to his surprise, the lower town was far busier than he expected. 

People crowded around in such a way that he was practically pulling himself towards the front, moving people out of the way, towards what he started to see was a house. A little cottage, cheaply made, with all the windows and doors boarded up. 

Nothing of the inside could be seen, but sounds cared nothing for these precautions, escaping into the street to hit the anxious crowd. 

A woman’s screams–and the sudden smashing of something; a pot, perhaps. 

Merlin pushed through harder, finally making his way to the front, where a scared man sat on the porch with a little boy, looking up at the house. 

"What's going on here?" Merlin demanded, looking through the crowd of onlookers. 

The man looked up at Merlin in shock. 

"You...I...."

"What's happening to her? Why has nobody brought a physician?" 

The man was already shaking his head, looking back at the boarded up house with fear. He seemed quite unable to string any real words together. 

"Tell me!" Merlin demanded again. "If you won't get Gaius, I'm a physician in training, I can help!"

The man was already shaking his head, but Merlin pressed on, dropping to his knees. 

"Nothing to see here!" he called to the crowd, batting his hands to send them away. They all obeyed, quickly. When Merlin had first begun his role as Arthur's servant, he thought the entire thing of ranks was ridiculous - and to some extent he still did - but even he could admit, it was useful on occasion. 

Merlin turned his attention back to the man, and little boy, whom he clutched tight. 

"I won't tell anyone," he whispered, as the woman let out another scream. "Whatever's going on, I want to help."

The man looked at him, licking his lips for a long moment, as if daring himself to say something. 

"But you're..."

"I don't tell everything to Arthur," he insisted, before closing his eyes and taking a chance. "Besides, I've got it too."

The man's eyes widened. 

"But you've been..."

Another scream. 

"Well I had too," Merlin whispered, praying that his ignorance didn't shine through as clearly as he thought it did. "Everyone knows me."

Finally the man gave a long nod, looking back to his house, and back to the young child in his arms, who was crying lightly. 

"My wife," he finally muttered, so quiet Merlin had to stoop in to listen. "She's...we've a baby coming. Everything was fine until she got infected and now....we couldn't risk it but...."

“Where’s the midwife?” The brief mental image of the woman flashed into Merlin’s head. Strong, hearty, would fight her way to any birth in the village. If he wasn’t already training under Gaius, he would have chosen her.

The man leaned in even closer, muttering. 

“We think she’s infected too. The cottage was boarded up. Nobody can reach her.”

Merlin nodded quickly, reassessing the situation. 

"I will do what I can. How long has she been in labour?"

The man hesitated. 

"Many hours now."

Merlin cursed. 

"Get me in. Now!"

The man left the little boy on the ground, before grabbing the boards with all his strength, and snapping them completely off the wall. If it wasn't for the screaming woman inside, Merlin might have found himself impressed. 

Instead, he gave the man a quick nod, before running inside, shutting the door behind him. 

It was only once the door was closed, did his breath really stop. 

The woman had turned to face him, face red with tears and panting for breath, horror on her face. She was crouched backwards on the bed, clinging to the headboard with a white knuckled grip, unable to balance on her own. 

And the objects in the room around them were floating. 

Merlin stood in silence, for a long moment. 

"Please, sir!" the woman cried, through the pain, "a sorcerer must have broken in while I was...I was..."

"It's alright," Merlin soothed, finally snapping himself back to his senses and running over, "I'm here to help. You and your baby." 

He dodged around various flying items and found his way to her bedside. 

"But...." the woman tried, and Merlin gently shushed her. 

"I have it too," he whispered, and understanding finally bloomed in her eyes, before she let out a horrid scream. 

Merlin could do little but rub her back.

"You...you're a physician, right?" she tried and Merlin nodded frantically, looking around for things he could use. 

And finally, finally, his brain kicked back into place. He grabbed towels from where they flew around in air nearby, laying them under her. He ran outside with a bucket, demanding a nearby gentleman run for water, and the husband to run to Gaius for his medical kit and tools, under the promise that if Gaius knew Merlin was attending, he wouldn't come. 

"You're going to be alright, you hear me?" Merlin said to the woman, shutting the door again. "You and your baby are going to be just fine. May I check you?"

The woman nodded frantically, weakly lifting the blanket so Merlin could do the cursory checks. 

"You're doing so well. Baby seems to be coming along fine. I can feel the head, so they are in the right position." Merlin finished his checklist, before looking back at her, feeling gently around her stomach as he did so. "It’s almost time to really push, and you know how quick it goes after that, yeah?” She nodded weakly, her hand curled tightly against the headboard. “What was your name again?"

She didn't seem to hear him, or, at least, not fully, eyes glinting with pain. 

"But the man said..." the woman managed, before curling in and letting out a strangled cry. 

Merlin tried to keep his voice and hands calm. 

He knew he should be keeping track of the time between her contractions, but counting would’ve been impossible; the only thing in his mind was the unfinished sentence.

"What man?" 

She looked up again. 

"The man....the man from my dreams. The shadow man. From the village. In the-" her voice broke off into pained gasps. 

Merlin gently stroked her on the arm, calming her as best as he could. 

“Do you want to get up? Walk?” he reeled off, trying to remember what Gaius or the midwife said in such situations. The woman simply shook her sweaty face, just repeating the same words over and over the man the man the man. 

More than ever, he was thankful that he’d managed to convince Arthur to stay behind. 

"What did he say to you?"

"That...my baby...he didn't say...but he was there when the Knights came…when my baby was coming."

"In your dream?" Merlin guessed, and she nodded frantically. 

Merlin's heart dropped. 

"Was I here in your dream?" he asked quickly. 

She looked at him for a long moment, before shaking her head, confusion dancing over her pained expression. 

"Well, then, just a dream." Merlin said fervently. "Because I'm not leaving until your baby is born and safe."

The chair behind him gently thudded to the floor. 

"Thank you," she said, just as her husband arrived back with the medical pouch, standing, staring quite unsure what to do with himself. 

"Leave it there," Merlin spoke up, "then close the door. Unless you want to stay and watch. Or, more helpfully, come and have your hand broken." 

Much to his surprise, the man placed the bag on the floor, and rushed over to grab his wife's hand. She instantly began to crush it. Merlin couldn’t help the small smile coming across his face. 

The bag slowly began to float. Merlin grabbed it immediately, already pulling out various things. 

"Well then," he heard himself say, "let's meet your new little one!"

*

Much to Merlin's delight, the birth was not nearly as long as he feared, nor as hard. 

True, he had never had to work quite so tired, or with quite so many (or any) things flying around his head, but in the end it didn't matter so much. Although, he was truly pleased that he had remembered to get his nails blunted in time. 

The baby boy was born screaming, a good sign he was healthy. 

Despite his exhaustion, the act of placing the infant on the mother's chest never did grow old. Watching the bond between them grow even more, after so many months was a joy, in and of itself. Although admittedly, the midwife was usually there, getting all the hard bits sorted. 

The husband pulled him aside, shortly after. 

"I can't thank you enough," he said, fervently, grabbing at Merlin's hands. "I know there is little I could give you that you could not already get, but please, if there is any way I could repay you...or if you need more money not to go to the guards...I..."

Merlin, at first, shook his head. Then, he paused. 

"Actually, there’s something I want to ask. Your answer will not affect me telling the guards," Merlin said, and the man's face shifted into abject horror, before Merlin interrupted again, "I already promised I would not."

The man relaxed, looking back over at his wife and new-born, with a warm look in his eyes. The same kind of expression of any new, caring father that Merlin could think of. 

"But I've been trying to trace the sickness," Merlin said quickly, knowing he couldn't blow his cover now by pretending he had no clue what it was, "do you have any idea when she got infected? Where she'd been? Who she spoke to?"

The man's brow creased for a moment, before he answered. 

"She went out to pick flowers, for the birth," the man gestured at some loose blooms that had floated to the ceiling, stuck in cobwebs. "Gaius said they'd calm her." Merlin nodded along, encouragingly. "But when she got to the clearing...it was all queer, or so she said? There was a man just...lying there! Dressed all in black…But my Bonnie –she didn't know–  she ran over, hoping to help but he just lay still! Like he was waiting for her! Said she recognised him, the man who moved into the nearby cottage - the one that vanished a few nights ago? She soon found he was dead, and came to find help...but the infection started not soon after."

Merlin’s brain screamed with all the new information. The vanishing cottage? (No wonder the rumours had started so quickly! No wonder they changed so often.) A man living in the village? He took a deep breath, trying to process all the needed information. Trying to just make this thoughts make sense long enough to say something. Anything. 

"Where did she say this was?"

The man pointed out the boarded-up window. 

"Over that way, beyond the palace entrance. Behind the waterfall."

Merlin's heart dropped.

Because he knew exactly whose body that was. He'd put it there himself. 

Although, then again, he was pretty sure he buried it. 

"You said it was 'queer'? Was it just the dead man?"

The husband slowly shook his head. 

"No, sir. Bonnie said it was all cold, and the air seemed to prick at her skin. And the man was covered in mud, like...like..."

"I understand," Merlin cut him off, resting a hand on his shoulder. He forced a weak smile onto his lips. "Go and spend time with your little boy. I bet he's been wanting to meet you, after all of these months!"

The husband beamed, smiling down at Merlin. 

"Thank you. I could never repay this kindness."

Merlin shook his head quickly. 

"Oh, oh no," he forced lightness into his voice, trying to brush away all the thoughts that were clouding his mind. “There’s nothing to repay.”

"We didn't have a name in mind," the man said, giving him a warm smile, "but we would be blessed if our second son grew up half as kind as you."

Despite the situation, Merlin couldn't help the flush on his face. 

"You agree, my love?"

Bonnie looked up from behind a floating stool, where she clutched her son, tear-stricken, exhausted, but smiling through it all. Her eyes kept being drawn back to her youngest son. 

"Welcome to the world, little Merlin."

*

"I heard you got pulled into a birth at the town," said Arthur that night. Merlin was readying him for bed, as he always did, smoothing Arthur's nightshirt, knowing full well it would all be worthless in a few hours. "Got a new namesake and everything. Foolish people. Don't know what they're setting the poor kid up for."

Merlin snorted, looking up at Arthur through the candlelight. It was already dark, and he knew that if he wanted to go to the clearing, he'd have to do it quickly. 

"I mean, it is my job."

"No, your job is here. As my manservant." Arthur sounded desperate. Merlin knew that tone of Arthur’s, the kind that only appeared on very sad occasions. Please don’t ask more of me. Please don’t make me. 

But Merlin had to. And so Merlin did. 

"Arthur," Merlin said quickly, "you need to try and get some sleep."

Arthur stiffened at that. 

"You know what, I don't think I'm that tired, I'm sure as the crown prince there are certain jobs I could do, even at such a late hour. I really should go and check on the night-guards. Ensure they are doing their jobs..."

Arthur went to get up, but Merlin's hand stopped him, pushing him gently back onto the bed. 

"You need to sleep."

Arthur shook his head, looking more like a scared child, than a Prince. 

"I'm not going to get any, anyway and you'll end up back or..."

Merlin shook his head slowly, stroking Arthur's forehead. Kiss it. The voice inside him still cried, and he quickly pushed it back down. 

"Or, it might have broken, and you might have a nice, uninterrupted night of sleep."

Arthur shook his head miserably. 

"You know that won't happen."

"You don't know that." 

Arthur nodded as if to say that he did, but couldn't quite be bothered. Merlin couldn't blame him either. If he was in Arthur's shoes, he would be quite sure as well. 

Just as sure as he was, that the rest of him was changing too, bit by bit. Knowing there was no stopping it. Nothing he could do. Nothing but just sit and wait and hope that something better would come out of the end of everything. 

"Sleep now," Merlin finally tried, stroking Arthur's arm. 

Arthur let out a heart-wrenching whimper, and his eyes slipped closed, still clutching at his own sheets. 

"Shhh," Merlin tried, "just try to relax now. Think of something nice."

Arthur did so, breathing slowly evening out, even as his body tensed every now and then. Even as Merlin could feel, could see even, him shaking under the covers. But as much as Merlin wanted to tell Arthur that he didn't have to try to sleep, he didn't have to watch everything Merlin had done in the name of Arthur’s protection. 

Because the purple under Arthur's eyes looked painful. Swollen. 

And a man could only go so long without sleep. 

Merlin had learned that himself, enough times over the years. At least Merlin had the in-between, the quiet moments of proper rest. Merlin could go to bed earlier, because Arthur would just lie awake, letting Merlin nod off from time-to-time.

He knew the second Arthur was finally asleep, because he practically jumped up, moving out of the room as fast as he could. He needed to get to the clearing. He needed to work everything out. For Arthur's sake, even more than his own. 

Even if all he wanted to do was stay, to be there the very second Arthur's dreams started, when Arthur's view of Merlin began to warp into who he really was, and Merlin could rouse him before that happened. Stop it in its tracks. Just for a little while longer. 

But instead, he pushed on. 

Out of Arthur's room. 

Out of the castle. 

Towards the clearing, beyond the waterfall. 

“How is Arthur?”

The voice shocked Merlin as it appeared behind him. Uther stood, blocking the corridor, a bright red robe slung over his shoulders. He offered no explanation as to why he was walking the corridors at night. Not that he would typically. 

“Better, m’lord. He has just gone back to sleep.” Uther nodded. 

“Very well. I suggest you sleep close, in case he needs you.” And then the King was off. Blinding red robe flying out behind him. It was the new kind of dynamic they had: Uther asking Merlin for updates, appearing late into the night. Even if that was, supposedly, not what Kings did. Merlin just wished Arthur was awake enough to realise it. 

Merlin’s eyes caught the robe as it went around the corner, just before he himself ran off again. 

Red. So very red. 

*

Merlin was bleeding. 

He clutched his own side, a weak healing charm still tingling, as he tripped his way down the corridor and towards where the assassin had fled. Everything hurt. 

Everything screamed. 

But Arthur. 

Arthur needed him. 

Arthur would get hurt. 

Arthur-

Merlin finally saw the assassin up ahead. It was some sort of miracle nobody knew. That nobody had woken. 

Although he hadn’t seen any, Merlin was always the first to suspect magic at play. 

They were near Arthur's corridor, and, by that time, two guards walked past Arthur's door. The nightly patrol, at just the right moment. The assassin cursed, turning around, knowing he needed to be quick. 

Merlin hid, just in time. 

Only to watch as the assassin opened a nearby window, climbing back out onto the battlements. 

He was going to climb around to Arthur's room. 

Merlin made his way to the same window, side screaming and heartbeat in his ears. 

He climbed out. Somehow. Even he didn't know how he ended up on those battlements. 

Nor how he followed the assassin so closely as he ran along, both dodging the wandering guards, giving Merlin just enough of a chance to catch up. 

Just enough of a chance to send one more spell, sending the man flying off the battlements and landing on the ground with a sick crunch. 

*

On the walk over the familiar headache bloomed in Merlin temples. The one that haunted him the most, both sides of his head, pushing out of his skin. 

Although the closer to the clearing he dared venture, the worse it became, until he legs buckled, and the world went white for a long moment. 

Arthur. Gods, Arthur. 

That would usually be his sign to go running back to Arthur's rooms and wake him up. It didn’t always happen, but Merlin had a sense for when Arthur was in danger. Even if that danger came from images of Merlin’s past. Although it used to be just an odd feeling…But he couldn't. He needed to get to the clearing, if nothing else. 

The world came back to him slowly, where he lay, sprawled on the floor of the forest, on a bed of leaves, not too far from the waterfall. 

As he always did, he raised his fingers to the sides of his head, where the pain was, expecting to find nothing, as he always did. 

But this time two hard nubs met his fingers. 

Merlin's hands began to shake as he felt them, moving one hand away to see spots of blood across the tips of his fingers. 

The things on his head were tiny, little rounded things that at first he could almost pass off as bumps on the side of the head, were they not so prominent, even where they lay under his hair. 

But the texture was rough. 

And there was no way that he managed to hit both sides of his head falling down. 

Merlin crawled the rest of the way to the waterfall, thick fingernails clinging and pulling on the grass. He kept going on his hands and knees, gasping with each motion, until he could look down into his reflection in the pool. Where he could part his hair with his fingers, and found the two black nubs sticking out. 

It was unmistakable. 

They were unmistakable. 

Merlin had horns. 

Dragon horns. 

*

Merlin dragged the assassin's body from the town into the forest, ready to bury it as he always did. 

It was heavy in his grip, his side aching with pain where he had carelessly stitched the wound together. He'd known he didn't have long to move the body, before his clumsy masking spell faded, and it was left open for all to see. 

The clearing behind the waterfall was hard to reach, requiring one to go around, behind the little gap between water and stone. The opening led up to a small clearing where various blooms grew, and was practically impossible to reach from any other side. He'd found it when hiding from the world one day, and sometimes he wondered if he really was the only person who knew such a place existed. 

As he moved past, he caught sight of himself in the water, tugging the body along by the shoulders. He winced at the sight, quickly moving back to his task, the moon high in the sky, as he pulled the body through the gap, and prepared to bury it. 

*

Merlin pulled himself further towards the waterfall, away from the pond. He couldn't look anymore, not when he knew what he would see. He had more to do - more than needed to happen before he could relax. 

He needed to find that body. 

And he needed to find it quickly. 

Although he lacked the strength to stand, his fists clutched tight, pulling him along the ground one painstaking yank at a time. His head was killing him, his skull hammering endlessly. In fact, each movement allowed the pain to go further. 

His fingers met hard stone, and he knew he made it to the side of the waterfall. He staggered up then, tired fingers clutching hard stone, forcing his aching legs to just move. One step at a time if need be, just to make them do something - move the way he needed them to. 

He stepped forward, never letting go of the stone. 

Water hammered over the top of his head, a long, sharp stream that drenched through his hair, and left him spluttering...but more awake and aware than he had been in weeks. Somehow, the water seemed to have soothed the headache that had splintered through his skull, and pieced his brain. Somehow. Somehow. 

Perhaps more magic existed in this place, than what had somehow clutched onto the locals. Clutched onto Arthur. 

Merlin found the gap, and with a new strength, managed to get through. 

The other side was not as he remembered it. Yes, the field was still small, what little grew there through the minimal light, but somehow, a once small clearing seemed covered in white powder. After a moment he looked up, to feel something cold land on his wet face. 

Snow. 

It was snowing. 

Merlin blinked in surprise, quite certain that it had not been snowing when he last looked up at the sky. Nor was it winter, in fact, the sticky summer heat was still beating on him from outside. 

Right in front of his eyes, the sun peaked through the falling snow, despite the fact it should have been the dead of night, and a bright bolt of lighting shot across the sky - almost blinding Merlin with the light. 

It reflected against the snow, and his eyes ached in their sockets. 

He forced his eyes down, before taking a step forward, nearly sinking into the newly formed bank of snow. Another step. Another. The cold reached up past his boots, freezing his thighs. 

And then, finally, he saw him. 

The body. 

Merlin knew what bodies looked like, especially those weeks old, but the assassin looked nothing like any of them. The ground where he lay was untouched by snow; a ring of grass with the corpse in the middle, a peaceful expression on his face, as if he’d been just resting. When Merlin saw him last, his leg had been bent out of shape, and yet, as he lay there, his arms were neatly crossed, face blank and body lined up. 

He wasn’t even covered in mud, not like the woman had described.

Just like he had rolled over in his sleep. 

Merlin took another step forward. It should smell, he knew it should smell, all bodies did. 

The man was dead. And Merlin still kept watching for the chest to rise, so sure that was what must happen, for a face that still had flushed cheeks. 

Another step. Another. 

Until he reached the ring of grass, and a new burning pain spread through his back.

He collapsed. 

Merlin knew pain, like an old friend, but never had he been left writhing on the floor, no serket in sight. No chains, barring the circle of grass he lay in. 

His back screamed, and for just a moment he wondered if bugs had been placed in his back, ready to climb their way out.  And his legs began to burn, down further and further, a thousand tiny sharp points. 

Distantly, he heard himself call for the dragon once more, but he knew no dragon would come. He hadn't before. 

And he wouldn't come again. 

Merlin's body settled, back and legs still screaming. 

His eyes flickered open slowly, blinking away hot tears through his lashes. 

Somehow, in all his writhing, he had rolled out of the circle of grass, and away. 

He needed to get away. 

Merlin crawled. 

He crawled back to the waterfall, almost throwing himself through the crack, waiting for the release of however the water had healed him before. 

It never came. 

But Merlin made it back to Camelot anyway. Painful step after painful step. His world burned with agony, and yet nothing felt worse than just lying there. 

*

Gaius spun around sharply when Merlin entered, and for just a moment, Merlin's vision went black. 

Arms were holding him. Old, familiar ones, leading him into the room. 

"Merlin? Merlin?"

He didn't need to hear the question to know what was being asked. 

His arms were weighed down, as if someone had tied some of Geoffrey's books to them, but nonetheless he lifted them to his shirt, trying to yank it off. 

Hands batted his own away, and it took him a moment to realise that they probably belonged to Gaius. The same hands slowly turned him around, knowing before Merlin could tell him where he was hurt.

The shirt was lifted gently, and a gasp fell from the usually unshakeable man. 

Merlin patted his legs helplessly, but Gaius seemed to get the message, pulling down his trousers so very gently, a soothing voice in Merlin's ear. And it was only then Merlin found the strength to look down, finding himself greeted with a barrage of red. 

It took him a moment to realise he wasn't bleeding. 

Or, rather, that most of it wasn't blood. 

Because his thighs, and he suspected his back as well, were covered in hundreds of tiny red scales. 

All grown at once, and all like the ones on Merlin's stomach. 

"You’re covered in blood. We need to clean them," he heard Gaius say, "I have a pain reliever… If scales even can become infected…tiny wounds…"

He was expecting Merlin to say no. Merlin never wanted pain relief - needing to be awake, aware for Arthur's sake, and not in the hazy aftermath of one of Gaius's foul tasting potions. But Gaius always offered. 

And he offered hoping for times like that, where Merlin nodded his head yes. 

Anything to get rid of the pain. 

Anything. 

*

The next day, Merlin woke up, and despite the pain running through his skin, it was like nothing had happened at all. For just a moment, with his eyes closed, he allowed himself to imagine that it had been a dream. 

Then, he opened his eyes. Gaius had laid Merlin on top of his sheets, dried blood still pooling where Gaius had given up on cleaning. But, despite that, the scales still stood prominently against his flesh. 

Merlin couldn't help his wandering hands anymore than he could stop himself reaching into those flames. First he reached up to his head, finding the little horns on his head. They were tiny, covered completely by his hair, but sharp. 

Then the scales. 

He flinched as he touched them, but no pain came - just a mild discomfort coming from the skin underneath. Whether some outcome of the magic or Gaius's pain potion, Merlin had no way of knowing. He didn't take them often enough to tell the difference. 

Either way, he knew he couldn't stay like that. He grabbed some nearby bandages and rolled them round his legs, his arms, his back; then, and only then, did he put his own shirt back on. Then his trousers, before sliding out of his room. Gaius was sitting at the main table, before looking up at Merlin through bleary eyes. 

"Merlin!"

"Got to go!" Merlin called back, quickly making his way out of the room. Even without looking, he could see the eyebrow raise on Gaius's tired face. Please get some sleep, he mentally pleaded with Gaius. As it seemed the very idea of sleep was getting rather rare around Camelot castle. And Arthur couldn't have been in a much better state. 

"Merlin?"

Merlin jumped, spinning around, fully expecting to find a disappointed Gaius standing before him, rather than the King that did. 

"Your majesty," Merlin forced out, eyes widening.

"Come with me," the King said. He was dressed in full regalia, crown atop his head, and long, red cloak flowing behind him. It seemed to glint in the light of the morning, and just for a moment, Merlin allowed himself the thought of how Arthur would look in that crown. 

Uther led them back towards his office, and Merlin struggled to follow behind; trying his very best to stay on his feet after such a horrid night. His legs still ached, and his arms protested the very fabric that lay atop them, but he knew he had no choice. It was only alleviated once Merlin was back in the chair he had sat in before. The top of his thighs still seemed to itch beneath its new cover. 

"I will waste no time with small talk," Uther began, shuffling some papers around his desk. "And I suspect you know why I have asked you here." Merlin fought the urge to shake his head, truly having no idea why, but knowing it would be very foolish to admit that. "It has been several weeks since my son has been able to sleep peacefully. He is quite out of it, shaky on his feet. As a result, I was forced to pull him from the tournament that was due to take place, unless something can be done."

At that, Merlin winced. 

"I don't suppose he was too happy about that?" Merlin tried. 

Uther gave him a firm look. 

"As you undoubtedly know. However, it is of vital importance that the true nature of his poor health is not discovered. I trust you with the information because you already know it, and because Arthur trusts you with it."

Merlin nodded. 

"Was there anything else, Sire?"

Uther tapped the papers on his desk, laying them in a neat pile. 

"Indeed. I wish for you to attempt to cure him, from your position as the physician's apprentice."

Merlin, once more, had to fight the instinctive reaction that came with those words. 

"I thank you, but I'm sure Gaius..."

"Who failed to cure the infliction from another one of my children."

The words came down harder than any hit to the head Merlin had ever experienced. If his head wasn't already swimming, it certainly would have done. It had become an unspoken rule in Camelot, nobody spoke of Morgana. Not since she had disappeared again, almost a year ago. Merlin had never expected to hear it now; not like this. Never like this. 

"My lord, I-"

"You don't need to pretend. I know you know. As I know you lied to Arthur to save my life." Merlin swallowed hard, and his eyes met with the King's. "I saw this happen before, with Morgana. I refuse to let it happen to another of my children. I refuse to let Arthur be driven mad by magic. I refuse!" And with that final word, Uther lost his composure, and Merlin couldn't shake the feeling that he had stumbled into a scene that was entirely too private. 

Merlin couldn't help it, he found himself nodding. 

"I'll do everything I can," the words left him before he truly knew he said them, and yet, they were perhaps the most honest thing he could have said. And, by the look on Uther's face, he could hear it in Merlin's tone. "Even if I have to travel the world to find somewhere he can sleep, I'll do it."

“I would have done the same for Morgana, once. It was not to be so.” Merlin dwelled for a moment on the last druid camp he’d seen, the peaceful folk, the whispers of how powerful Morgana had become with Gwen by her side. For just a moment, he pondered if such a ‘fate’ for Arthur would be a terrible thing.

“That won’t happen again. I’ll fix him. On my life.” Merlin’s voice was absolute. Firm.

For a long moment, they stared at each other, right into each other's eyes. Uther's were heavily lined, tired. And, for just a moment, Merlin thought he saw something dancing within them, like fire. The same fire Uther had used to burn so many, the same fire Merlin could feel in his soul, printed on his skin, as scales. 

"Then do."

Even without saying anything, Merlin knew that was his cue to leave. But, he couldn't stop himself turning around one final time. 

"I mean it. Anything. Anything for Arthur,” Merlin fervently responded. 

"I know." Even if he tried, Merlin couldn’t parse a tone from those words. His best guess would have been stern, but the sorrow in the King’s eyes told a very different tale. 

*

As expected, Arthur was an enormous prat that day, although, perhaps a little less so than Merlin originally thought. He had half expected Arthur to do what he did in the years past: throw his weight around, complain...but, of course, the new, tired Arthur did none of that. Instead, he just sat by the window, his eyes painted black and blue from the lack of sleep. What had once been bad bags under his eyes had transformed into something much, much worse. Now, they surrounded his entire eye. According to Gaius, it was half a wonder Arthur hadn't just started hallucinating wherever he went. Although, that, at the very least, was certainly more of Merlin’s doing. And, he supposed, Uther’s, by way of keeping him out of public view. 

But the new, listless Arthur was somehow more terrifying. He still…tried to be himself. 

“Missing in the night again, Merlin?” but the bitterness swept through so strongly even Arthur noticed, and cut himself off. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like I even realised you were gone until morning.” The hurt in Arthur’s eyes was almost too much to bare. 

That night, as Merlin crawled into bed, he could only think of his face. The sunlight on his pale skin, from laying around his quarters all day. The old Arthur flashed into Merlin’s mind: the light tan, the big crooked grin…Merlin half-wondered if the new-Arthur had lost the strength to stand entirely. It had been a week, at the very least, since he had last gone out to the lower town, to try and find out what was happening. 

He didn't go down for meals with his father. And any food he did eat Merlin practically had to force on him. It was like Arthur didn't even know himself that he was alive. He had planned to travel back down to the body that night, or, at the very least, go through some magical books to block the area off, but his strength failed him. Just as Arthur's was. 

So, perhaps, it was not quite so strange that Arthur made his way into Merlin's dream. 

*

There was no ground under his feet. It was strange, Merlin usually walked on the ground...didn't he? He wasn't floating. Merlin didn't know how to float. 

There was screaming, screaming coming from somewhere - Arthur's. Merlin knew it, he knew it...but so far away. So, so very far. But, perhaps, not quite far enough.  

Because it was no longer a dream. 

It was real. He woke up. 

There was a weight on Merlin's chest, and for just a moment, Merlin thought the world was collapsing around him, pressing him down. But then he smelled something familiar.  Lavender. Like the multiple sachets Merlin started spreading around Arthur’s chambers, between his clean clothes, under his pillow and bedding, sprinkled inside his bath water… all to try and ward the nightmares off. It hadn’t worked. Not even once. And then the voice: broken and shaky and strong and lost. 

And, in the end, who else could it have been?

He opened his eyes. 

"Arthur?" he managed, trying his best to sit up, despite the weight on his chest. The weight that was, unmistakably, Arthur. "Let me light a candle." 

Merlin did just that, and Arthur's full face came into view. He was in his night clothes, curled on top of Merlin's bed like a small, scared child. Besides the bruising under his eyes and puffy eyelids, there were spindly red lines around the blue irises, and the tear tracks glistened against the firelight. He looked so...little. Vulnerable. Younger than even when Merlin first met him. 

"Another bad dream?" Merlin tried, but Arthur seemed to shudder at that. 

And, before Merlin quite knew how, he found himself once more trapped in the blond's arms. 

Merlin just held him back,  knowing, after all those months, that there was nothing more Arthur needed. Nothing more Merlin could possibly do. He could fight monsters, he could take out scheming nobles, he could sneak them out of Camelot, talk Arthur out of trouble with his Father...but he couldn't fight the monsters that lived in Arthur's head. The monsters that tortured Arthur out of sleep…the monsters that were real. 

The monster that was Merlin. 

Merlin and everything he’d done. 

The dark magic he was starting to realise that, somehow, he himself had unleashed. 

"It's okay. You wouldn't want to find out what happens when you kill me anyway."

The assassin's laughter seemed to reverberate against Merlin's ears even now: months later, holding Arthur tight against him, safe in his room. 

Except the man was gone, but his plan was working and neither of them was really safe.

"Am I becoming like her?"

Merlin was almost glad Uther had brought up Morgana earlier, if not, he would have jumped at the mention, oblique as it was. That was the last thing that Arthur needed. Arthur needed to be calm. Arthur needed help. Arthur needed someone who knew how to comfort him. Someone who wasn't Merlin, who was the cause for it all in the first place.  

For just a moment, he wished Gwen was still in Camelot. That she hadn't chosen to go after Morgana, that she had stayed to help. But deep down, after the hurt, he understood. If it was Arthur... if Arthur had left...Merlin would have followed him. 

"No," Merlin replied back to the blond in his arms. He nuzzled down onto the top of Arthur's head, feeling the messy hair tickle his chin. "You are nothing like her, nothing at all."

"But she had dreams,”Arthur insisted. “And she was...she used to be so strong. And so brave. And still she couldn’t escape from the dreams,” the prince let out a shuddering breath. “And now they've come to haunt me."

"Morgana's dreams weren't like that," Merlin tried, wondering how the same idea had occurred to both Arthur and Uther on the exact same day. "She dreamed of things that might happen in the future. You’re dreaming of odd magical things,” he corrected, as if the distinction was very important, even if the result was the same. “But…even if it was the same–and it isn’t!–I…I won't let that happen to you."

Arthur gave a teary chuckle. 

“You?” He could feel Arthur’s eyebrow raised in disbelief, tickling over his chin. 

Merlin could only nod in confirmation, his throat tight with the knowledge that he had promised Uther the same, but still had no real idea how to achieve it. 

"Perhaps I already am mad..." Arthur sighed, and Merlin tried to wave it away.

“No more than what you’ve been since I first met you. The only difference is now you’re now sleepless–being tired really hasn’t done your winning personality any favours–”

“It’s more than that,” the prince insisted and Merlin fought the urge to tense. "A year ago...a few months ago...I never would have come here."

"Arthur-" He tried, but the other man kept speaking.

"I hope her dreams weren't like this," Arthur let out a shaky breath. "I hope she didn't have to see everyone betray her. Everyone she loved… at risk, in danger, in trouble." 

Merlin held Arthur tighter, pulling him further into his embrace, like he could pull him into himself. Like he could promise everything would be alright, that he could really take Arthur away from everything that was hurting him. But, of course, Merlin couldn't do that. No matter how much Arthur needed it. 

And the only way to do that, would be to leave the prince here and go to the body.

So sorry, Arthur. 

But, before Merlin could say anything, Arthur spoke for him. 

"I hope she didn't see Gwen like this. I hope she didn’t have to see all this happen to–” he stuttered, before trying again. “-to Gwen. I’m not a fool,” Arthur’s voice grew a little firmer at this, as if he needed to get this point across. “ I know the way Morgana looked at Gwen…The way I look–” He tilted his head up, looking into Merlin's eyes. Distantly, Merlin wondered if his heart was stopping. “You’re always there when I close my eyes, and that’s not new but now it’s never in the way I want." Merlin’s heart soared for a horrid, intense moment. “I keep thinking to myself that one night, it won’t be some new horror with you at the center, but something… soft. Something kind. Something that proves my brain knows you, the way I know you. The way I…I…the way I…”

The rest of the world seemed to fade, and it was just Arthur and Merlin and Arthur and Merlin and…

Arthur’s eyes. His sleep deprived mind, nothing else mattered but those bright blue eyes. His heart hammered in his chest. Blue and Arthur. Arthur and blue. And then the blue was coming closer, so very much closer. Until those blue eyes were right in Merlin’s field of vision, until it’s all he could see. All Merlin’s world was made up of those bright blues…

Arthur’s nose brushed his, so impossibly close that the eyes were out of view. And Merlin felt his own begin to flicker closed, lips tingling with the anticipation, breath quickening. He forced his eyes open, for it might be him dreaming this time, and Arthur’s breath was mixing with his own and-

Then, the candle flickered. And Merlin’s attention was drawn to the usual white around Arthur’s eyes that were…red. So very red and sore and tired. And the image was broken, shattered glass, because none of it was real: because Arthur…there was no way Arthur could…

He moved back, quickly, before the prince’s lips could touch his. 

"You need to go back to bed, Arthur." Even as he said it, the words felt cruel. Merlin had never forced Arthur to go back to his room alone. Never forced him to walk the halls at night, unsure of everything around him; knowing that shadows looked like monsters to Arthur now, never knowing if what he faced was real or something worse.

But then again, Arthur had never tried to kiss him before. He was clearly…struggling. More than Merlin had thought. More than he’d dared to believe at first. And Merlin had almost let him. Had almost let Arthur debase himself in such a way, by kissing someone who never deserved him to begin with. Someone who almost let it happen, even knowing they really, really shouldn’t. 

"I-"

"We both need some sleep. And you won't be able to get any here," Merlin tried to reason. 

Arthur reached down to grab Merlin's hand, so they could walk the hallways together, but Merlin pulled away, further up the bedcovers. The look of pure hurt on Arthur's face was nearly too much for Merlin to bear. 

"Merlin-"

"Go to bed, Arthur." 

Cruel. So very cruel. 

Arthur struggled to get up, almost squashing Merlin’s lying form as he did so. Merlin knew he would, just as he knew he would blame himself. Merlin knew that, and still chose to send Arthur away. Merlin liked to think, to imagine that sometimes he was a good person. But in cases like this, in times like this, there was no doubt in his mind that he was not. And never had been. 

The door slammed behind Arthur. A small comfort in some ways. 

Perhaps it would have been worse if Arthur was quiet about it. 

Merlin sat in his bed, and waited. The spot Arthur had curled up in was still warm, and Merlin wished he could have kept Arthur there. It still smelled of Arthur. 

Merlin waited long after Arthur's footsteps died away, sitting in bed, frozen. 

Only then, once he almost felt ready to fall back asleep did he force himself out of bed. He wasted no time, not the magic book, not the staff; he just grabbed his cloak, and was soon out the gates of Camelot, and racing into the woodland. 

He made the trip back to the assassin's burial place almost without thinking. Through the woods, past the waterfall, through the little gap that so many of the villagers had passed; while Merlin believed himself to be the only one to know of it. 

He was greeted with no snow, but rather a bracing breeze across his face. Other than that, the place seemed almost normal. The assassin was lying on the other side of the clearing, still perfectly still, still perfectly untouched by time or dirt. Exactly where he’d been before. 

By all logical means, this was all impossible. 

But at least it wasn't snowing. 

The scales covering Merlin's body seemed to itch as he started to approach the body. Wind whistled through his hair, blowing around his cloak and shirt. He shivered, a full body, almost convulsive, shiver. His head started to ache too, and he felt his hands, entirely without his permission reaching for the two little nubs on either side of his head. Hard. 

He'd done anything but touch his own...horns...since he returned. They were tiny, really. No longer than the top of his smallest finger and most certainly hidden under his hair. But now, on either side of his head, they throbbed. And so did he knees, and for a horrible moment, he almost thought they would buckle underneath him. 

But no other force came. No snow, the wind was manageable, and it seemed that the magic was going to let him get close. He went into the circle, taking a deep breath as he did. Nothing. Had the magic finally died down? Whatever it was?

The dragon would know. 

But the dragon was ignoring him. Or dead. Not dead, never dead. Or something worse. 

And so, Merlin had little choice but to kneel besides the body. The skin was clearer in death than it was in life, all the spots healed from his face, all the wrinkles gone. Bones unbroken despite how mangled they had been. And perhaps it was that vision of youth that made Merlin reach out his hand and touch it. 

Merlin thought he had faced pain before, but he had been wrong. So, so much pain. 

The pain washed over him like a wave. Every part of him touched, from the tips of his fingers to the bottom of his toes. His bones felt like they were breaking, only he'd had broken bones before, and it was nothing like that. Something pieced through his skin, a million somethings. And that skin: almost like it was shrinking around him. Like his body was much too big to be shrunk into such a tiny place. 

But it kept going. 

Of course it did. 

It was when Merlin opened his eyes that he realised something was very, very wrong. 

He was near the ground, but couldn’t be on his hands and knees, his hands and feet firmly planted. But, when he looked down, he discovered that he had no such hands; but claws, claws attached to a red scaled leg. Behind him, something weighed heavy on his back. And he knew better than to think it was his cloak. 

He tried to scream, but a horrific roar came out instead, in the quiet of the clearing. 

And the assassin lay in front of him. Perfectly still, even through the harsh wind, that didn't even seem to rustle the man's hair. 

Dragons weren't built for calm. 

The panic threatened to choke Merlin alive, as he flailed and roared, and spun around, trying to look at himself. Red. So much red. 

Tail. 

He had a tail. 

Four legs. Claws. Red. Red. Red

The great things on  his back, that he quickly identified as wings, danced around with him, and before he knew it; he was flying. He hadn't quite meant to, but that part of his brain was long gone. The only thing left was to run, to hide, to fly away. 

His mind was distant, but his body took him out of the cavern, through the gap. The panic was gone; for the dragon at least. Merlin was far, far away. 

Safe. 

Must be safe. 

Go somewhere safe. 

And so the dragon flew back towards Camelot. Even hazy as he was, Merlin felt a moment of panic as he approached the city, knowing what would happen if he was seen: bright red as he was. But the dragon whose body he inhabited seemed to know what to do. 

Merlin swooped through the air, much like in his dream earlier that night. He was flying. But more than that, it was like he sailed on air, the wind taking him where he needed to go. 

And, apparently, that was inside one of the open shutters in the castle. Merlin knew how to sneak around the guards, and so he did. For his eyes had fixed on a single window, with a candle burning inside. In there. Must go in there. If Merlin had been more present, he would have recognised it. 

But that was not to be so, and he swooped in, wings coming out wide, to land him gently on the back of a strange chair. The dragon blinked slowly. 

And then a gurgled groan came from in front of them. 

And, as if timing itself had a say, the window behind him blew closed with a loud bang. 

The dragon-Merlin jumped, and Merlin was back, present, fully. He looked down at himself, claws and red scales and things that only happened in his worst nightmares. 

Sheets rustled. Loud, so loud against Merlin's ears. 

It was only then that Merlin looked around, everything so bright - bright as a summer's day - against his eyes. A candle was lit, but nobody was awake. Of course they weren't. 

Because Merlin was in Arthur's room. 

Panic filled him fully. Merlin looked like a dragon. Merlin was in Arthur's bedroom. Arthur who was dreaming again. Once more, the sheets rustled, as Arthur, much to Merlin's horror, started to turn around...so slowly. Almost without thinking, Merlin dove underneath Arthur's bed. 

Thankfully, he wasn't a very large dragon. From what he could tell, he was no larger than some of Arthur's hunting dogs, but Arthur's bed wasn't designed to have such a creature hiding underneath it. Horridly, he forced himself further under, pulling in his tail, until all of him - more or less, rested under the bed. 

It was dark. Dusty - filled with various things Merlin had stowed under there to clean at another time. His back legs bumped against Arthur's chamber pot, and he winced as he heard it slosh. 

Above him, Arthur cried. He wasn't awake, or, at the very least, he was present, but still he howled. And Merlin wanted to do anything but lie underneath him. He was helpless, and he had been the one to send Arthur back. 

"No..." he heard Arthur say, "No please...please....hurt....dragon...."

Merlin shook from where he was under the bed. 

Arthur had already had the dream of Merlin fighting the dragon, he was sure he had. Was the dream repeating or…

"Hide...." 

It couldn't be. 

"Dragon...hide..."

No. 

Merlin shuffled around under the bed. 

"My bed..." came Arthur's voice, before he let out another horrifying scream. And another. And another. 

*

Merlin felt the moment Arthur woke up. The prince had been shivering before, but as he sat up the bottom of the bed dented in. Arthur's breathing was hard and hurried, and Merlin was forced to only imagine the way Arthur's chest must have been moving, up and down, trying to calm himself. 

"Under my bed..." he heard Arthur whisper, although, perhaps, it came out more like a whimper. 

It had been so long, it took Merlin entirely too long to realise what was going to happen. 

It took Arthur's feet hitting the floor, just in front of Merlin's head. 

Merlin hurriedly moved back, pushing himself as far into the corner as he could, ducking down his head, and scrambling into the shadows. His dragon-body ached from being compressed into such a tight space for so long, but there was nothing else he could do about it. 

In the last moment, he spied a large chest he knew he hid Arthur’s winter tunic’s in, and hurried behind it, as much as such a dragon frame could.

A moment later, Arthur's head came into view. 

Merlin didn't move. He didn't breathe. For fear of his eyes glowing, as he was sure a dragon’s might, he shut them tight. 

"Merlin?" Arthur said quietly, "Merlin are you under there?" Suddenly, Arthur coughed, seeming to realise that he didn’t sound much like himself at all. "Are you hiding under my bed again Merlin?"

Merlin’s eyes opened, just a little. He needed to see.

It was then Merlin noticed the hazy look in Arthur's eyes. He was awake, but not present. If anything he was far, far away. 

Merlin heard Arthur scoff at himself, moving away from the bed, and lying down on it. Hard. Denting it once again above Merlin. 

"So stupid," he heard Arthur say. "Of course he....he wouldn't....he's not...filthy under there anyway…"

Then Arthur went quiet. And, in the darkness, Merlin swore that he could hear him crying. 

A single tear dripped down the dragon's face. And Merlin was crying with him, for reasons even he didn't know. It had been so long since Merlin felt that way. Everything ached, and yet, nothing hurt more than hearing Arthur from above. 

The sound seemed to ring through Merlin’s ears, endless and on-going. Consuming everything thought. arthurhurtarthursadprotectarthur.

It was just then that Merlin felt something, a strange pull from his body. The pain wasn't like it was before, this pain was...long. Lengthening. Now he knew how it felt, he could tell that some of the scales were burrowing their way back into his flesh, his broken limbs fitting themselves back together. 

He fought to muffle his whimpers, knowing Arthur was right above him. 

Merlin didn't have to look down to know he was human again. His hands flexed, and he was stuck. Waiting under Arthur's bed for him to move, to do something. 

Eventually, Arthur's breath evened, telling Merlin he was asleep. 

It broke his heart to hear how it quickened again, almost instantly. 

But that time...he could do something. 

Merlin scrambled out from under the bed, feeling the sudden cold as wind brushed his nude form. He could only manage a little surprise at how well his remaining scales insulated him. Knowing deep down that Arthur wasn’t going to wake, even with his harsh breathing, he quickly grabbed some clothes he’d left strewn on the floor. They were old, dusty and had once been hidden under the bed. There was no way Arthur would recognise them. 

He quickly found the reason they had been hidden, poking his finger through a hole in the left shoulder as he pulled open the tunic to shove it over his head. He fumbled for a moment with the trouser fastenings in the dark, before giving up and just using a tight belt to hold them in place. 

He hurriedly started to wake Arthur. Soon enough the man's eyes were open, and he began to tell Merlin everything. 

Everything about the dragon that Merlin had turned into. The dragon that had hid under Arthur's bed. It was perhaps harder than ever to hide how much he was sweating. 

"It's not usually in my room. The dreams usually stay away from my room," Arthur babbled and Merlin held him again. "The throne room, the woods…not my room."

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Merlin interrupted, after a long while. "I shouldn't have sent you away like that. It was my fault."

They both paused for a moment, letting the silence grow. His eyes flicked down to Arthur’s lips, and what Arthur tried to do with them not so long ago. The rest was silent between them. Arthur may have tried to kiss him, but Merlin could let Arthur know, silently, that he understood. Arthur was sleep deprived, needed someone, anyone to hold on to. 

And Merlin just couldn’t be that person. Not with what he was becoming. 

Perhaps not even in what he had been before. 

"No," Arthur said eventually, "you shouldn't have."

"I won't do it again. Promise," Merlin replied, and he meant it. He meant it more than he had meant anything in the past. Because he knew, as Arthur knew, that to break that promise, would be the end of them both.

And it came to him then. Just as the words left his mouth. And suddenly he knew, deep down, that breaking that promise was exactly what he was going to have to do.  

*

Merlin ran down to Gaius's chambers. The hallways were cold, and everything hurt, but to some degree that just didn't matter. Because Merlin needed answers, and the only thing he could do, the only thing he had left, was something he never thought he would have to consider. 

Much to his amazement, Gaius was already awake, and staring straight at him. The old man looked tired, it seemed to radiate off every part of him, much in the same way Arthur now often looked. The way the whole castle often seemed to look. 

"Gaius," Merlin panted, and Gaius just continued to stare. "I have the answer. I’m going to die."

Gaius jumped at that. It wasn't the eyebrow of disapproval that Merlin had expected, but rather, pure, unadulterated horror that went across his face. 

"My boy-"

It was only then that Merlin realised, that in the heat of everything, he had said entirely the wrong thing. 

"No! That's not what I meant!" Merlin said, interrupting the other man. "We need to make me look dead!" 

For some reason, Gaius didn't seem to relax much at those words. If anything they made him tense more. Then, the old man sighed, gesturing to a chair in front of him. 

Merlin wasted no time, sitting with the man and telling him more of what was going on. With the body. With the dragon. With everything. It all came spilling out, a waterfall that had been blocked for far, far too long and was now spilling uncontrollably with its new freedom. 

The more Merlin spoke, the graver Gaius looked. But Merlin, tired as he was, couldn't bring it on himself to feel bad. He hadn't hid everything from Gaius on purpose, not really. It was just so...natural. He couldn't talk about it. Not even with him. 

"You see I just need more time to investigate, maybe distance myself a bit in case this happens again-"

Gaius held up a withered hand to stop him. 

"You should have come to me sooner."

Even after being around Gaius for so many years, Merlin fought the urge to hang his head in shame. 

"I know."

But, to his astonishment, Gaius shook his head again. Merlin stared up at the old man in confusion. 

"Not because of that - although you should have. Or, at the very least you should have gone to the druids."

"Why?" Merlin found himself asking. 

Gaius gave him a look that clearly stated how much of an idiot he believed Merlin to be. 

"To ask them what was going on?"

Merlin just blinked, expectantly. Gaius didn't say anything. Instead, the old man stood, swaying slightly as if to say he'd been awake all night, and was just then having a chance to stretch himself out. Gaius crossed the room, and locked the door. Then looked through the peephole, to ensure no-one was outside. 

“I can see it didn’t cross your mind. Luckily enough for you…it certainly crossed mine, although admittedly rather recently.” Then, and only then did he return to sit with Merlin, who bit back an annoyed comeback, because he had thought of it earlier on. But he decided to say nothing.  Gaius pulled right in close, almost making Merlin feel like a small child, one Gaius had been put in charge of. "You know how the druids say that magic gravitated to you when you were a child, because it had nowhere else to go after the purge?"

Merlin nodded. 

"You were not the only one."

Merlin jolted, staring at his mentor. Quickly realising the issue, Gaius waved his hands around. 

"You are the only Emrys, I assure you. But the druids were not sure how the prophecy was to be interpreted, or how Emrys would come about the magic. Whether he would come from the earth itself…or if they had to the be the ones to take such measures. Wise and powerful though they may be, they are, at the end of the day, men. As such, they sealed magic inside various people - children - a few children who had no other signs of magic naturally forming within them. They then blocked it, with the idea that if one of them was Emrys it would overcome the block, and if not Emrys himself would one day come around and collect the magic," Gaius took a long, deep breath. "You mustn't blame them Merlin, they were trying to keep it safe for you."

"I don't," he found himself saying. "Why didn't they tell me?"

"They forget, sometimes, Merlin, that you are a man as well." Merlin nodded at that, slowly following his mentor's words. 

"So, if the assassin was one of these people..."

"Then the magic is just now leaking out, now the block has faded with his death. A great river once with a metaphorical dam and keeping it trapped: not unleashing in a fierce current."

"And...all the townsfolk?"

"Merlin, that magic has spent many years trapped inside a person, where else could it possibly go? I suspect that it attached to you specifically, drawn to the magic already inside of you, and awakened your link to the dragons. You, and the townsfolk, have no such magical block to keep it contained. And surely you, of all people, know what it's like to have masses of magic you cannot control?"

Merlin thought about that for a long moment. 

"And Arthur? He never went to the clearing. He was never near the body."

To Merlin's amazement, Gaius smiled at him. A grandfatherly sort of smile, heartbreakingly gentle and kind. 

"But you were." 

And really, what else was there to say? 

"And so to cure him..."

"You take away the magic, spread by the bond. The closeness. Not forever but-"

"Then my plan remains the same," Merlin interrupted. "We fake my death."

Gaius gave him a tired look, but at some point it just didn't matter. Merlin had already decided and there was nothing in the world Gaius could do to talk him out of it. But then, Gaius opened his mouth. It seemed like he was going to try anyway. 

"I'm not foolish enough, or young enough to believe that I'll be able to get through to you. But, as the man who has looked after you for years, I will ask you to reconsider, or, at the very least to try something else," Gaius held up his hand to stop Merlin when he tried to interject. "I know you went to see the body. But remember what I just told you: I didn't spend weeks researching what was going on for you to run off and die."

At those words, Merlin felt a flicker of shame, and lowered his head. 

"I'm not asking you to change your plan. I'm asking you to wait a few weeks. Arthur's going on a hunting trip tomorrow, is he not? Go see the druids. And, for goddesses sake try and find out what's going on with that Dragon!"

Perhaps it was very telling that, for just a moment, Merlin didn't think about Kilgharrah, for, who could the dragon be if not himself?

"Arthur's going on a hunting trip?" Merlin questioned instead.  Gaius stared at him blankly. Clearly waiting for something else; Merlin couldn't help but indulge him. "What about Kilgharrah?" Merlin eventually grumbled, turning to stare down at his hands. "He chose not to bother."

They didn't need a name. They knew who Merlin spoke of. 

Gaius gave him a firm look, his eyebrow practically twitching up. 

"You are aware of how Dragonlords work, I trust? He cannot simply ignore you." And, of course, Merlin did know. But somehow, that thought was worse. The only way the Great Dragon could not respond to him - the least, the most likely - was that he was dead. And if he was, meddling and destructive creature, Merlin truly would be the last of his kind. 

He thought about the scales that dotted his chest and legs and arms, he knew better. For he would be the last dragon as well. 

Merlin just nodded, determined to talk about anything else. Anything that didn't make his throat feel like it was burning up inside, and certainly not with fire. 

"Do you still have any of that stuff we used to fake Arthur's death? With the troll?"

At that Gaius slumped back in his chair, looking far older and far more tired than he had ever seen him.

"I can make some. If you're still sure. After your visit with the druids."

"Very sure."

"After."

"Very well then, after."

"It will hurt Arthur. You will hurt Arthur."

"No more than not sleeping for months; years even. Besides, I doubt he'll even notice I'm gone!"

But they both knew, they both knew it was a lie. Neither had the heart to point it out. 

*

When Arthur had first declared his intention to go on a hunting trip, Merlin thought perhaps he finally had gone insane from sleep deprivation. Perhaps even more so than…But the notion had quickly fallen out of Merlin’s mind, amongst everything else that had been happening. That was, of course, until Gaius reminded him. 

Either way, it ended up working in Merlin's favour, but it certainly didn't mean he had to be happy about it. They were accompanied by a few other knights, mostly Uther's knights, even Hussar - something Merlin hadn't anticipated. But, as the early hours of the hunting trip continued, it became very clear why the King saw to it Arthur was accompanied by his personal knights. 

Arthur was practically swaying on top of his horse. In the bright sun, his face looked pasty and pale, and bruised. Anyone who looked at him would say that he shouldn't be out of bed, much less outside. 

Merlin rode close behind. 

They arrived at a small clearing, where they would set up a base for the day. Arthur dismounted to the right, his legs practically buckling under him. Merlin hurried off, leaving his horse behind to come up next to Arthur. 

"You alright?" he muttered quickly, under the guise of fixing Arthur's armour. The other knights had already started to set up. "You got off your horse on the wrong side."

Arthur snatched away from Merlin's hands. Merlin bit back a joke about him waking up on the wrong side of the bed as well. But he'd known Arthur wasn't going to like whatever he had to say. Since the night before, he hadn't liked anything Merlin had to say. 

(Or, at the very least, after he’d properly woken up. Or, as close as he got to ‘woken up’.)

"I got off my horse Merlin. Why? You think I'll just collapse from a little bit of a late night?" 

There was no point saying it was more than that. They both knew, it would be foolish to say otherwise. Arthur just stared at him, perhaps for a moment too long.

Then, something seemed to catch Arthur’s eye. He stared into space for a long moment. Merlin stared too, finding only the trees in front of them. Arthur’s tired eyes traced over the spot again and again, before finally shaking himself. Merlin bit back the worry that threatened to consume him. 

"You stay at camp. Clean up a bit so you don't scare all the prey off."

Usually, Merlin would have argued. But, usually, Arthur didn't hand him exactly what he wanted first time around, and quite frankly Merlin needed to stay at camp - or rather, needed everyone else to leave. 

"Okay," he answered. 

Arthur gave Merlin the oddest look - almost hurt, through the heavily underlines of his purpled eyes. Like he'd expected Merlin to argue - like he'd wanted Merlin to argue. But, instead, he simply gave a quick nod, and made towards the other knights, already abandoning the clearing, with nothing left but a little fire they had just started, and a few strewn horses and packs. 

Merlin suddenly wished he'd remembered to ask how long it would take for them to all be back. At least then he could have some sense of time: some sense of something. But the glade had grown quiet, the men long since heading off with their crossbows and swords - even some of the horses. 

Merlin hurried to his feet, racing off in the opposite direction, not knowing where his legs should carry him. Iseldir he called out in his mind. Iseldir, I need to speak to you. And just as he thought that, the woods around Merlin seemed to shift. A harsh breeze caught the air, and for just a moment he feared it would once more start snowing, the same way it had in the place with the body. Like that magic had followed him. 

But no, he knew better, especially once the man himself stepped out from behind the trees, having known, because of course he had, that Merlin was coming to see them. 

"Emrys," he greeted, in his polite, mystical way.

Merlin was not so composed. 

"Your camp. And maybe some others, I need to see them." The words came out in a hysterical pant, but Merlin couldn't force them to do anything else. 

"Are we in danger?" Iseldir asked, voice questioning and eyes concerned. 

Merlin stared at the man for a long, long moment. 

"Maybe? I'm looking for anyone who might have known a young druid boy, or well, not such a boy anymore."

And on that, the two made their way into the woods, quickly walking side-by-side. Iseldir walked unnaturally smoothly, mind pulled far enough away that Merlin couldn’t reach him. His face oddly…blank. Merlin briefed Iseldir on what he knew, even giving a brief description of the assassin's face; perfect white, far, far too perfect, no decay, nothing. He hardly noticed that as each word left his lips, Iseldir's face grew darker and darker as he went. 

But it was only when Merlin finished his story completely, including what he learned from Gaius, that the older man finally spoke.

"I can certainly think of such a boy. You must follow me." Suddenly, Iseldir changed his pace, from where they were once heading to the camp, now heading back a different way, through many winding paths of trees. 

"Who?" Merlin asked, but the man didn't answer. "Who?" he prompted again, fiercer. Iseldir just sighed, far more un-composed than Merlin had ever seen him. He looked tired. So very, very tired. 

"Gaius was correct, in some ways. But only as much as we told him; as much as he knew to ask. The magic needed somewhere to go, and we were unsure when you would come. If you would even come, as some disbelieved the words of the prophets. And so, these young ones were created. But...the issues became clear fast." Iseldir stopped suddenly, looking Merlin straight in the eyes. "You will have never encountered this, you are Emrys. But for most people...magic is something inside, something that's theirs, built around them." The man sighed once more, almost a repetitive soothing. "So when we tried to store magic in others...it was less than successful. We dared not use young children who had already presented with magic, for worry it would interfere with what they had."

"But?" Merlin prompted. 

"But those we gave it to were unable to use the power. You've gone through periods yourself, I am sure, where the magic itches and burns under your skin. Where it hurts to not wield it, as it feels it should be. That was their existence, filled with magic they could not use, latching off their lifeforce like leeches." 

Merlin could only stare in complete horror, as Iseldir continued to lead the way. Together the two walked in perfect silence, for what seemed like hours. But in reality, it was probably only a few moments. More than ever, Merlin remembered his wish of just asking Arthur what time he would be back at camp. 

It all seemed useless. 

Iseldir pulled them both to a quick stop. To Merlin's eye, the area of the wood looked no different than any other place, barring a slight vibration of magical energy that the trees sang with, but that was hardly strange. The druid raised his arms, murmuring something, and Merlin felt a rush of power so strong it nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Before them, appeared a house. A little ramshackle thing, broken down by the years, and clearly not something that had been lived in for a while. Merlin turned to thank Iseldir, only to find that the man had vanished. 

He shook himself, remembering briefly about the ‘astral form’ Iseldir had once talked about, and wondering how it was he hadn’t noticed. Perhaps Arthur wasn’t the only one not sleeping enough. 

And, once more, Merlin was alone.

He quickly walked up to the little wooden door, yanking it open. It wasn't locked. The hinges protested horribly, but came loose with a hideous creaking sound. The insides were far worse than he had imagined. Over the years, he'd investigated hundreds of people who wanted to hurt Arthur, who wanted something from him. Love potions and various types of hair, mandrakes and snakes and captured magical creatures: Merlin had seen it all before. 

What he had never seen before, was his own name. Scrawled hundreds of times across the walls. Both his names. Merlin. Merlin. Emrys. Merlin. Emrys. Emrys. EMRYS....Merlin. 

If Merlin had not been Gaius's apprentice, he would have thought his very spine was shivering inside his back, from how much he shook. 

The words lined the walls, chalk and paint and horrid scratches, some with little bits of blood, like they had been scratched on by fingernails in a pit of rage. Almost unconsciously, he stepped into the place. More magic came, so very fast he felt dizzy. Thoughts, not so unalike the druids, but coming down upon his magic, like they'd been trapped by time itself. 

Should have been me. Was mine. Deserved to be MINE. 

Merlin practically threw himself out of the cottage. It was only a moment after that when he became sick. The nausea bubbling up, a full vicious wave, until he had thrown up all over his boots. 

Because, just once, the attack had never been about Arthur at all. 

It had been about Merlin. For Merlin. If the dreams themselves weren't enough...Merlin's presence damaged Arthur. He could have been killed through blade, and then the sleeplessness, had the nightmares done their job. No more. 

How many? How many over the years had come to Camelot, not because of Arthur, but only to hurt Merlin? How many more would come?

How much more could Merlin hurt Arthur, before they both ended up dead?

Merlin's knees collapsed under him, and he threw up again. 

*

Merlin had no memory of returning to camp, aside from the fact he must have done so, because he was there. A fire had been made, by him, as the others failed to return. Though the warmer months had long started, his skin was ice cold, and his insides shook. 

He had found a set of logs to sit on, right by the firepit. 

Should have been me. 

Should have been me. 

Should have been me. Should have been me. Should have been me. 

Should have been ME. 

The words repeated themselves over and over in his head, the leftover magic twinning with his own so easily, as it had done many times before. Yet those words...they followed. They screamed in his head. 

I'm sorry he wanted to cry back, I didn't choose this either. 

But it wouldn't have mattered. 

The assassin was dead. 

And the magic he held very much alive.  

Had Merlin had anything left inside him, he might have thrown up again. Instead he huddled himself in one of Arthur's own cloaks, and waited. 

The men returned slowly, laughing, hauling a deer behind them, and a couple other small pieces: perhaps a rabbit, though Merlin couldn't see as clearly as he would like. The men, in the good mood they were in, skinned the rabbits themselves; the deer would be taken back to Camelot. Nobody spoke to him. The rabbits roasted over the burning flames, passed hot around the group, eaten with laugher. Laughter Arthur didn’t share, nor did Merlin. 

Still, nobody turned to him longer than to pass the food. 

He wondered if Arthur had told them not to. Certainly, a few of them gave him looks. Although why, Merlin couldn't say. 

Almost in a daze like state, Merlin watched as the men slowly packed down, into their bed rolls, and down to sleep. All, of course, except one. 

"You look pale." It was, of course, Arthur's voice, although Merlin could hardly recognise it as such. Arthur had sounded bad when around the castle, no sleep causing him to move around like a ghost, even when doing very little. But after a day of action, he sounded...he sounded like a broken man. 

"It's cold."

In front of Merlin, the fire crackled.

"It isn't," Arthur replied, and Merlin finally realised Arthur had sat right beside him, now looking into Merlin's eyes with his own exhausted ones. In some ways, it was a deeply familiar sight, Arthur's face lit by firelight, sometimes with sweat, sometimes tears, always with that horrid swollen purple. As always in those moments, Merlin longed to kiss his forehead. 

It was the last time he would see Arthur. 

That thought hit him far harder than he could have imagined. Merlin knew he needed to leave; what had been a quick, foolish plan out of frustration had become increasingly clear as the best–the only–option, in just a few hours. And yet...And yet...Merlin didn't want to leave. He never wanted to leave Arthur. And if the world had been different...perhaps he never would have. 

Perhaps. 

Arthur reached out and shoved his shoulder, childish almost, like Merlin was the fool for ignoring him. But Merlin could only stare at that one spot in the middle of his forehead. 

He'd run his fingers over it when Arthur couldn't sleep. Brushed sweat-stained hair out of it. But he'd never...never…

Merlin bent forward and kissed it. 

Merlin had, obviously, kissed people on the forehead before. Gwen, when they had a particularly hard week. He kissed his mother on her cheeks, and forehead, as she was a foot shorter than him. 

But never Arthur. 

He couldn't bear to pull away. His hands limp, still resting on the harsh wood. Eyes shut so very tight. 

His lips were gentle against Arthur's poor forehead, where he knew a raging headache would be sitting. He wondered, just for a moment, if he should pull back, but he didn't want to see that face again. Arthur's new face, full of tight lines, and stress, and bruising. So he kept kissing. 

Arthur, for his part, seemed to melt into him. Had he ever had a forehead kiss before? If he ever had, Merlin certainly hadn't seen it. 

It was that thought, of all things, that made him pull back. 

For one horrid moment, Arthur followed his lips with the top of his head, trying to bring Merlin back towards him, before stopping himself. The moment was broken, although the haze still lay over them both, just like the firelight that flickered over them. 

"Why?" Arthur's voice came, sharp and demanding, filled with...rage. Merlin had known that rage was coming. And he couldn't blame Arthur, not truly. Not at all. "Why kiss me now? After you made it perfectly clear you don't feel the way I do?"

Merlin could only blink his tired eyes. 

Arthur reached for both of Merlin's shoulders, shaking him viciously. 

"WHY?" It sounded broken. So very angry. So very, very tired. 

"I'm sorry," Merlin muttered, looking down. "I'm so sorry."

Arthur physically shoved him away, Merlin tilting back dangerously on the log he sat on.

"Of course…of course you couldn't just..."

A tear ran down Arthur's face, and then another, and another. Merlin reached out with his hand, and Arthur pulled away. 

"Just what, Arthur?"

"Just love me!" If it was possible, Arthur's voice seemed to break further. "Why does nobody ever just love me?"

"Lots of people love you, Arthur," Merlin said quickly, startled by Arthur's outcry. "You're the crown prince-"

"So? Those people see me like that, as the one who will one day take over their taxes and charge them endless money they don't have. Who will order them about, and they have to celebrate. Who will defend them. They don't know me! Most of them have never spoken to me, especially not recently!" Arthur hiccupped, and Merlin found himself muttering a sound-muffling spell to ensure none of Uther's knights would awake. Arthur just carried on. "And those who do know me? My father can't even look at me. Morgana went insane the same way I am now, like some gods damned curse, and she hates me, or at the very least still fears me enough to not want to see me. My knights respect me, but care? They didn't even stop me bullying people." Arthur let out another choked breath. "And then there was you. The only person who ever cared enough to get to know me as me, the only person I ever had a real chance with. For something real. Nobody makes me laugh like you, I don't want to touch anyone else like you. We spend hours, days, weeks together with almost no time apart, and even then I'm sad when it's over! And yet...you who knows me best in the world, who I love most in the world, knows better than to ever love me back."

And then Arthur was sobbing. But he didn't stop. That would have been too kind. 

"If you don’t love me back…that’s okay. I’ll get over it. I could have adapted! I love you, I never want to be apart from you! But I would have adapted and now you kiss me. And I want to believe it so bad because I'm so fucking tired and the one person I love more than anything, who makes this stuff go away every time can't make it any better."

Arthur collapsed into Merlin's side, sobbing into his shoulder, clinging to Merlin's tunic like the idea of letting go would end him completely. Merlin tried to reach out, to hold him back, but Arthur shrugged his arms off. So Merlin just sat there, on his log, with the man he adored sobbing hysterically into his shoulder. 

"You need some sleep, Arthur. I'm sure you'll feel differently in the morning," he tried, hoping to reason with the poor man. But it only made Arthur sob and cling harder. “You’re tired. You’ll feel different in the morning. We both know that.”

"Don't say that! Please don't say that to me!" Arthur had started to beg. As it turned out, it could get worse. It could get much, much worse. "I love you, I love you, I-"

"Swefe nu!"

Arthur dropped to sleep like a stone. 

In the very early days of Arthur’s nightmares, Merlin had tried a sleeping spell once or twice. It never worked, no matter how hard he tried. Only so many one could use on a person before they suffered brain damage. And they couldn't keep the nightmares out. But, for just that moment, it was good enough. 

Merlin staggered under Arthur's weight, laying him on his bedroll. Almost as soon as he put the man down, Arthur started to shake. Another nightmare. So soon. So very soon. He allowed himself to wonder what it was that graced Arthur's dreams, another secret of his past Arthur would brush off, would never believe when awake. 

That Merlin would never, never be able to tell him. Because dead men couldn't speak. 

Merlin made his way to his own sleeping roll, fighting every instinct that came to him. The voices in his head screamed. Screamed. Should have been me. Arthur was mine. Arthur. Arthur. Mine. Should have-

Sometimes, Arthur managed to wake himself from his own nightmares. It was rare, but it happened. And as such, Merlin was forced to shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep, as Arthur jolted out of his bedroll with a harsh jerk. And a cry. I'll fix this, Arthur. I'll fix you. 

I can make it better. 

I swear on my life. 

And yet all he could do was pretend to sleep. Or risk Arthur demanding why he didn’t wake him up sooner. Because selfishly, the horror of seeing Arthur angry at him beat out Arthur being angry at a version of Merlin he thought was just made up in his mind. 

*

The ride back the next day was quiet. Arthur rode close to Merlin, unlike the day before. The winds blew against them, and the coolness Merlin had felt the night before had finally become real. Once on the trip Arthur looked at him, long and hard, like he was trying to start a conversation. 

Merlin couldn't let that happen, so he turned away. Terrible plan, terrible, terrible plan. Twice, on the way back, he coughed into his hands. At the very least, if he was going to go down with a fake sickness, he was going to make it believable. Arthur was many things, even in his exhausted state, but curious was certainly one of them. 

But then again, Merlin was too. 

As soon as they arrived back at the castle, Merlin was off, ignoring the knights’ cries. If Arthur was one of them, he couldn't make out his voice. 

Uther's office had become very familiar to Merlin, in the past few weeks. As had the man who sat in it. He did, at least, have the decency to look rather surprised by Merlin bursting into the room.

"Merlin," he said, looking up, crown perched upon his head. 

"I know how to cure Arthur!" Merlin cried, finding himself sinking into a chair before he had been given permission. It didn't matter either way, for Uther looked so suddenly pleased that he didn't seem to care. 

"Well, boy, tell me! Don't look at me foolish-like!"

"I need to die," the words came out of Merlin's mouth almost absently, like he wasn't as connected to them as he should surely be. Uther stared at him. Neither broke eye contact. 

Then, the King leaned back, frustration clear on his face. 

"Explain to me, then, how killing my son's…will cure his enchanted illness...unless of course you were the one to cast it to begin with."

"No!" Merlin said quickly, lifting up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I would never hurt Arthur!" That, at the very least, seemed to mollify the King. "And besides, I won't actually be dead, I'll just look dead! You know, like that one time with Arthur and the..."

Merlin stopped himself, just in time. The King's gaze was horrifying in its intensity, and, like many times before, Merlin was left wondering if the witch-killing King really could see straight into his soul, as the children's stories claimed. In a dark way, the situation was almost funny, the increasing emotion on the King's face and Merlin laid out his plan, from the illness to the town, to the body. 

He recited his practised lines about the power of a broken heart and curing curses, they all felt like ash on his tongue. He had the oddest feeling that perhaps, if that was the case, then Merlin had already broken it. 

Eventually, the King nodded, wetting his thin lips with his tongue. 

"This will hurt Arthur. When you almost died before, even after he had known you for just a few days...I fear what he might attempt now."

"He won't attempt anything," Merlin insisted. "He'll be far too tired. And catching up on some much needed sleep."

The King gave him a wary look. 

"Yes...I'm sure that will be the case."

*

Merlin had rather thought his plan was flawless, but the realities of it turned out to be a little different than he intended. Merlin spent the next few days isolated in his room, with the door locked. He and Gaius had stayed up late into the night, discussing various parts of the plan. 

In some ways, it was simple. Arthur would be told that Merlin had been infected by whatever had caught the lower town. Strictly contagious, and that he must be left to himself. Then, they would report that he had died from the infection, give Arthur a few minutes to see his body, before Gaius would take him to Ealdor, under the guise of letting him be buried by his mother. By that point, Merlin would be far away. 

He'd make it work. Watch Arthur from a distance. Care for him, but also let him finally get some sleep. Finally relax. And then, maybe, one day, he could work out a way to return to Camelot. Return to Arthur. After all the magic had been…collected. Protected. Something. 

But that was a problem for the future. 

The first issue, of course, came with the fact that, for Arthur to be told Merlin had been taken down by the sickness, everyone had to be told. 

The first time Gaius had come into his room with a gift from a well-wisher, he thought he was going crazy. When more followed, he thought the same. But they kept coming, more and more and more. 

The cook had sent him some of her nice pastries - with a little note written by one of the maids that they had been leftovers. Impossible; Arthur loved them. If they were there, he would have eaten them. Or, at least, he would have eaten them a few months before. 

He received a little blanket too, from the baby he'd helped birth in the lower town. That came with a note as well, clearly transcribed by one of the local scribes. A reminder of what goodness can do, and why you must say strong. The blanket had 'Merlin' stitched across it in tiny letters, and Merlin could have cried, knowing where the blanket had come from. 

Some of the knights sent him little bits. Flowers. A few funny notes; anything to keep his spirits up. But it was useless. 

And everything seemed quite pointless, really. 

And then, there was Arthur. 

The first day Merlin had reported the infection, he could hear Arthur outside. 

"Let me in! I need to see him!"

The second day was the same, and the third. Merlin had seen nothing but the walls of his own chambers for several days, and wondered if perhaps, just perhaps it might finally be the thing to drive the ‘great Emrys’ mad. Sadly enough, the only thing keeping him going was Arthur. 

"Let me see him!"

"I'm the prince, I demand you let me in!"

"He must be lonely. I need to see why he's slacking!"

And every time, Gaius refused him. Although, perhaps the worst bit was what Gaius had to say after the fact, each time. 

"He's worsening, my Lord."

And Arthur's desperation grew only greater. All the while, Merlin sat on his bed, staring at his old window that the pair had been forced to board-up, should anyone care to look in. (Merlin would never be quite sure, but somehow he knew Arthur had tried. On the third day, he heard someone climb up to that window, place their hand on it. They stayed out for so long...and Merlin's magic didn't react. And there was only one person in Camelot that happened to. Only one person Merlin had ever met that happened to, in fact.)

And well, Arthur was quite capable of scaling the side of the building, as odd as it might be. Merlin shook himself, deciding that could not have been the case. There was no way the Arthur he last saw, with heavy under-eye circles and struggling to walk straight, scaled the side of the castle to see Merlin.

So, he ignored it. 

The sitting around doing nothing was the worst thing. He had the baby's blanket clutched in his hand, nibbling on the treats from the kitchen, the various other gifts sitting around. He tried his best to do...something. On the first day he packed his bag. Not everything, only the things he really needed. Nothing that would look out-of-place when missing. Nothing that Arthur would notice. 

The sword Arthur gave him had to stay. As did the pieces of armour, giving as a gift when Arthur realised just how many battles Merlin would join them for. It all had to stay. Because Arthur would look for those things first. 

Arthur might want them. For memories, perhaps. 

Merlin moved the bag around. From his lap, to under his bed, to under his floorboards. 

He tried reading to distract himself: pouring over magical books that Gaius had gifted him, in the vain hope of finding some other possible answer. But, with everything boarded up, and dying candles, it hurt his eyes more than he thought.

The only other thing he could do was practise. 

Gaius had told him that he needed to learn to 'project his mind' out of his body years ago, to protect himself when he was unconscious, or his body was trapped and he needed to find a way out. And, he wasn't wrong.  

But he also didn't know what Merlin was doing. Or why. 

Because Merlin needed to see. He didn't know why, why he was so very desperate to see what would happen when Arthur was taken to look at him, supposedly dead. But he knew he had to watch. And so he learned. He practised until he could do it almost without thinking. 

If there was anything he did have, it was time. 

Then came the day. 

Gaius had insisted on a full week to 'sell the story', but Merlin knew better. Gaius had been hoping to talk Merlin out of the entire thing. To maybe see if the dreams stopped just by Merlin and Arthur having no direct contact. But, of course, that failed as well. Merlin could no longer come to Arthur’s room to comfort him, nor could Arthur invade his room for it (something he might’ve hesitated to do after… last time), but still he came to the door and stayed outside throughout the night, as if he thought being close would help stop the nightmares. 

And cried. 

Some nights, Merlin pressed himself up against the wood, knowing Arthur was right on the other side. Wishing he could comfort, knowing that he had taken that away from Arthur. That he had taken it away from Arthur again, and again, and again. Worst, knowing that he was exactly what was making Arthur suffer through nightmares in the first place. 

The potion clutched in Gaius's hands smelled all too familiar, and it made his spine shiver. 

Was he really going to do this?

Merlin sat carefully on the bed, telling Gaius firmly where he put his bag. 

He lifted the bottle, ready to swig and quickly take on his projection-form before Gaius could stop him. But, to his astonishment, he was interrupted. 

"Wait!" Gaius said, pulling out a little row of the bottles, and tucking them tight in Merlin's belt. 

"What are these?" 

"Some antidote. Just in case."

"But surely I’ll need that anyway? So I don’t actually die?"

"Need I remind you of your druid name?" Gaius gave him a firm look. Merlin just blinked at his uncle, completely confused. But he knew better than to argue. 

And so, he took a swig. 

Some part of him had worried about him not being able to take the projection-form before he passed out - after all, it only worked as long as the mind did. But he need not have worried, for one moment he was sitting on his bed with a foul taste on his lips, and the next he was looking down at his own body. 

Merlin watched as Gaius slowly re-arranged his limbs. Pulled a white cloth out and draped it over Merlin's face and body. That, if anything, gave Merlin pause. He'd seen Gaius so that to so many, never imagining it would be him. For just a moment, Merlin considered stopping the whole scheme. Gaius looked…awful. His face was drawn and tight. He doesn’t want to see me dead either. Merlin swallowed hard, guilt dripping in at the look on his mentor’s face.

But he knew it was too late. Gaius couldn't see or hear Merlin in this form. Merlin couldn't touch anything. 

He was helpless to do anything but stand and watch, as Gaius left the room to go and get Arthur. 

*

The wait was longer than he anticipated, each second drawing as long as a whole night itself. But outside the window, the sky didn’t change, the world didn’t bend, Merlin just stood. Silent as a ghost, just as see through as one. 

The footsteps came first. 

It had been silent for so long that the moment hurried footsteps came, he jolted. The door to his room banged open, and then the screaming truly began. 

It was Arthur, in his nightclothes, not even wearing his boots. He flung himself to the foot of Merlin’s bed like a man possessed. He was screaming, but it was almost like Merlin couldn’t hear it. 

Arthur’s hands reached forwards, grabbing Merlin’s body by both hands and shaking it viciously. Even Merlin had to admit, watching his own head lull back and forth in tune with Arthur’s harsh shakes was awful to watch. 

"What have you done to him?" Arthur roared, turning back to Gaius. To Gaius. Gaius only watched on, with a pained expression. Merlin could see why: this wasn’t the Arthur that Merlin knew. This Arthur was thin, sickly, face purple. This Arthur was angry. Scared. Alone. "It was your job to care for him! I should have never trusted him with you!"

"My Lord-"

"Get out! Get out!"

And, much to Merlin’s amazement, Gaius did; shutting the door carefully behind him with a light click. Arthur threw himself over Merlin, not in a loving, kind way that Merlin had seen with fallen soldiers, but protective. 

"You’re not dead. You can’t be dead," Arthur's voice shook so much Merlin wondered if he was about to freeze. "I’m not going to let you be dead." Arthur paused for just a moment, and sobbed again. "Damn you! Damn you! Damn everything!" 

Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin’s limp body, rocking it back and forth so hard, Arthur’s own back was smacking into the wall. 

Merlin had to strain his ears to hear what Arthur said next, although he didn’t particularly want to. He just…needed to know. 

"I’m going to fix this," Arthur said, voice quiet but shockingly steady. "I’m going to fix all of this. You’ll see, Merlin." Another shaky breath, another rock of Merlin’s form. "I swear on my father’s life. On the Kingdom of Camelot. I…I swear by my own life. I’ll fix this."

And with that, tears still running down his pale, purple face, Arthur lay Merlin’s body down with astounding gentleness. He stroked a hand over Merlin’s head, and, to Merlin’s amazement, leaned down and kissed Merlin on the forehead. 

"It’s going to be okay," Arthur whispered, before kissing it again. 

Then, he strode out the room. But Merlin could still hear. 

"Gaius. Merlin stays where he is, by order of the Crown Prince of Camelot…I…I need to say goodbye. When I’m in a clearer head. If I hear word you’ve moved him in any way, or allowed another to do so, I’ll charge you with high treason."

Merlin gasped, knowing nobody could hear him. Gaius?

Somewhere in the distance, the door to the apothecary slammed closed. Nobody came to Merlin’s room, not Gaius, nobody. And so there Merlin stood, until the sky outside started to waver into night, and he couldn’t help but wonder if, in this form, he needed sleep at all. 

*

Merlin started to stand by his window, no longer afraid of being seen. Instead, he simply watched out of the window as the stars started to glow, the moon shining so brightly at the very centre of the sky. So high, he had to strain his neck to see it: not that he could feel that, ghostly as he was. 

He knew Gaius had gone to bed a while ago, heard the rustling of the sheets. The blowing out of the candle; in this form, everything was so very loud. Especially when there was nothing to touch, no sound he could make. Not even his own voice. 

So, it was much to Merlin’s surprise when the door to his room creaked open. Perhaps he should have felt panicked, but even with a dark hood covering his face, Merlin would recognise Arthur anywhere. Arthur, wearing Merlin’s old dark blue cloak, walked up to the bed. 

He was in his day clothes; dark ones. There was a sword at his belt, as well as a scroll and several daggers. 

"Come on, Merlin," Arthur whispered, and Merlin almost jumped out of the way in panic. Could Arthur see him? Surely not? But no, for just a moment later it became clear, when Arthur started to dig through Merlin’s belongings. 

He could only watch in complete disbelief as Arthur moved his way through Merlin’s belongings, straight to the bag of things he thought he had hidden so well. Out of it, he pulled Merlin’s brown jacket, and started to dress the body. 

Out of the top of the bag peaked Merlin’s magic book. He couldn’t do anything. Not even touch it. Not even a spell to roll it onto the floor and out of sight. Nothing. 

While Merlin had been distracted by the book, Arthur had clearly been busy, and Merlin learned when Arthur passed him, Merlin’s body in his arms, held in a perfect bridal carry. Arthur held him so carefully, as if he would break under the slightest touch. 

Merlin followed at Arthur’s tail as he snuck around the castle, closer and closer to the main entrance. A million questions danced through Merlin’s mind, spinning like mad. Nothing made sense, this wasn’t the plan, Merlin needed to get away from Arthur…Where was Gaius? Why had he not stopped them, given Merlin the antidote?

Merlin watched as Arthur paused for a moment, seeming to hear something, and quickly sat Merlin’s body behind a nearby curtain. It was good he did, for not even a moment later, a guard came around the corridor, looking at Arthur in surprise. 

"My Lord?"

Arthur simply pulled the parchment from his belt.

"I’ve been out gathering information. If you could kindly deliver this to my father in the morning. No need to wake him; it’s far from urgent, I have a night full of work to do and he needs sleep." 

The guard nodded importantly, taking the scroll from Arthur’s hands.

"Very well, my Lord."

Arthur nodded back, and the knight left, clearly going to stand somewhere outside Uther’s quarters, until the morning. 

"Come on you," Arthur said to the empty corridor, before reaching for Merlin’s body. It took Merlin a full minute to realise Arthur was talking to his body. "Up you get! We need to get moving, and fast, before anyone finds us missing."

Arthur was talking to his body. 

After that, Merlin stood closer. 

The two reached the stables outside, where Arthur’s horse, Hengroen, stood tacked and ready. Not a stable boy in sight. Arthur mounted quickly, Merlin’s body held in front of him. It was then the cloak Arthur wore slung back a little, to reveal an old, leatherbound book hooked to a strap over Arthur’s shoulder. 

What in all the-

But then Arthur was trotting off, clearly trying to get to the castle gates relatively unnoticed. Merlin had to jog to keep up. In this form, at the very least, it didn’t strain his lungs to do so. He wondered vaguely if he would feel it once he was back in his own body. 

If he was back in his own body. 

A body that needed to get away from Arthur. In the back of his mind, he could almost hear the assassin laughing again. 

The jogging turned out to be useless, because, as soon as they reached the opening to the woodland, Arthur nudged Hengroen into a gallop, and nothing Merlin could do would possibly keep up. It was then that the panic began to sink in. Think. Think. 

Arthur was getting further away, almost out of his sight, no matter how hard he ran. 

Think.

His hand reached down, automatically going to clutch his chest, but instead of going right through like he almost expected, his fingers seemed to rub up against the scales he knew now sat there. The scales. 

The dragon. 

Merlin closed his eyes, focusing on the assassin’s voice that seemed to linger at the back of his head; the voice he knew was the source of the magic he’d absorbed, the magic forced into a shell that could never hold it. The hooves were distant, but he didn’t let himself care. He allowed the voice to grow louder and louder in his mind, before his form started to shift. 

He felt himself hunch over, his back aching, the tips of his horns pounding…

When he opened his eyes again, ghostly dragon feet met them. He didn’t have to think much at all, before he was flying. 

It was a rather strange feeling, to be flying when one was near invisible even to his own eye. The ground seemed to stretch for miles below him, the wind rushing through him. But still, he flew.

Dragon eyes, ghostly or not, were made to see in the dark, and as such, Arthur was easy to find, even galloping as he was. 

It was perhaps even weirder, to see his own body so far below, but he tried to bear it no mind. It almost became a sort of game, Merlin trying to keep up with Arthur in a body that could feel no pain, no wind resistance, no tiredness, but was still so completely unused to being a dragon, and how to fly. 

He supposed it was best that his form was drawn to Arthur, just like that time in his room. He doubted he would be able to fly away if he tried. 

Eventually, the sun came, and with it Arthur finally slowed to a gentle trot. The two had reached a large clearing, a bubbling brook running through the middle. Arthur dismounted, and Merlin flew down, landing neatly on the ground. 

Arthur never took his hands off Merlin’s body. 

Instead, he walked the two of them over to the brook, kneeling in the mud, and testing the water with his hands. 

"They’ll have started to look for us by now," Arthur said, and, much to Merlin’s shock, began to peel off Merlin’s shirt. "You wouldn’t have seen, hidden behind the curtain like that-" and being dead, Merlin’s thoughts interjected - "But I left a note for my father. Telling him what I was doing - not all the details of course, but as best as I could.” 

Merlin was officially panicking, as the last of his shirt was removed, and Arthur finally looked down at his chest. His red chest, covered completely and utterly in red scales. Even perched where he was, Merlin heard the gasp. 

Then, Arthur’s hand moved down, stroking the scales back and forth in a way Merlin had caught himself doing so many times. Arthur…didn’t look angry. His face still looked very purple, very tired, pasty like a ghost…but not angry. 

"Oh Merlin," Arthur simply said, quickly removing Merlin’s trousers and shifting him towards the brook. It was then Arthur found the bottles, pulling them out of Merlin’s trousers and looking at them in confusion. 

For a horrible moment, Merlin wondered if Arthur would throw them into the brook. But no, Arthur, for once deciding to be sensible, slotted them into one of the pouches around his belt. 

Out of another little pouch, Arthur pulled a cloth, and much to Merlin’s surprise, began to gently clean around Merlin’s chest and scales. 

"Is this it? Some damn pockmarks?"

They both knew it was far, far more, but Merlin could say nothing. Instead, he merely pawed at the ground, which remained unmoving to his touch. But he soon discovered that he didn’t need to: Arthur was going to do some talking for both of them.

"It shouldn’t be long now. We’ve made good time. You’re…you’re going to be alright, Merlin. I promised."

Arthur dried Merlin off with another, larger piece of cloth from the saddle bags, before untacking the horse, so he could also relax. From Merlin’s bag, which Arthur had grabbed at some point, he re-dressed Merlin in fresh clothes, storing away the old ones. 

And he must have clearly seen the book and the staff. The book and the staff Arthur must have seen in his dreams and would know there was no way for his brain to make them up-

But still, his face gave nothing away. 

Instead, he pulled Merlin’s body over to under a shady patch by a tree, near where Hengroen grazed, and removed the book he had strapped to his shoulder and started to flip through the old pages. 

It was only then, Merlin decided to trot over, feeling remarkably unbalanced for a body that could feel nothing. 

If he could make a sound, even a footstep, he expected he would then, as he finally saw the book Arthur had. It was a magic book, but more so even than that. The illustration Arthur stared at so intensely was one Merlin knew well; he had one very similar in one of his books. 

The Crystal Cave. 

The birthplace of magic. 

Arthur was planning to use magic. Magic, to bring Merlin to life. Merlin flapped his wings, darting forward to take the book out of Arthur’s hands, but he just slid straight through Arthur, like he wasn’t even there. 

He opened his mouth - his jaws - to scream, but no sound came. 

Just silence, as Arthur flipped through another page. And then another, with Merlin’s fake-dead body in his lap. 

Merlin could only sit and watch as Arthur looked through maps, ran his fingers along the ancient text, seeming to take it all in. 

"We need to head North, we went a bit the wrong way last night. Didn’t know how long we had before they came after us. I think we made a decent distance…". And then Arthur was quiet again, pouring over the damn book that Merlin had no idea how he managed to get his hands on in the first place, and should have never owned. 

Because magic. 

Arthur and magic. 

Magic and Arthur. 

The pieces in his head were so broken; nothing making sense. But then again, that’s probably how Arthur viewed him, after watching Merlin do magic every night for months. Was it possible that…could Arthur have maybe…Merlin shook that thought out of himself, oddly rather hard to do in his dragon form (how odd it was to think of that). Those dreams woke Arthur screaming. 

Certainly not something Arthur would ever feel comfortable adapting to. Not in the way Merlin would have done it. 

"We need to head off now, Merls," Arthur’s voice came, starting Merlin out of his thoughts. Arthur had stood, book strapped back around his shoulder, and starting to tack his horse. 

Flying came much easier the third time around. Somehow, while his body was lighter than a feather, his belly seemed heavy as a rock, anxiety a constant bubble. The sun had long drawn down in the sky, shifting from morning, to midday, to night again. And Arthur hadn’t slept. Hadn’t even tried. 

As if hearing Merlin’s thoughts, Arthur seemed to respond. 

They had made their way to an old, ruined fortress of some kind. The entire thing was broken and damaged to a point there was no roof, only one wall surviving, the others just dregs of what they were. 

But Arthur had deemed it good enough, and nothing Merlin could do would stop him. 

Arthur lit a fire, and Merlin curled up on one of the broken walls. He could still only watch when, with shaking hands and legs, Arthur pulled the bed roll out of his saddlebags. For a moment after he laid them down, Arthur just seemed to stare blankly forward. Tilting his head this way and that, looking in the opposite direction to where Merlin sat. Not even towards where he’d so very carefully tucked Merlin into his own sleeping sack. 

He really was treating Merlin like he was…alive. Some part of it was almost sweet. The rest, pure frustration. Although who knows, maybe the crystal cave would be powerful enough to cleanse them both. He should have thought of that before. 

It was that thought, which kept Merlin’s hopes up, as Arthur looked out into the darkness, seeming to start at things Merlin knew were not there. Eventually, Arthur seemed to realise it was all in his head, and that the only way to make it go away was to sleep. 

Merlin tensed his entire body as Arthur lay down. There would be nothing he could do, other than sit there and watch Arthur scream his heart out. Nothing to do, and Merlin couldn’t save him. 

Eventually, Arthur’s breath evened out; and Merlin watched on, dragon’s eyes giving him an uncomfortably clear view. He could only wait: for the sweat and the screaming and the tears…

But they never came. 

Merlin watched and watched Arthur closely, but Arthur merely lay…and smiled. It started strangely, a twist of Arthur’s lips that had Merlin on edge, but the lips merely twisted higher and higher until a soft smile covered the tired face. 

The fire burned low, and if Merlin was human, he suspected he would have been smiling himself. Arthur…Arthur was sleeping. And dreaming. Dreaming of something nice. 

And there was nothing Merlin could think of, nothing Merlin had ever done with his magic, that might possibly count as nice. 

Arthur didn’t awake until mid-afternoon. Even then, he woke slowly, his body trying to trap him in the first nice dreams he must have had in months, by that point. The first period of long, uninterrupted sleep. So it was, when Arthur stirred, and awoke still smiling. 

The smile drifted the moment Arthur’s eyes laid back on Merlin, falling back into a neutral expression as he shifted them both onto his horse, and took them off at a light trot. Light enough that Merlin could merely glide along behind them. 

And, so it was that Arthur bothered to talk for the very first time during their rides. 

"You would have wanted to know that I had a good dream. Wish I had one of those to tell you about in the last few months…but it wasn’t your fault, not really." Merlin winced at that, almost sending him careening down from the few feet in the air where he flew. "Well, I suppose it is your fault for getting in danger like that all the time, but who am I to judge. I’m sure I do the same."

That of all things, seemed to stop Merlin’s thoughts, completely freezing them stiff and solid. 

"But that’s not the point! Merlin you distracted me!" Arthur tousled Merlin’s hair, and gave it a worried look when Merlin’s limp head just rolled about. "I had such an odd dream. In that old…building, whatever it was, last night. You were there, of course, as the dragon you showed up in my room as once, though I’m not sure when that was compared to everything else. Either way, you looked…well like a ghost. Which is fair, considering you are currently…indisposed. Watching over me, guarding me like you always do. It made me feel…Well I suppose you could say that it made me feel safe. Very safe. I haven’t felt that way in a while."

Merlin didn’t know what to think. Didn’t know if he could think, even if he tried. The thoughts jumped all over each other in his mind, all fighting their way to the top. Arthur knew. He worked it out. He believed. He didn’t care. He-

Merlin focused on the things he could know for sure. 

Arthur’s face looked better, stronger. Eyes still purple, skin still pale…but he looked alive. And just a few days before, that would have been more than Merlin would ever dare ask for. 

Merlin had managed to give Arthur a good dream. Had managed to make him feel safe. 

"Although I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, you’re immortal aren’t you? Emrys?"

Merlin just gave up thinking after that point. 

*

The journey continued, much in that fashion, for the next couple of days: A rush to cross territory during the day, hoping not to be found by the Camelot patrols that were undoubtedly trying to find their missing prince. Arthur would barely stop, and after a while, didn’t seem to need to consult the map quite as much. He’d ride as long as his horse would handle, only stopping when there were no other options remaining for him. When the horse would draw to an exhausted stop. Or the saddle would begin to rub. 

Even desperate, Arthur still loved his hunting horses. They’d been with him so many years…he cared for them so diligently. 

Not, of course, that he seemed to extend the same courtesy to himself. Arthur had packed food, although Merlin at some point started to wonder if he intended it for Merlin rather than himself. He ate so sparingly, sorting through rations like a man who had just spent his last penny. 

Once darkness began to encroach on the woods (late, as to be expected in summer), Arthur would finally make camp for the day. He didn’t seem to bother with proper food then point either, although he could light a small fire and drop some jerky meat into a pot to make it palatable; the bread he had brought from Camelot’s oven was probably hard and disgusting, and the prince would just dunk it on his poor excuse for a stew. 

Merlin wished to force his own body awake, even if just to add some seasoning, some real meat: anything Arthur might enjoy. But the more he watched, Arthur’s movements seemed forced, as if he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. 

Merlin wondered if he could even taste it. All of his attention seemed to be on Merlin (hence his theory over who the food was actually intended for) — he’d make sure that the body was comfortably inside one of the sleeping rolls before he started eating. And then, as Arthur prepared his modest fare, he’d chatter at Merlin: about Merlin’s terrible cooking skills, about half-forgotten occasions they had shared a campfire, about a number of minor everyday annoyances that once both of them took for granted.

You’d be really helpful right about now, Merlin. Although, I suppose helpful isn’t really you. 

Surely you remember that Merlin, I know you're forgetful, but not that much. 

You know, I always thought hunting would be easier without you blabbering on. Or jumping like some kind of…startled stoat. 

As Arthur ate, his hands shook horribly, the same way they did when he rode. This new Arthur jumped at shadows, drew his sword at squirrels, tormented by the little sleep he was unable to grasp. Once, he was sure Arthur jumped at Merlin himself; like Arthur had allowed himself to believe Merlin’s death was just another in his long list of dreams. 

It would have fit in perfectly, Merlin thought bitterly. 

It would’ve broken Merlin’s heart, if not for the fact that after eating, as he waited for the little fire to die on its own, Arthur would lay his roll near Merlin’s and speak of other things.

Things Merlin had never really dared to consider.

On the second night, Arthur’s hands had found themselves in Merlin’s hair, tangling in it and reaching for the scalp as if he would comfort the other man. He spoke of the difficult decisions Merlin made, of the guilt he felt himself in battle. He spoke of wishing to have given Merlin the chance to understand that he knew that making the right decision didn’t always mean being good. Arthur had done the same more than once… And sometimes it still haunted him. About how he’d want to tell Merlin about it, but felt he shouldn’t burden his manservant with things he didn’t understand.

“But you did, didn’t you? You always understood me. Even when I didn’t understand myself,” Arthur had muttered, “Try and get some sleep. Long journey tomorrow.” 

Obviously the fact that Merlin was dead seemed to be a minor detail. 

On the third night, Arthur had mused on all the reasons why Merlin had never trusted him with his secrets. He asked questions to which not even Merlin had the answers. He spoke of it to the point where he got agitated and got up to pace, presenting all the reasons why Merlin should have told him, only to argue with himself all the reasons why he shouldn’t. 

For several long moments in the middle of it all he had stopped, staring at some invisible force that seemed to correct him, before continuing again. 

  It had taken him longer to fall asleep that night, and when the sun filtered through the leaves to wake him up (early, of course, because nights were growing ever shorter) Arthur had slept but a few hours.

Not a single scream had cut through the wood, and even with just a couple of hours of sleep, Arthur looked more like himself, more awake than the delirious man Merlin had been caring for in weeks.

Because not once had the nightmares returned.

Merlin had died, and so had the nightmares.

It should’ve been a comforting thought —  it wasn’t. A selfish part of him hated that his absence was the cure for it; hated because it was clear that in spite of sleeping, Arthur was hurting much worse than before; he was awake and aware but further and further from sanity as he spoke to Merlin’s corpse as a child speaking to their favourite doll, pretending they were alive.

It was, of course, only made worse when Arthur awoke the next morning, and started apologising to Merlin. In Arthur’s own way. “Shouldn’t have said all that, it wasn’t fair of me.” Before he reached over and shook Merlin’s shoulder, only to pause as Merlin’s head lolled uncontrollably. 

On the fourth night, Arthur had started talking about seeing Merlin transform into a dragon —  rambling on about Balinor and his powers and Kilgharrah and everything Merlin always and never wanted Arthur to know. 

“Although, I should’ve got used to the strange coming from you at this point,” Arthur said, messing up with Merlin’s hair. His fingers brushed against one of Merlin’s horns, making him flinch even in his incorporeal form. Arthur hadn’t pulled away, though, he had taken his time, analysing it with the same care he put when following a trail on a hunt, before letting out a long breath.

“Looks like it would’ve hurt,” the prince mumbled, shaking his head. “You just pushed through it, didn’t you? You’re so bad at taking care of yourself, Merlin. It’s a wonder. That’s why you need me around,” Arthur had nodded to himself, self-importantly, as if he wasn’t the one who needed help even to put on his clothes in the morning.

“Did you know this was going to happen?” Arthur huffed, and Merlin could’ve laughed at the idea. “No—I don’t think so. You must’ve been so scared when—when it started. I wish I had known. I wish I could’ve been there for you when you were scared, the way you were there for me all of those nights, helping me out of my nightmares. Though I don’t know when. Dreams didn’t think that was important, apparently.”

It was a good thing Merlin’s heart was long broken, the shards ground to dust through the days of pretending to illness while Arthur cried at his door, dust spread through the wind in the wake of their mad galloping. Otherwise, it might’ve broken all over again.

“Although maybe you had a warning. I don’t get to see everything—but still, even with that, I don’t know how anyone could prepare themselves for horns and scales. I mean,” Arthur gently ran his thumb over one of Merlin’s tiny horns again, “these things are sharp!” He drew Merlin’s limp body closer. “And the scales can’t have been fun. There’s all over you, even down your legs! I would have…could have…I don’t know. I don’t know what someone does with this? I-I could have held you! Cleaned…blood? Would there have been blood?” And so Arthur continued, each word breaking Merlin little by little. 

And so he focused on other things. What else could he do? Like Arthur’s sleep. Because surely, Arthur would. However, much to Merlin’s…disapointment, Arthur stopped sleeping for more than a few hours, despite his body clearly needing it desperately. 

Merlin didn’t know the way they were going; and quite frankly, Arthur didn’t seem to either. Every night they stopped, for Arthur to stare at the map, retracing his fingers along where they had been, pulling out different maps…but the closer they got, the more Merlin flew, the more he seemed to…know. 

Merlin had felt magic pulling him before, but never like that, the magic seemed to call for him, to him…he knew they were going in the correct direction. And so, it seemed, did Arthur, who, on the fifth day finally managed to ride straight ahead, towards the cave itself. 

And each night Arthur would lay quite still, smiling in his sleep. Merlin, the dragon, the ghost, watching over him, knowing that for the very first time…Arthur could see him. That even with his eyes closed, Arthur was watching. Watching as Merlin stood centuries by his side, protective. Guarding. Endlessly unable to take his eyes away from the little smile. He had no explanation for it: nothing that seemed to fit. Only what was, what had been, and the magic Merlin could feel simmering from both their destination, and the body he was locked out of. 

Through the dragon’s eyes, the closer they came to the cave, his own body almost seemed to shine with magic. Vibrating off him in every conceivable way; but Arthur paid it no mind. And, for the very first time, Merlin couldn’t help but feel just a little sorry for him. 

Sorry that Arthur couldn’t see magic the way Merlin could. And how very strange of a thought that was. 

In the end, they arrived at the cave. The inside was unmistakable, glowing so bright, hundreds of blue crystals hanging from every surface, glowing with brilliant light. Arthur had abandoned Hengoen outside; for once they arrived at the cave, he had bucked and twisted and refused to move forwards. And so Arthur went in alone, clutching Merlin’s body in his arms. 

Arthur stood in the blue light, corpse in arms, head held high. Glowing with pure magic, unfiltered by human touch. 

"I bring one of your own," Arthur said, holding Merlin’s limp frame up. "The sorcerer, Emrys, I bring him here, as he is more magic than human, based on what I’ve seen. And if he was made of magic…surely magic could bring him back." Arthur paused for a long moment, as if waiting for a reply. But the crystals didn’t change. The light didn’t flicker, so Arthur bent down, and laid Merlin’s body on the floor of the cave. "You have no reason to trust me. And so I leave Merlin-Emrys, here. I will wait outside for him; I shall not taint your sacred space any longer."

And with that, Arthur turned on his heels and hurried out of the cave, not daring once to look back. Merlin, ever curious, followed him. There would be no joy in staring at his own frame. His frame that would not wake without the antidote. 

But Arthur didn’t know that. Merlin couldn’t tell him that. Just at that thought, a prickle of magic washed over his draconic spine. Not painfully, if this form could feel pain, like that the assassin trapped within himself. But soft, an option…although what that meant, Merlin knew not. 

So he sat outside the cave with Arthur, who’d retrieved his sleeping sack, and placed it out the front. He’d been true to his word; of course he had, this was Arthur, and kept out of the cave. Arthur shivered, and Merlin doubted it was the cold. 

He could only watch as Arthur’s hands twitched at the other bed roll, before realising it was unnecessarily. He made a move for his flint, before realising he had no wood. So Arthur just curled up, little food, no water, just curled in his bedroll outside the cave. 

It took him longer to get to sleep: breath not evening for many hours. And Merlin might have been kidding himself, but he could have sworn he heard Arthur mutter "come back to me", before his eyes finally stopped flickering open. 

"Merlin?"

The voice came, clear as day right behind him. Merlin started, turning around, and realised he was back on two legs: with hands and a face…and Arthur standing right behind him. He looked back in shock, only to see Arthur’s sleeping frame. 

He turned back, ever so slowly. This Arthur, the one that stood behind, although normal at first glance, seemed to…ripple from the middle, like a puddle of water. And behind him, twinkled a pale blue light. 

"Merlin? Merlin, can you hear me?" the water-Arthur spoke again, reaching out an arm. 

"Yes," Merlin gasped back, shocked at hearing his own voice, for the first time in many days. "Yes, I can hear you."

Arthur laughed. A joyous, full laugh of relief, the one Merlin had only heard a few times in his life. 

"I’ve done it!" but then, he paused, looking at Merlin more closely. "Or have I? You look…you look like a ghost."

Merlin chuckled faintly, the feeling of it vibrating through his frame. 

"I suppose in some ways, I am."

"I don’t mind you as a ghost! Even if you’re stuck here, I can visit I-I mean, I got you to the cave. Is there anything else? Tell me!"

"Arthur-"

"I knew they were real! The dreams, it was just you and you for months, and then on the night…the night before you…the cave, the shadow man led me to the cave. And when I woke up the book was on my table and…"

Merlin raised his hand, gently shushing Arthur. Arthur, clearly not wanting to be shushed, did anyway. 

"The potion in my pocket. Arthur, give me that."

Arthur, looking rather confused, reached down to his belt, before finding it sealed shut; the dream world only replicating the real so far. 

"Not now. When you wake up, tomorrow morning."

That seemed to prompt something in Arthur, who finally turned his attention away from Merlin, and towards his own sleeping, shivering frame. A sleeping, shivering frame, with the biggest grin on his face. 

"And you’ll come back?" Arthur asked distantly, looking between his own body, and Merlin’s face. 

Merlin couldn’t help but break into a huge grin. 

"And I’ll come back."

If it was possible, the dream version of Arthur smiled so much brighter. A million suns could never wish to out-shine it, with all its vibrant, brilliant light. 

"I can’t wait to see you again."

"I never left, dollophead."

Merlin worried for a moment that those words would cut too deep, be too real for what he’d done, but Arthur didn’t react other than slowly shaking his head, grin never leaving his perfect face. 

"But you did," Arthur finally said, "not just…now. I could see it in your face. You were exhausted caring for me. I was…I was sick and couldn’t think and…well after I tried and failed to say that I-"

"Wait until we’re awake," Merlin said gently. "I think…I think we need to be face to face for that, really face to face."

Arthur came closer, eyes trained on Merlin, as though he was afraid that one step too close, and Merlin would vanish completely. Merlin took the hint, and the two sat down together, staring at Arthur’s grinning sleeping self. 

Merlin slowly laid his head on Arthur’s shoulder, although he couldn’t touch it. Or rather, couldn’t feel it, just knowing his head was there, with Arthur, was enough. 

Neither were quiet men on a normal day. They were loud and busy and excitable and never stopped laughing. But on that night, they were quiet as they sat together. A peaceful, warm quiet that neither had quite experienced before, outside nights with the fire roaring inside Arthur’s own rooms. And certainly not for many months. 

From inside the cave, blue light pooled making the clear night sky above shine with its brilliant light. Going straight through the two ghostly men, as they waited until morning.

*

Merlin only knew the Arthur beside him had vanished when the real one awoke to sunlight, and a horrid start. It almost reminded Merlin of himself, many months ago, being woken by the King’s personal guard, pulled out of his slumber, after Arthur’s first horrid dream. It was also then Merlin chanced a look down, and realised he was back with four legs, as opposed to two. 

By the time he caught up with Arthur, he was already pouring the potion down Merlin’s throat. 

For a moment, a horrid moment, nothing happened. 

"C’mon Merlin," Arthur muttered, "work with me a bit here."

After a truly horrid wait, of what only could have been a few seconds, Merlin began to feel the pull to return into his own skin. He didn’t fight it, merely closing his eyes, and allowing himself to be drawn in, like every other piece of magic he’d ever absorbed. 

Then, his eyes opened. His real eyes. 

And there were Arthurs, less purple, face flushed with colour and a huge grin. 

Even knowing how badly it had gone the time before, Merlin couldn’t help himself, leaning in and kissing Arthur with all he had. Arthur, to his credit, leaned in the rest of the way, kissing Merlin back as passionately as he gave. 

Unlike the great books had said, Arthur didn’t really taste of anything. But the feeling was beyond any Merlin knew how to describe. Arthur was…warm. Perhaps the best word for it, warm and felt like home. After so many days of touching nothing and speaking to no-one. It was like his entire body lit up like a flame emanating from Arthur’s lips on his. 

The rest of the world around them faded away, the distant noises, the pulsing of the magic surrounding them…it all vanished. 

Then, Arthur pulled back, just a bit. 

"But you don’t…you didn’t…"

"I did. I do," Merlin said quickly, trying to ignore the growing ache that spread across his skin like fire. Being dead for days on end did that to you, he supposed. His very heart seemed to pain from his scaled chest, re-learning how to beat at a proper rhythm, lungs desperately pulling in so much air. "I promise, on everything I ever had, even my father’s soul, that I love you."

Arthur nodded. "Balinor, right?"

Merlin blinked for a moment, and let out a loud laugh. "Right. Forgot you knew now. Knew…everything."

Arthur pondered that for a moment, staring in Merlin’s eyes, before bending down and kissing him again, very gently, as if knowing the strain Merlin’s lungs were under. 

"I love you too. Dragon boy." At that, they both laughed, Merlin clutching the bottom of his ribs, as Arthur pressed a long kiss into his forehead. 

*

There was something to do, before they arrived back in Camelot. 

Together, hand in hand, the two of them made their way to the grove behind the tree. Arthur blinked in amazement at the place, and the two walked towards where the assassin’s body laid. Much to Merlin’s amazement, the body looked old, bones broken the way they should have been. No magic struck them as they entered, nor when they stood by its side. 

For a sudden moment, he lifted his tunic to check his scales, but found nothing had changed. Still as dragon-like as ever. 

“That will be the connection breaking,” a voice said behind them. Merlin and Arthur jumped, spinning around. Isedlir appeared from behind them, walking in their direction. “The wild magic was originally anchored to Emrys, both for its wild nature, and the natural power of Emrys to draw-in magic. When your body died, even if not forever, it split the connection, and forced all the leftover magic into your end. The crystal cave likely helped,” said he, looking at Arthur approvingly. Arthur, in return, looked rather shellshocked. 

“You couldn’t have told me that?” 

Isildir smiled, reminding Merlin entirely too much of a certain unresponsive dragon. But, instead of speaking, the man simply turned and started to head back into the trees. “And Emrys?”

Merlin ascended quickly. 

“You really need to learn how to use an astral-form properly. You’re meant to still be able to talk.”

With that, Isildir was gone. Only Arthur and Merlin and the assassin's body remained. 

“Now, I can’t say for sure what powerful sorcerers usually do with their corpses, Merlin, but here, at least, we usually burn them.”

Merlin grinned, raising one hand into the night, and set the assassin's body aflame. 

*

Weeks later, Merlin took Arthur back out to the woods. Uther had been quite reluctant to allow it, but since the Prince regained his colour, and the bruises faded from his eyes, it had been permitted, as long as they went with guards - including Hussar, the King’s personal guard. 

Merlin and Arthur given the guards the slip before they were even out of the citadel. 

Arthur wore his loose white shirt and black trousers. The late summer sun gleamed off his blond hair, as the two men ran hand in hand through the woods. At Arthur’s insistence, Merlin had removed his shirt. He liked to touch the scales underneath, no matter how weird Merlin personally thought that it was. If Arthur liked to stroke his chest, he certainly wasn’t going to be the one complaining about it. 

For the first half of the day, they ran all about the woods, and splashed around in a stream, under the idea that Uther would have already sent hunting dogs to find them. They coated themselves in water, laughing as they did.

Eventually, the two collapsed against the side of an old oak tree. Arthur raised his hand to run down Merlin’s scales, and he shivered at the touch. 

“You know, there’s mud caught behind them.”

Merlin winced at that. 

“I know. Can’t get it out, it’s stuck.” 

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s chin and harshly turned it towards his own face. They were but inches apart. 

“You should call the dragon again.” Merlin rolled his eyes in response. 

“I told you! I tried! You saw I tried! He just didn’t show up.”

Arthur didn’t look particularly impressed. 

“You’re a dragonlord. He cannot choose to ignore you.” Merlin bit his lip, and turned away, shaking off Arthur’s fingers. From the corner of his eye, Arthur gave him a look. “Or is that the problem?”

Merlin let out a long, hard sigh. 

“He was old. Even for a dragon. The rest of his kind was already dead…just like the rest of mine. I’d be the only one left, Arthur. If he is gone. I’d be a dragonlord with no dragons.”

Arthur grabbed his waist, pulling Merlin from his side into his lap. He lay his chin in Merlin’s hair. 

“And not knowing is better?”

“In some ways,” Merlin said absently, leaning into the touch. “I mean, you are right. He shouldn’t be able to ignore me. He can’t.”

“So…call him again.”

For just a moment, Merlin had to fight the impulse to tell Arthur to leave. Even knowing Arthur had seen it all…knowing Arthur had accepted him in every possible way, it sometimes seemed too easy. 

He trusted Arthur completely. 

It was himself he doubted. 

But one look to Arthur’s face told him that he shouldn’t, such a kind expression, paired with a hesitant smile. 

“And if he is dead?”

“Then he is. And we can try something else. I mean, who knows, you’re part dragon! I’m sure you could probably-”

“No! No. Absolutely not.” Merlin shook his head viciously to emphasise his point.

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!” Arthur laughed back, eyes creased with happy lines; not the ones of stress Merlin had become familiar with.

“You were going to suggest I try and have dragon babies.”

“I was not!” Arthur shoved his shoulder, a grin huge on his face.

“You so were!”

“Well?” From behind Merlin, Arthur threw his arms up. “It’s not a bad suggestion.”

“It’s a terrible suggestion.”

“But it made you smile.” That, of all things, caught Merlin off-guard. He knew Arthur was right. He could feel his lips tugging up. “And you know you don’t need to be afraid. I promise, we’ll work something out. Fate would have never put you on this world  as a dragonlord if we were never meant to have dragons again.”

Merlin leaned his head back on Arthur’s shoulder, and his smile was kissed. 

“Okay. I’ll call him.”

Arthur didn’t do anything. He just sat and waited as Merlin called out in the tongue of the dragon, and stared into the sky. Just the two of them, sitting and waiting to see if wings would cross the summer's day sky. 

Merlin waited and listened, and soon it became quite clear that Arthur’s breathing had begun to even out. Merlin laughed, quietly to himself, as the man he loved most in the world succumbed to sleep after such a long day. 

Merlin stared at the sky, still no sign of wings coming their way. He’d hoped it was just the magic bursts, that something - anything - had interfered with the connection. But time was running longer and longer, and there was still no sign of-

Behind him, Arthur’s breathing suddenly became labored. 

Merlin jumped up so quickly his back ached with the force of it. 

Arthur’s face was once again twisted into something…not horrid. Certainly not pleasant by the looks of it, but it was far from what Merlin recognised. If anything Arthur looked more frustrated. Maybe. 

Merlin didn’t even have to think about it. He grabbed hold of Arthur, feeling his magic swelling within him, and in less than a second, they were back in Arthur’s room. 

And there they were again. Arthur lying in his bed, sweating and face twisted and-

Arthur’s eyes flew open. 

Merlin rushed to grab a damp cloth, quickly wiping down his chest and changing him into a nightshirt, for the sake of comfort. Arthur just blinked at Merlin, who sat very solemnly in front of him, bringing up the blankets and wiping his forehead. 

Arthur’s hands reached forward, grabbing hold of Merlin’s tunic as he’d done so many times before. 

“Arthur, I'm so sorry. I thought the curse had broken, this is my fault-”

“Actually, it’s the dragon’s. Or, at least I think so.”

Merlin blinked dumbly at Arthur, who rubbed his neck sheepishly. 

“Did you not-”

“Apparently your dragon’s been trying to talk to you and doesn’t like that he’s being ignored. Or well, unheard, he said the witch blocked him. And since you’re bond is so deep now you’re merging into one being-”

“I’m what?” Merlin cried out, horror filling his voice. 

“Not like that! God how did he explain it…big surge of magic, attached the two of you magically together and traits bled through. Therefore, he used the magic link to talk to me!” Arthur waved his hands around wildly as he narrated, the pained tone gone from his voice. 

Merlin stared for a long moment. And then he stared some more. 

“You horrible man! I thought something was really wrong!”

Arthur stared back. 

“Something was really wrong! I’ll have you know I’m the Prince of Camelot and-”

Merlin smacked him. Very lightly, of course, just on the arm. Arthur gave him a deadpan look, and kissed his forehead again. A special habit for both of them. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he mumbled, leaning forward into Arthur’s nightshirt. 

“I’m…also glad I’m okay?” Arthur said, with a confused, but rather hopeful, expression. Merlin groaned. 

“Idiot.”

“Clotpole.”

“That’s my word,” Merlin chuckled lightly, face still buried in Arthur’s shirt. 

“And it suits you perfectly. And besides, don’t you want to know about your dragon?”

Merlin reeled all the way back. 

“He is not my dragon!” he said quickly. Arthur just stared for a long moment, expression dripping in sarcasm. “Alright. Fine. Fine! Where is he?”

“He said the witch captured him, chained him up or something and he needs us to go and save him. Well, he didn’t say it in quite those words, more baffling and bloviating than anything else, but I got the gist. Or well…most of it. He said you’d understand.”

Merlin sighed long and hard. 

“How did that happen? He’s a dragon?”

Arthur shrugged. 

“Well, my father did it at one point.”

“Can’t be that hard then,” Merlin retorted, fighting a smile. 

“Merlin!” Arthur said, horrified. 

“Arthur!” Merlin mocked back, before a smirk found its way to his features. And before he knew it, he was leaning forward for another, rather damp kiss. They pulled away quickly, discovering the several wet patches left by the cloth in Merlin’s hand. 

After staring at that for a long minute, Merlin’s brain finally caught the first half of what Arthur had said. 

“The witch? Did he say exactly that? The witch?”

Arthur nodded slowly. 

“Yes. Is it-some sort of code?”

Merlin shook his head, a relieved smile crawling up his face. At that, Arthur only looked more confused. 

“So…are we going to get him?” Arthur asked. Merlin thought about it for a moment, of the nonsensical riddles, the complaining, and the way he’d barged both into Merlin’s magic and Arthur’s body. 

He shrugged. 

“He can wait a bit.”

They kissed again, smirking into each other's lips. Arthur’s hand wound between them, up to just under the top of Merlin’s tunic, where the scales lay. They broke apart again. 

“You know, for a half-dragon, you manage to be attractive enough.”

Merlin smacked him again, and it was well earned. 

*

Somewhere out in the woods, another cottage sat. Two dark haired women sat together, laughing at a game of cards, drinking wine. It was small, but homely, but the smiles of the two women brightened the place full of golden light. 

“My lady!” Gwen cried scandalised, gasping as Morgana revealed she had cheated cards. 

“Not much of one anymore, not that I ever was,” Morgana replied in kind, cheeks giving away to a full smile. Then, her expression faltered, and she looked sad again. “You know, sometimes I wonder…if things had been different. If I could have-”

“You still can,” Gwen interrupted, a rare trait for her, one Morgana had been trying to build. “You have the perfect way to do it. Once Arthur is King. You just…have to be brave.”

Morgana gave a shaky smile, looking over to the corner of their little kitchen, where, in the middle of the fireplace, sat a dragon’s egg. 

Gwen stood up, crossing the table and laying both hands on her ladies shoulders. 

“I was waiting for him to come here.” 

Gwen looked down at her. 

“With the dragon you tied up outside? The one you didn’t let contact him?”

“He’s Emrys! And a dragonlord! He’d notice straight away. Besides…he might not come if he knew. Merlin will forgive me once he sees what I have!” Morgana shot back, leaning further to kiss Gwen. Gwen leaned into it, choking on her laughter. Morgana pulled back again. “And Arthur forgives whomever Merlin forgives. Eventually.” 

Gwen smiled down at her lover's face. 

“I don’t think there is much to forgive to have after all…the whole situation was rather a nightmare, don’t you think?”

Morgana choked a laugh, and the two were kissing again. 

“And the curse on Uther?”

“That’s staying. I think it’s funny to watch him be nice for once.” Gwen couldn’t help but rather agree with that, and so she simply stared at the dragon’s egg in the flames, and wondered what the future held for all of them.