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Chapter Text

"It's not a Wyvern."

Arthur raised his eyebrow.

"And how would you know that, Merlin?"

There was a coldness in his voice, a sharpness that didn't use to be there. It had happened gradually, one snap at a time, until their rhythm had been lost to noise, and their mornings started in silence. 

"It's a dragon." Merlin replied. 

It hurt, the way Arthur sighed, the tiredness and impatience entirely unconcealed. He was fed up with the not-knowing, the misdirection. He'd screamed as such at him once, drunk off his mind on a cold night. He had changed, after he lost his father. He laughed less, fought harder, became angrier.

More than anything, Merlin wished he could help. Most nights, he got lost in dreams in which he offered comfort, in which he heard that wheezing sound that reminded him of a screeching cat, the one that Arthur only made when he laughed so hard he couldn't breathe. He loved that man. More deeply and more intensely than anything, Merlin burned with the love he had for him.

It sat heavy within him, the knowledge that the only thing Arthur would want from him, the only thing he couldn't give him, was the truth. He could see it in his face when Arthur looked at him, and his features contorted, but he held back from being cruel, never asked him to go.

Once, Arthur had confided in him that he was afraid of being alone. He'd spoken it softly in the silent room as Merlin tidied some shirts, letting Merlin hear his confession without ever looking at him. That night, Merlin had taken extra long to complete meaningless tasks in the dark, not leaving the chambers until Arthur's breathing changed, and he knew he'd fallen asleep.

So he wouldn't leave. Not unless he was ordered to. For as long as Arthur tolerated him, he'd stand by his side, because the alternative seemed simply unbearable. He couldn't leave him unprotected, obviously, but if he was being honest, he couldn't leave him at all.

Arthur rubbed his eyes, letting the papers in his hands join the mess of half-forgotten documents on his desk. 

"The Dragon is dead, and even if it wasn't, the reports describe a much smaller creature." The King said, examining the servant opposite of him.

Merlin took a deep breath. It was the way Arthur blinked and his eyelids were late to open again that pushed him over the edge. The king was so full of sadness he was about to burst from it, and the warlock couldn't stand it. He didn't know if he was doing the right thing, but he was doing what Arthur had taught him: being brave, being honest. He took extra care to plant his feet firmly on the ground, and tried to steady his voice.

"I'm a dragon lord." He declared. 

It was strange. Merlin had thought he was an expert on fear, until that moment. His heart beat so hard he thought it might take flight, and he felt like vomiting, as he realized he'd never been afraid of death. Not really. Not nearly as much as life without Arthur.

The King looked confused, unsteady.

"What?" 

"I have been lying to you, sire, about so much. But you need to know."

"You're a dragon lord." Arthur repeated, almost amused. He didn't believe him.

"I am."

"How?" Arthur asked.

"Balinor was my father." Merlin explained, and willed his body to stop shaking.

Arthur stood from behind the desk, moving closer to Merlin. He watched him for a moment, and any hint of amusement, even bitter, faded away.

"You're being serious." 

"Deadly."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was already lost too deep in the lies." 

Arthur's face fell. Merlin just couldn't seem to stop hurting him. He vowed to himself that would be the last time. 

"I don't want to lie to you anymore, sire. I'll tell you everything. Just let me. Please, let me tell you everything, and then you can throw me in the dungeons or run me through yourself, I don't care."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but he closed it again when he caught the look in Merlin's eyes.

"Okay, then." He agreed. "Sit down." 

The men took a seat on opposite ends of the large table, and Arthur gestured to Merlin to begin his explanation.

"Your father kept the last dragon chained beneath Camelot for years. When he broke free and attacked Camelot, you didn't kill him. You couldn't have, not while he was so angry. I sent him away, made sure he would never be a threat to the Kingdom." 

To his credit, Arthur remained silent, even as his eyes widened at the revelation, and the muscles in his face tensed. 

Merlin continued. "Kilgharrah, the dragon, is old, and even creatures of magic die eventually. He was the last of his kind, and I was the last dragon lord. Then, I heard of a dragon egg hidden in Camelot's treasury. I... Stole it, and hatched it. It was a white dragon, exceptionally rare, and incredibly beautiful. Her name is Aithusa." 

He resisted the urge to remind Arthur to breathe. 

"Somehow, she was found by Morgana, and adopted by her, until they were both imprisoned in a well for two years. She grew disfigured, and she never learned to speak, or where to feed from."

"Dragons speak?!" 

"In riddles, in my experience, but yes, they do."

"You mean to tell me you've talked to the dragon?"

"I wish I hadn't." 

It was true some of the time. He blamed Kilgharrah for throwing him into a losing battle with destiny unprepared, for never offering any real help, for taking his revenge on innocent people. Still, no creature deserved to know what it feels like to be the last of your kind, to be hunted and chained in the dark for years, entirely alone. Kilgharrah was old and bitter, manipulative, angry. Merlin couldn't help but imagine he hadn't always been that way.

"What did it tell you?" Arthur asked, openly curious.

"He spoke to me often when he was still in Camelot. He spoke of the past, of Camelot's dark history, but mostly he spoke of the future. There is a prophecy, you know, about you."

"What prophecy?"

"You are to bring Albion's golden age. You are to unite the land under your rule and bring back magic." 

At that, Merlin stopped, and only watched. Arthur shook his head the smallest amount at the sound of the last part of the prophecy, looking to the ceiling. He was troubled, frustrated.

"You believe the lies of such a creature?" He asked finally, voice weak.

"The prophecy is ancient. It existed far before the dragon did. And I believe it. I believe in you, sire."

"You want me to allow magic into the kingdom?"

"I do."

"Why? You've seen how it corrupts, what it can do. Why would I encourage it's use?"

"Because you understand it is but a tool in the hands of men. Hunt people down like they're monsters, and those who survive will become one. Believe me."

"Magic killed my mother! My father did what was best, and then it killed him too." Arthur snapped, leaning forward on the table. A threat, or a plead for Merlin to stop. He didn't look threatening. He looked scared. Defending his father was an instinct, the only choice he'd ever known. 

"He was wrong." 

"You forget, Merlin. You are speaking to your King. You shouldn't dare criticize the laws my father put in place, the laws of my Kingdom."

You're a servant. That's it. Don't you forget that.

Disrespect me again and I'll have you spend a week in the stocks.

No one asked for a servant's opinion, Merlin.

I'm not your friend. I'm your King.

Within a year, Arthur had became cruel in his defence. He cut people on the barbed wire he caged his heart with, and made sure he was never close enough to see it. Not too long ago, he led with kindness he held onto despite his upbringing, humble in his arrogance, and always merciful. He had valued Merlin once, as a friend, as a confidant, in spite of his position. Now, his crown tipped the scale, no company as valuable as it. The prince that risked his life for a servant had grown into a King, and Merlin was left with no choice but to hold back the insults, to address him with "sire", and "my lord", and pretend it didn't hurt to have known him different.

He hardly had any idea what to expect of the prince. He never let himself imagine it. It felt too close to free falling off of a cliff into the dark. Now, stood opposite of a King, he felt even more unsure.

"I've done much worse than that." He breathed out.

"And that was my mistake. I allowed-"

"Arthur." He cut him off . "I have magic." He couldn't control the way his voice shook. "I am made of it."

Arthur stood abruptly, the chair dragging on the floor. He didn't see it happen, but Arthur's sword was in his hand, and he aimed it towards the servant.

"Who are you."

"It's me. I've always had magic. I've used it only for you, for the kingdom." 

"You are not my servant." He growled. 

Merlin lifted his hands in front of him in surrender. "You got stung by a bee on your behind last month. You think pale blue looks best on you. You didn't pick the flowers you gave Gwen. It's me, Arthur, I promise."

"As if that means anything!" He exclaimed, advancing towards him swiftly, until the blade almost pierced his skin, the only barrier between them the thin fabric of his tunic.

Merlin remained seated, calm, even as tears gathered in his eyes. He couldn't afford to let them fall, not now. He still had things to say, confessions to make.

"Ask me why." He rasped out, feeling the point of the sword digging into his chest as he breathed in.

"Why." The king growled.

"Because you are worth dying for. So kill me if you must, but let it not be in vain. Hear me." 

Strangely, the thought of dying by Arthur's hand brought him some comfort. If he were to die, he thought it just that it be by the one he was born to serve, so that his death may serve him too. But Merlin was unafraid, even as he watched the rage drown those beautiful blue eyes, as the hand he'd cared for so many times held him firmly in the swords way by his shoulder. If he knew anything, he knew Arthur didn't want to kill him. Not like this, without honour, without trial.

The sword clattered against the ground where Arthur threw it, and the grip on Merlin's shoulder eased.

"Not one more lie. Tell me everything." The king commanded. 

Merlin obliged.

Chapter Text

The king thought he'd always feel the weight of the sword in his hands as he pressed it into the chest of the only friend he'd ever had. It had to be the lowest he'd ever gotten, the very bottom of the pit life had digged for him.

The descend had changed him. Merlin's eyes darted to his hands each time he moved, afraid, afraid of him, and he was sure of it. He had become hollow, cruel.

He remembered seeing Merlin outside the throne room after he'd lost his father, in the clothes he'd worn all day, asleep on the floor. "I didn't want you to feel alone." He'd said. "You're a loyal friend" Arthur had responded. How could he have forgotten that? 

Merlin had talked for a long time, hesitant and wary, and Arthur had pushed back at first, threats and accusations being shot out desperately, a cruel and futile attempt to hold onto everything he'd ever known before it crumbled entirely under the weight of every new revelation. By the time Merlin had told him the truth about his mother's death, apologetic and reserved, there had been nothing left. 

Vaguely, Arthur was aware he had been crying, for the first time in a long time. He hadn't thought it possible, for something to hurt him more than his father's death, but life was funny like that. The grief was back, demanding and all-consuming, as he lost his father for a second time, this time in spirit. 

Whatever part of him grief didn't claim was left for anger to soil. Merlin's confession was lengthy, incredibly heavy, as it unwrapped a hundred layers of misdirection and lies spoken at his expense, for his benefit. It seemed Arthur had never known just how much Merlin had done for him, how greatly he'd suffered, or who he was at all.

Suddenly, he felt completely lost, entirely untethered from anything familiar and  comforting. Like a little boy separated from his parents, he longed to scream for them, run to them and hide away in their embrace. But there was no one for him to run to, never had been.

Merlin wasn't speaking anymore, and Arthur knew it was his turn, but he couldn't find the words. Was he supposed to say "thank you"?, or "I'm sorry"? Was he supposed to ask for answers, even though Merlin wouldn't want to give them and he didn't want to have them? Even if he found the right words, nothing could right something like this. So he didn't try. Cowardly, selfishly, he waited for the warlock to break the silence.

"I'm sorry." He heard him say. It was shy, soft. 

"What for?" Arthur asked.

"For lying. And for telling the truth, I suppose. I know it's not fair to have to shoulder all of this."

He knew him too well. He saw him, truly, even as he hid behind his anger. He saw it in his eyes everytime he snapped at him, and was met only with gentleness and understanding. It made everything worse, to know that no matter how far he pushed him, he couldn't escape his devotion.

"Don't be. All this time, you bore all of this on your own so that I wouldn't have to." He blinked, uselessly trying to keep tears from spilling out, because everything about this was so incredibly wrong.

"I would do it a thousand times over." 

"You should've never had to. You should've trusted me." He said heavily.

"I didn't want to put you in that position, not ever." He explained, apologetically, and his voice broke. With it, so did the King's heart.

"No. I mean I should've made sure you could trust me. This is my fault."

"I'm putting so much more than my life on the line right now. I do trust you, sire."

He laughed humorlessly. His respect felt misplaced, wrong. He didn't deserve it, not because of his title. It sat heavy within him, the knowledge he could never be worthy of someone like Merlin. He didn't understand why he chose to be a servant, or why he believed in him. He didn't know why Merlin had never used his power against the ones that sought to hang him. He supposed the answer lied somewhere between the fact that he was a better man that him, and destiny.

"I'll earn it. I vow it to you." He told him. 

The open admiration in the man's eyes made him want to run. He sent Merlin away and settled in for a restless sleep.

.

Merlin returned, come morning, barging through the doors with no concern for subtlety, and for a split second Arthur was happy. Last night's revelations had not yet caught up to him, and Merlin was there, a sum of acute angles and long limbs, ready to shout some overly cheesy line to get him to abandon his bed. 

Then, he remembered. The servant drew the curtains open without a word, the soft light of dawn illuminating him, and he became visible, truly visible, for the first time. After so many years, Arthur felt like he could finally see him. Like a veil had been lifted, and there was Merlin, with his perky ears and big heart, and an immeasurable darkness that leaked out of him.

He carried his breakfast like any other day, set it down on the table like he always did, then moved on to putting little things in his chamber to rights. Arthur couldn't remember when he'd stopped humming as he worked. He thought it might've been some time after the cheery good-mornings and witty remarks at his expense had, but he couldn't be sure. He was too quiet now, too respectful. As he dressed him, his fingertips didn't come in contact with his skin once. He didn't smile anymore either. Arthur missed it terribly.

Before they left, Merlin shot him a weird look, unreadable and stretching until Arthur cleared his throat.

"When we find Aithusa, let me deal with her."

It was a warning, bordering on a threat. Having been left no choice but to comply, Arthur nodded, lifting a satchel over his shoulder. They met Gwaine on the courtyard and begun their journey without any unnecessary words. Arthur led the way, while the two men followed, exchanging words only between themselves, hushed so that he did not hear.

.

When they set up camp for the night, Merlin offered to take the first watch. After Arthur had fallen asleep, Gwaine joined him, moving his bedroll to lay right next to him. 

"Alright, fess up. What did you do to him." He said, voice low. 

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Sold the real Arthur to a troll, actually. This one's a fake." He said, deadpan.

Gwaine threw a small stick he'd been fidgeting with at him. His smile was contagious. 

"Seriously. He hasn't said one word this entire time." 

"I know. The troll that replaced him is actually a girl. Arthur has a girl's voice." He insisted, trying his best to keep a straight face.

Gwaine rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Has he been any less terrible to you?" He asked.

He was serious this time, the concern on his face evident. Merlin was glad it was Gwaine that Arthur had asked to join them, even though he suspected the Knight hadn't given him much of a choice. He'd had to defend him against Arthur one too many times in the past year for that. 

"Yes. I'm fine, Gwaine."

"Good." 

Merlin smiled at him, raising his eyebrows. Often, the days at Camelot felt unbearable, until he saw Gwaine. He never demanded anything of him other than his company, and offered Merlin in return everything he'd ever asked for: an escape, some fun, new stories to tell. With him, Merlin remembered who he used to be, before his soul had belonged to destiny. 

Gwaine pulled out a bag of dried fruit and offered some to Merlin.

"I packed those." The warlock observed, scowling.

"What! He deserves it for being an arse to you." He argued. Merlin laughed, throwing a piece of fig into the air and catching it with his mouth.

"Impressive." 

"I'm a man of many talents." Merlin smirked.

"Sure you are." 

The warlock shrugged. Soon, Gwaine was asleep and Merlin was left alone with the forest's silence. He used to love the quiet, always longing for a moment away from the chaos and the rush. He used to find ways to sneak away during tournaments and important meetings, to have the chance to watch from afar, and imagine what it would be like to be but a visitor in the Kingdom. He wondered if Gwaine would catch his eye, or maybe Percival. Maybe they'd exchange stories in a tavern, or maybe they'd drink so much that Merlin would have to meet the wise physician. 

He wouldn't know of the darkness, he wouldn't be it's keeper.

It had been a long time since he'd had the strength to imagine. The silence had turned oppressive, every one of his thoughts had become an offence against the delicate balance between his destiny and his sanity. It tormented him even now, until the moon had moved positions and it was his turn to rest.

.

They continued their journey with the first light, reaching the village the reports had come from around noon. The woman that talked to them was chubby, with shoulder-length gray hair and a thick accent. 

"Damned thing has not left a cattle standing." She'd said.

"Has it attacked any humans?" Arthur had asked.

"We warded it off, no wicked thing will harm my kids, do you get me?" She'd responded.

She'd directed them in the general direction that they'd seen the creature fly in, with some instructions for a cave in which some unfortunate villagers had stumbled upon it and gotten a good fright. 

They followed the direction's as best they could, and soon they stood infront of a deep cave. It's opening was curved, allowing little light to shine past the entrance. 

"I don't think she's in there." Merlin announced.

"Can you sense her?" Asked Arthur. 

"No. I just know she doesn't like the dark." He explained.

He didn't have time to ponder the implications. As Merlin moved towards the cave, Gwaine walked the opposite way, too focused on the thick vegetation at his feet to notice the enormous dragon that hid behind some tall pine trees in the direction he was heading.

"Gwaine!" Arthur called out.

In a single second, the beast had ran out of its hiding, merely meters away from the knight, as it unleashed it's offence. It breathed fire far to quickly and too wide for the Knight to dodge, even if he'd been faster to notice it. It would've been his end, undoubtedly, had Merlin not stood behind him.

At the same time that the dragon opened his mouth, Merlin let out a growling scream, his eyes turning golden. The words came out in an explosion of power, causing the hair at the back of Arthur's neck to stand. The flames spilled out of the dragon like a wave, crashing against a wall that wasn't there at all. Gwaine had fallen to the ground, arms reaching up to protect his face instinctively, even though the fire never reached him. Merlin stood over him.

This dragon looked nothing like Kilgharrah, Merlin had said. This one was smaller, crooked, frightened. It's misshapen wings reached over to protect it even as it breathed fire, it's posture defensive as it attacked. Finally, the fire stopped burning, and the creature retreated slightly. 

"Aithusa!" Merlin called out. She stilled instantly and bowed her head slightly.

The sorcerer stood strong, sending a warning glare towards the dragon as he extended his hand towards Gwaine to help him stand. He'd always known Merlin to be brave, but now he looked powerful, like he could level the earth with a thought. It scared him, if he was being honest, such power. It disturbed him to know he'd been oblivious to it this entire time, made him embarrassed to think he'd dismissed Merlin's clear peculiarity as an interesting quirk.

In the moment, he was captivating, intriguing. Arthur couldn't take his eyes off of him. As such, it took him a second to notice the Knight moving in front of Merlin, obscuring Arthur's view of him, as he held his sword pointed in his direction. Stupidly, the King drew his own sword, turning to see the threat the Knight was perceiving. 

There was no other threat. It was him, Arthur realized, Gwaine aimed to protect Merlin from. His heart shattered. He recalled all the times the Knight had stood wordlessly between him and his servant, responded to the insults on his behalf. Of course he assumed he'd need to protect Merlin now. It wouldn't be the first time.

The king seethed his sword, lifting his palms in resignation. Gwaine didn't yield his protective stance, until Merlin's hand touched his arm, wordlessly asking him to lower his sword. They shared a look, and Gwaine obliged, but his eyes remained trained on him, his hand ready to reach for his sword, if the need arose.

"He knows." Merlin told him. Gwaine looked baffled. 

He turned his back to the King, shielding Merlin from him. "Are you alright?" He heard him ask. Arthur couldn't see what Merlin's answer was.

He felt useless, wrong. As far as he could tell, Gwaine hadn't known of Merlin's magic before, and yet there he was, protecting him, making sure he was okay, his touch on his shoulder so casually affectionate it caused something in Arthur to ignite. He'd never drawn his sword against him, never turned on him, even for a second.

He turned his back to them, running a hand through his hair, until he heard the Knight's heavy footsteps approaching him. 

"Come on, Princess." He urged, clapping him on his shoulder and leading him away from Merlin and Aithusa. "Merlin needs some quality time with a dragon."

Chapter Text

Aithusa looked worse than Merlin remembered. Time hadn't helped her heal as well as Merlin had hoped. As she grew, her disfigurements grew more pronounced, her neck bending at an awkward angle as her wings curled inwards. She was larger than last time he'd come across her, while new scars and wounds laced her entire body. He knew the villagers had tried to defend their livestock against her, but her injuries betrayed so much more than damage done by a few frightened villagers with rocks and pitchforks. They told the story of a creature used as a weapon, unaccustomed to survival in the wilderness.

She shuffled on her feet, obviously uneasy as Merlin approached, one hand extended to discourage an attack. He didn't think many people had approached Aithusa with good intentions, but she understood the gesture anyway, bowing her head to the warlock's level as he came to stand in front of her. He stroked her face gently, feeling cool scales shift and slide beneath his palm.

"You're going to be okay." He promised.

With his aching knees screaming at him after an hours long hike up a mountain, Merlin searched for a place to rest. He found a tree with a large trunk, and dropped clumsily under it's shade. He invited Aithusa over, and she followed by her own volition, settling down next to him and resting her head on his lap like it was the natural thing to do. She was heavy, and his legs would most definitely go numb soon, but any comfort he could offer was the least she was owed. Stroking her head softly, he poured all of the power he could master into a healing spell. Aithusa shivered and growled as her injuries healed all at once, but she relaxed again easily, surrendering to the warlock's touch.

It was an abomination, to see a dragon, a symbol of magic and strength so broken, and so afraid. She clung to him, pressing her head closer to his body. Their connection felt tangible at times, like an invisible string that tied them together, and Merlin knew Aithusa felt it too. So, if she understood it was his responsibility to protect her, care for her, how could she not understand he'd failed already? How could she forgive him for it?

.

"Did you know?" Arthur asked, even though he knew every answer was guaranteed to hurt the same.

"He hadn't told me, if that's what you're asking." Gwaine replied, his tone more bitter than usually.

Arthur leaned closer. "But you suspected."

"He's literally the strangest man I've ever met. I had my theories."

Arthur let out a sharp laugh. "Yeah, I guess he is. I don't know how I didn't see it."

"I imagine he'd do anything to make sure you didn't." The knight said, thoughtful.

"Actually he confessed once. I thought "just Merlin being Merlin, what an idiot". I guess I didn't want to believe it."

Gwaine shook his head. "You are the thickest man I know."

"Careful." He warned. "I'm still your King."

He'd meant for it to be playful, forgetting for a second how long it had been since Gwaine had even smiled at him, let alone joked with him. The expression on the Knight's face reminded him.

"That you are. Doesn't mean you deserve my respect." He said, not a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Arthur tried not to look too offended. "Have I not earned it?"

"Not with the way you've been treating Merlin." He replied, voice thick with resentment.

Sickeningly truthful, the Knight's words felt like a slap to the face. He'd regret it always, he thought, not treating him the way he deserved. Merlin had understood his pain, and in his futile attempts to run from it, Arthur had pushed him away, as if that would offer him the escape he longed for. For his loyalty, his friendship, Arthur had rewarded Merlin with his misplaced anger, or his dismissal. He couldn't stand it, the gentleness with which Merlin answered to his sharpness, as he looked at him with such understanding and unconditional compassion he wished to curl in on himself in shame. Without meaning to, he'd pushed even harder, retreated even further, did everything he could to force Merlin to give up on him, but Merlin never did.

Arthur didn't understand why. When he'd first met him, Arthur thought that simple village boy was subtlety's greatest enemy. Everything he did was loud, bright, captivating. He'd believed in him in the same way, and it was intoxicating. When he promised Arthur he was worthy, for some mad reason, the king always believed him. He thought it was that look of quiet wisdom that he got, that left him no choice but to trust he knew more than he ever could. Lately, however, if he looked at him at all, it was with a heavy sadness, some pity. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him smile in his presence, or heard his laugh. He'd taken the sun and singlehandedly turned it dull. So why did he stay?

"I'm glad he has you, Gwaine." He said.

If it was, incidentally, an escape, it didn't make it false. Gwaine was a better friend, a better man than him.

Gwaine scoffed, his eyes burning with something Arthur couldn't put a name to.

"You don't deserve him." He said. It was spoken like a realization, with all the disappointment and desperation of one finding out he can't stop a sphere from rolling.

He hadn't caught it before, but it was clear as day now. Gwaine was jealous. Envious of Merlin's loyalty to Arthur when the servant was the only one to have earned the Knight's. Something in Arthur stirred. It mattered very little that he knew Gwaine to be right, as well as that he'd do anything to change that. His offence turned to pettiness.

"And you do?" He retorted.

"No. Not even close." Gwaine's head hung low for a moment, before his eyes found Arthur's. "But Merlin knows that. It's you he loves, Arthur."

Arthur couldn't have spoken if his life depended on it. He choked on his breath, his eyes going wide at the words.

"Gods, you really are thick." The knight stood abruptly, looking straight into his eyes as he spoke. "Be better for him Arthur, you owe it to him." He said, voice low, before walking away from him.

.

Merlin had been talking to Aithusa about how to avoid angry villagers when he saw Gwaine peek through the woods, his chain mail removed and hair flowing with the breeze. He nodded to invite him close.

"Gwaine is my friend. He's not gonna hurt you." Merlin told the dragon.

The Knight approached calmly, seemingly fearless, sitting next to Merlin, where Aithusa could see him, his legs straightened beneath him as he leaned on his hands.

"You have a dragon sleeping in your lap." He pointed out, amused.

"She's awake." Merlin corrected, and she chirped softly to prove it. "Her name is Aithusa."

"Nice to meet you, Aithusa."

She stirred slightly in acknowledgement.

"So. Magic, huh?"

"Told you I'm a man of many talents."

Gwaine grinned as he rolled his eyes.

"I wanted to tell you." Merlin told him, apologetically.

Gwaine looked at him, a bitter half-smile forming on his lips as his brows fell. He had this air of deep sadness to him, a permanent loss in his eyes that never faded. He was vivacious, bright, funny, but in the quiet moments, it shone through.

It was one of those moments now, and Merlin felt wretched.

"Don't hate me." He pleaded, voice watery.

"I couldn't." The knight replied, uncharacteristically earnest.

He couldn't hide his relief even if he tried. Gwaine was his best friend, the only person in his corner, it often felt like. Few people were patient enough to tolerate the unanswered questions and the more than obvious excuses Merlin spewed, but Gwaine was one of them, even if he didn't look it. It was so often the confession hanged at the tip of his tongue, begging to be heard, and all it would have taken was one small jab, one reminder of all he owed his friend, and he would've given in, but Gwaine never pushed. It wasn't that he didn't want to know, because he made that more than obvious, he just trusted Merlin enough to let him keep his secrets. He'd appreciate him for that always.

"Ask me anything. I'll be honest." He urged now, because he had no reason to hold his tongue any longer.

At that, Gwaine's smile brightened.

"Do you have a thing with Mary from the kitchens?"

Merlin snorted at the unexpected question, unsettling Aithusa, who bumped him forcefully with the side of her head. Gwaine laughed, a teasing smile on his face.

"I'm pretty sure she has a crush on me. She keeps bringing me pies." He admitted, still laughing softly.

"And you never thought to share." Said Gwaine, mockingly disappointed.

"Wanna see something?" Asked Merlin.

Gwaine smiled warmly, gesturing for him to proceed. Careful not to disturb Aithusa, he cupped his hands in front of his face, bringing them to his lips to blow into them like he was blowing on dice. When he opened them again, he was holding a small round pastry. It was one of his favorite feelings, to feel the flow of magic and be the one to direct it, to feel it change and become physical, adapting to his own will.

Laughing at the look of awe in the Knight's face, he extended his hand, offering the sweet to him.

"Strawberry tart. No nutritional value, but it should taste good." He explained.

Gwaine threw the whole thing into his mouth, humming at the taste in a way that said "pleasantly surprised".

"We can use that, you know." He said after swallowing down most of the tart, with a look that promised mischief.

"I've got ideas." Merlin replied.

"You owe me a drink once we're back. You can spill your secrets then." The knight winked, and before Merlin could respond, they were interrupted by the sound of branches cracking as Arthur approached.

.

Merlin was laughing. The sound reached the King's ears from afar, and it felt like coming up for air. It was the goofy kind of laugh that Arthur rarely inspired, even before he'd turned cold. That was always Gwaine's specialty, or the knights', whenever they made fun of him. It was the sound Arthur heard in the dreams he'd never dare express, the sound always repeating on the background of his thoughts like a melody.

He could see him, as he approached, relaxed against a tree's trunk, with a dragon laying on him, smiling so brightly at Gwaine he wandered how the Knight didn't need to cover his eyes.

It felt like intruding to join them, but he forced his feet to move anyway, making sure to announce his presence with heavy footsteps. The Knight didn't turn to face him, even though he could see him nod to the other to signal he was there. Merlin laughed softly at Gwaine, nodding in agreement to whatever he had said last.

Then, he turned his gaze to Arthur, and his smile changed. It turned bittersweet, heavy. Burdens that should've been Arthur's weighed it down, weighed him down, when he should be put high, higher than any man. Still, Arthur smiled back, because it was the most he'd gotten in a long time, and because he couldn't bear to be the reason he would watch it fade.

He realized he'd been standing still, probably looking like a fool, when Merlin turned away, to speak to the dragon. He was stroking the side of it's face like he was some kind of oversized dog, but talking to it like it was an adult human. Undoubtedly, it was the most bizzare scene he'd even encountered, and it didn't surprise him one bit that Merlin fit perfectly in it.

As he forced his legs to move, he resisted the urge to seek the security of his sword in his hand.

"Don't worry, he won't hurt you." Said the sorcerer when he got close, looking pointedly to him.

"I thought you said it was a female." Arthur thought out loud.

"I was talking to her."

"It's a dragon!" He protested. "The kind that spits flames!"

"Aren't you observant." The knight mocked. It made Merlin smile, so he didn't mind it.

"Better be nice then." Said the warlock.

"Alright." He agreed, feeling suddenly exposed. The dragon's eyes stayed trained on him, as it lifted it's head slightly from Merlin's legs to watch him.

His instincts told him to fight, to attack before the creature had the chance to turn him to roast meat, but Merlin was looking at him expectantly, wordlessly promising he was safe. Arthur didn't draw his sword. He sat awkwardly next to Merlin, so close he could feel the dragon's hot breath against his leg, and tried not to look as terrified as he was.

Aithusa didn't attack. Instead, she made a sound that was something in between a growl and a chirp and made herself comfortable again on Merlin's lap. Merlin smiled softly at him.

Maybe, he mused, his instincts had been wrong all along.

Now that he was closer, the dragon looked less like something with the power to wipe out entire kingdoms and more like a wounded animal.

"Is she okay?" He asked, nodding to the dragon.

Arthur almost shied away from the pride in Merlin's face.

"She was hurt, but I've healed her now. She'll be okay."

"Good." He said, even though his mind lit up with questions, particularly about Merlin's healing abilities. Is that why he rarely, if ever, got scars after meeting Merlin? Why Gaius' ointments and potions worked better for some Knights than they did for others? And how many people had he saved from death with his magic? How many people had he not, because he'd not been allowed?

He shook his head as if to rid it of the increasingly enormous pile of unanswered questions in his mind, telling himself there would be time for them to be answered later. "What happens now?"

"I'll call Kilgharrah. She needs guidance." He said firmly, which Arthur suspected was more for her benefit.

The mention was enough to make Arthur recoil. He could almost feel the absolute helplessness, the dread of watching his Kingdom burn and his men be slaughtered all over again. If the dragon decided to attack, there was nothing he could do to stop it, and Merlin said he could control it, but a part of him couldn't forget that, by his own admission it was him that had let it out in the first place. He knew it had been an impossible position, the choice between all the lives in Camelot and Kilgharrah's wrath obvious, but he'd still made it.

Maybe it was that it unsettled him that it was his servant that had had to make it, that he had held the lives of Camelot in his hand, and Arthur had not so much as suspected. Maybe it was that he was asking him to relinquish control once again, in a way a King never should. Either way, Arthur felt sick.

He begged Merlin to understand him with his eyes, and Merlin's eyebrows furrowed together. He did. Of course he did.

"Trust me." He said.

Chapter Text

"Trust me." 

Merlin might not have intended for it to be a test, but Arthur saw it clearly, the chance to keep his vow. If he wanted to earn Merlin's trust, trusting him back seemed like a vital first step, even though to Arthur it felt like a leap off of a tower. He agreed anyway, trying to convince himself the only risk was his own life.

Merlin nodded. "Aithusa can show me the way to a clearing. You could stay here if you want." He said.

Arthur and Gwaine looked at eachother. Unsurprisingly, neither of them were eager to spend more alone time. 

"Is Kilgharrah a dragon lord?" Asked Gwaine. 

Merlin smirked. "I'm a dragon lord. Kilgharrah is the Great Dragon." 

"Oh, drinks will certainly be fun." He exclaimed, grinning with amusement.

"We should come with you." Said Arthur.

"Yeah. I wanna meet another dragon." Added the knight.

Merlin turned to Arthur. "Kilgharrah has suffered more than anyone at the hands of your father. He won't do anything to harm you, but I can't control what he'll say." He warned. 

Arthur considered that for a few seconds, before making up his mind. "It's alright."

"Whatever you say, sire." The sorcerer agreed.

.

They walked for some time, with Aithusa leading the way. Gwaine walked besides her, while Merlin and Arthur followed close behind.

"How does he do this? How is he so unbothered by everything?" The king asked desperately, nodding to Gwaine. 

"Gwaine has traveled all his life. Most places don't actually condemn magic. He's lived among all different types of people, even sorcerers." He explained. Arthur still looked displeased. 

"He didn't grow up hating magic." He added. "It's all you've ever known, sire. You can't just forget it in a day, I understand. You try, and that's what's important."

The King wasn't convinced. At least, Merlin thought, he was finally looking at him. It felt like finally getting back something precious, something that had been missing from him all this time, even if his eyes, more beautiful now that they weren't looking away, were spilling over with uncertainty. It was unfitting, to see him insecure, and strange that he did not try to hide it. It'd been a long time since Arthur had let him in in any capacity, even if that meant the small act of allowing him to look him in the eyes.

It was unsettling, in a way, how much everything had changed in just a few days, but mostly, Merlin found it comforting. If he looked closely, he could see the anger that he'd thought Arthur would never be free from start to fade, his sharpness rounding out just the smallest amount.

.

They reached the clearing within an hour, and Merlin moved to Aithusa 's side. "Let him take care of you." He whispered. It wasn't a command, just a plea.

Sparing only a look to Arthur and Gwaine to make sure they knew he was about to call for Kilgharrah, Merlin shouted to the sky. The dragon tongue felt like borrowed power, finding it's way to him from the depths of the earth, becoming his to command only for a moment. His own voice reached his ears like a forgotten lullaby, novel and familiar at the same time. Merlin liked to think it was his father's power, and every dragon lord's that came before him, that lived on through him.

When he had finished, he didn't look at the others. He could practically feel their eyes on him the entire time, and he thought it better to avoid meeting them. Instead, trying not to make it seem too forced, he kept his eyes to the sky, watching the pink and orange clouds change and disappear. 

"Did it work?" 

Arthur's soft question made it impossible to keep pretending the clouds were just that interesting. Reluctantly, he turned to them, taking in their expressions. Gwaine gave him a look that said "That was incredibly weird but I'm trying to remain calm" while Arthur seemed tense, but not as scared, or angry as he'd expected.

"Yes." He replied, and continued watching the sky. 

Several minutes of awkward silence later, Kilgharrah lowered himself in front of them.

"What is it you need, young warlock?" He asked, momentarily ignoring the other two men and Aithusa.

"I surrender Aithusa into your care. She needs guidance I cannot provide. You will keep her safe, away from Morgana's reach." 

The way the younger dragon squirmed at the sound of the High Priestess' name was heart-wrenching. Aithusa was devoted to her, last time Merlin had come across her. She'd suffered greatly because of Morgana, but not at her hand, and their bond had only grown stronger because of it. The dragon didn't understand her autonomy had been sacrificed in the name of Morgana's hunger for power, didn't understand she should have never been treated as a weapon.

Whatever the circumstances of their separation, Merlin suspected it hadn't been voluntary, and the toll it had taken on Aithusa was obvious. He rested his hand on the dragon's side with the intention to soothe, but she pulled away. He didn't really blame her.

"Very well." Kilgharrah agreed, and his gaze fell on the two men standing a good distance behind him, his eyes flooding with righteous fury as he let out a nasty snarl.

"Don't you dare." Merlin warned.

Dragging his eyes off the two Knights in red, Kilgharrah spoke, voice thick with malice. "Do not fret, Emrys. I will not harm the young Pendragon, no matter how much joy it would bring me. He is your destiny, after all." He said, in a tone that suggested he was not in the least happy about it.

"But to bring him here is evidence you've lost your way, Merlin. You have forgotten your debt is to magic itself, not to a King. To reveal yourself to him and entrust the son of the man that has hunted us with your safety and that of your kin's has been foolish." 

Before Merlin could respond, he heard Arthur speak up. "Great Dragon!" He called out. "I apologize for my father's crimes against your kind. He was cruel, and unjustified in his hatred. I intend to right his wrongs, and prove you wrong."

There were moments, in which Merlin could see it, Arthur's future, his reign as The once and future King. He felt his chest swell with pride then, high on the knowledge he'd be by his side when that came to be. 

"You speak as if you weren't complicit in the slaughter. You've been a loyal support to your father's crusade and an heir to his blood-stained legacy. You are far from innocent, Arthur Pendragon, you'd do well to remember that." The dragon spat.

"Blood stains all our hands." The warlock cut in. "It is neither yours nor my place to speak of morality." 

"You've come so far from the boy that met me in that dungeon all those years ago. I cannot help but be proud. Still, I must warn you to be wary of who you award your trust to." Kilgharrah said.

"Consider me warned. You may leave." Merlin said, voice rough.

The dragon nodded, flapping his enormous wings once to lift himself off the ground. 

"Go!" Merlin shouted to Aithusa, and she obeyed, flying after Kilgharrah with quick and uneven flaps of her wings as she struggled to catch up.

Soon, the two figures disappeared in the horizon, as the sun dipped behind some far away mountains. 

"Well, I liked Aithusa better." Gwaine declared. 

Merlin let out a small huff of air. 

As they made their way back to the village, Arthur remained silent. The atmosphere was tense, and even Gwaine refrained from his usual banter.

Merlin tried approaching Arthur once they'd reached their destination, only to be halted by a hand and a sharp "don't". He knew better than to push any further.

That night, they were all hosted in different rooms, tormented by different demons.

.

On the way back to Camelot, Arthur got lost in the previous night's nightmares, and dreams so unattainable they turned into nightmares too. Gwaine's and Kilgharrah's voices echoed in his mind, fueling the guilt that threatened to consume him.

The entire time, Merlin was unreachable. Not that Arthur did reach out, not when he knew he could only make things worse. The servant kept his distance, sparing only quick glances when they ate, or stopped to rest. His smile was reserved for Gwaine, to whom he spoke all his words. For all his curiosity, the King didn't join their conversation once. It didn't seem he was welcome.

Once they'd reached the citadel's gates, Merlin breathed in deeply, as if bracing himself for what was to come. 

He carried Arthur's bags to his room in uncomfortable silence, setting them down without so much as a single word. He started on on his post-expedition routine, unpacking and making sure the equipment was in good shape.

Arthur paced around the room uselessly, stealing glances at the manservant on the other side of the room, busy with his armour. There wasn't a badly sung tune echoing off the walls, just the devastating lack of any sound other than the soft scrape of metal being polished, and Arthur's anxious footsteps.

"Have the next few days off." He said, breaking the silence.

Merlin stilled, his expression souring.

"You're sending me away?" He asked, apprehensive.

"I'm giving you days off. Isn't that what you always ask for?" 

His voice came out harsher than he'd liked. He meant to offer Merlin a reward, a break from him. Somehow, he'd failed at even that, managing to offend him instead.

"Not like this. I want to stay." He replied, stone cold. 

Arthur stared at him, confused. "Why? Why would you want to continue to be my servant?" 

Had he broken him so much bad he couldn't wish for something better for himself? It felt like Arthur was missing something, and if he was being honest, he was sick of not understanding.

"It's my destiny." He replied plainly. 

There it was. Merlin didn't think he had a choice. The King's heart sunk. It was the twisted part of him that felt it, a selfish one that couldn't contain the shameful disappointment that the answer hadn't been something different.

"Do you wish it weren't?" He asked, weekly, unsure even as the words left his mouth if he wanted to know the answer.

"No." The warlock didn't hesitate at all to answer, his voice clear and steady.

The King remained silent. He studied him, taking notice of the way his hand remained wrapped around the polishing cloth, so casually, like it was second nature. In the warm candle light, his eyes seemed impossibly deep, far too full of mystery and life for any ordinary man to possess. He remembered seeing them transform, be flooded by pure magic that shone gold. It was fitting, Arthur had thought, to see him command such power, to stand tall. He'd been taught magic was unnatural all his life, but the way it flowed through the man seemed to be anything but. No, he mused. Divine seemed to be a more accurate description.

"It feels wrong now." He whispered. His father had stolen his freedom, but now it felt like Arthur was stealing his chance at greatness, forcing him into something so much less than himself by letting him continue to be a servant.

Merlin followed his gaze to the cloth in his hand, and let it slip through his fingers as he understood. 

"Why did you decide to tell me when you did? I'm glad you did... Just, why then?" He asked shakily, too frustrated to refrain from asking the question. He needed to understand.

"I couldn't let you go after Aithusa with the intention to kill her. It is my responsibility to protect her. Turning my back on her... It would be like betraying my nature. There wouldn't be anything of me left. But also... I had to protect you. I had to let you know what you were up against."

Arthur's adoration was followed swiftly by immense guilt.

"Protect me." He echoed, sharp devastation twisting his insides as he considered the extent of Merlin's loyalty. "You let me threaten you with a sword! You could have exploded me into a million pieces w- with a word." He yelled, exasperated.

"I wouldn't." The response came fast in defense, like a knife to the King's heart.

"I know. I know- just, you should've wanted to." 

"I knew you wouldn't hurt me." The servant replied, standing from the stool he'd been sitting on to take a few hesitant steps towards the King. 

How could he say that, when Arthur himself hadn't been sure? He'd meant to do it, for a second, when the realization of the betrayal had hit and his rage had left him blind to reason. He could've killed him, right then, and Merlin would have let him.

"All I do is hurt you!" Arthur exhaled, rubbing his eyes, as he let out a frustrated groan. "You never smile anymore, Merlin."

Merlin stummered in surprise. He held his gaze as he searched for words, the same achingly sad look Arthur knew all too well. 

"You know better now. So you can stop trying to push me away, because I'm not going anywhere." He said finally, determined.

"I don't want you to go." Arthur confessed, feeling naked under the other's searching look.

"Then I won't." He replied, taking another step in his direction. 

Arthur wished he'd take another. Why, he wasn't certain. At that moment, all he understood was that the distance between them felt incorrect. He longed to cross it, to feel Merlin's skin against his own, have his words be whispered directly into his ear. 

The mere thought was cruel torment while he still stood within arm's reach. Merlin's features became sharper in the low light, his expression unreadable. He stood with a purpose, a deeper meaning Arthur couldn't discern. 

Arthur took a step back. The pull of the crown was too strong, the King that wore it too much of a coward. 

"I'll draw you a bath." Merlin announced, his gaze still soft as he regarded Arthur. 

"Can you use magic?" He asked without thinking. 

He promptly regretted it, feeling stupid for even suggesting that such a great power be used for his bath. He opened his mouth to take it back, but Merlin smiled. It was a work of art, the deep creases around the eyes of man that had known joy well, the soft dimples and perfect teeth that made a shy appearance. Eyes gleaming with pride, the servant nodded, and Arthur felt heat rising to his cheeks.

The warlock walked over to the tub on the side of his room, standing behind it so that he was looking at Arthur. With only a word spoken, water began filling the bath. Steam rose, carrying notes of fig and jasmine - his favourite scents. He didn't stop there. Eyes glowing golden once again, he muttered another incantation, and the water glimmered with borrowed moonlight, silver specs of light floating above it like fireflies.

Entranced, Arthur met Merlin on the opposite side of the tub, kneeling beside it and letting the lights dance around his fingertips. He let out a small laugh as he felt it, tangible as anything, Merlin's magic tracing his skin.

Merlin's touch was gentle as he guided him to strip his clothing, his fingers lingering on his arm as he lowered himself into the tub.

The water was hot, warming in a way that went past his flesh. His frozen heart began to thaw in the warmth that was unmistakably, exhilaratingly, Merlin. He, as always, remained close, a knowing smile on his lips. Leaning in closer, the warlock extended his hand towards the bath, and his smile widened as the shape of a dragon appeared from the steam, glittering with magic.

In the silver light, Merlin looked beautiful as the night sky, and just as vast. It made him ponder, briefly, how stupid he'd been to dismiss the side of magic that could be wonderful, even though Merlin had been in front of him all this time, and a man such as him could be nothing other than magical.

"I was wrong" he dared to speak aloud.

Merlin exhaled sharply, the water glowing brighter as he did. A single tear escaped the warlock's eyes, making it's way slowly down sculpted features, and his smile softened. Without thinking, Arthur reached for him, his own wet fingers tracing his cheek, reveling in the small shiver that caused in the warlock. 

Lightly, Merlin brought his palm to rest on top of the King's, the feather-light pressure of trembling fingers remaining for just a second, before he slowly wrapped his hand around Arthur's and led it to his lips. He held it there, planting a soft kiss upon his knuckles. It was a promise of devotion, a first glimpse at something they had yet to discover. It was, of course, inappropriate for two men of their standing, wickedly scandalous. Arthur wouldn't expect anything less from the man next to him.

Before Arthur had time to do something he'd regret, there was a knock on the door.

Chapter Text

The knock echoed throughout the room. Arthur pulled his hand away quickly, as Merlin let the magic disappear within himself.

Merlin walked to the door swiftly, trying to keep his knees from buckling. On the other side of it, a very disheveled looking Leon stood panting.

"Sir Leon. What's wrong?"

"Is Arthur here?" He asked urgently.

"Come in, Leon." Arthur called from the corner of the room. He was tying a towel around his waist when the Knight walked through the door.

"Sire."

"What's going on?"

"There's something you should see. Right now."

"Lead the way." Arthur said, quickly throwing on a shirt and trousers before grabbing his sword.

.

A cage that looked entirely too familiar had been deposited in the very middle of the courtyard, a small crowd of people gathered around it, keeping their distance while they muttered amongst themselves.

The bars were thick and rusted, and the sound they made as a man banged on them with a metal rod caused Merlin's stomach to flip. 

Right then, if he was anyone else, Merlin would've fallen to his knees, screamed until his throat was raw the name of a love lost long ago. If he was anyone else, he would've raised Hell, and watched as Camelot burned for it's cruelty, torch in hand.

But Merlin was not anyone else. He was the King's manservant, and he was Emrys. He’d learned long ago that there was no place for his grief in this world. So, he swallowed down the bile rising in his throat, and he moved closer, trying to see past the tangle of long dark hair, make out the face of the girl held within the witchhunter’s cage.

Before he could, Arthur pushed past him.

"Morgana." He whispered, his voice a fragile rasp, as he went pale and his eyes widened.

Morgana. She looked nothing like she had before, with thick cuffs hanging around her wrists and ankles, while a chain, connected to all the cuffs, tethered a collar that sat tight around her throat to the floor. Dirty, and in the forced hunched position, the High Priestess exuded none of the raw power she had commanded before, looking more like someone Merlin would have tried to help, in the past.

Arthur made to approach, but Merlin stepped in front of him. He paid no mind to the passerbys that might've registered that as disrespect.

"It might be a ruse." He warned.

The King looked unsteady, torn between his fear and his fury, and something Merlin thought resembled hope.

Finally, he nodded. Taking a shaky breath, he walked over to the man holding the keys to the cage. He was a vile man, his eyes almost inhuman as they jumped from person to person, greedy and cruel. He sought gold from the king, for his feat of subduing a sorceress.

Arthur almost turned to Merlin as the witchfinder spoke, but he stopped himself before that. Merlin imagined he'd look apologetic, hoped that if he were to turn, and Merlin were to look, he'd find equal repulsion for the man that hunted sorcerers to the one he felt. In the end, he gave the man the gold, and called for the crowds to disperse, but never looked at Merlin. Satisfied, the man dragged Morgana out of the cage, but didn't remove the cuffs and collar.

"Cold iron. I wouldn't remove them if I was you." He told Arthur, flashing a disturbing smile as he threw Morgana at his feet.

The witch didn't make an effort to stand. As she was grabbed by sir Leon and sir Kay to be taken to the cells, she didn't resist at all.

"What's wrong with her?" Arthur asked in a low voice.

"It's the cuffs. They cut off her magic. She's powerless."

Arthur inhaled shakily. His grip on his sword tightened, but he didn't move.

Merlin placed a hand on Arthur's arm, an anchor for a lost king. "Sire." He tried. Arthur's eyes remained trained on Morgana, as she was roughly pulled inside the castle.

"Arthur. Listen to me, please."

Finally, dull eyes found their way back to Merlin.

"I need you to let me make sure it's not a trap, and she really is powerless. We can't leave guards alone with her until I'm sure."

The King nodded, and headed after the Knights, with Merlin a step behind. Closing his eyes, the warlock willed the witchfinder's cart to break down, and the metal bars to become brittle.

.

Merlin wasn't as relieved as he'd expected to find that Morgana really was powerless. Reaching out to her magic, that steady buzz of chaos that had always been there, he found... nothing. Not the lack of something, but a harrowing absence of magic that felt tangible, present.

Even in her subdued state, the High Priestess held her head high, a slight amusement at the way they kept their distance evident. She didn't speak, only kept her gaze on them, mad and unsettling.

She didn't answer their questions, or seem to care about their threats. Eventually, they gave up, left with their shoulders hung low and their hearts heavy.

.

As Merlin lied down to sleep, he thought of Morgana's hair. He remembered it used to be eye-catching, as it fell across her shoulders in perfect waves, shiny and smooth, never a hair out of place. Gwen used to be especially proud of it, wasting no chance to let the other maids know what creams and oils she was using. Briefly, he was glad she'd left Camelot, so she wouldn't have to feel the heartbreak of seeing what had become of it.

Morgana's hair was now matted to the root, messy and cut unevenly -with a knife, probably. It was dirty, ruined. Uncared for. Merlin knew damn well what that meant.

In his mind, the version of Morgana that sat shackled in the dungeons differed to the one he saw in his memories, beautiful and warm. It had been easy to name one a threat, a monster, even, to ease his consciousness, until he looked at her hair, and he understood. It was the same person that had been his friend, that had trusted him, that had never had to care for her own hair. And she'd been all alone.

He threw the thin blankets off of him, and headed for the cells, careful not to wake Gaius in the process.

He carried with him a tray of bread with cheese and a large carafe of water, to grant him a way in. Morgana didn't say a word as he let himself into the cage, setting the food down in front of her. Merlin moved slowly, letting his magic be a comfort as he held it at the ends of his fingertips. For a moment, he almost smiled picturing Arthur scolding him for disobeying his orders later, for getting too close to Morgana without him near.

It mattered very little right then. All inhibitions crumbled under the weight of his curiosity, as a thousand questions raged inside his head, one winning over all others. For the sake of the girl that had had no one to brush her hair for years, for the sake of the girl for which there was no one left to care, Merlin would try to understand what it felt like.

Morgana didn't take the food. It stayed untouched at her feet, as her eyes bore into Merlin. A small act of defiance, a speck of control withheld in a powerless existence. Merlin wouldn't take it from her by forcing her to answer his questions.

"I'm sorry." He whispered before he left, because Morgana had caused suffering and deserved to suffer in return, but just suffering is still suffering, and Merlin couldn't pretend it wasn't.

He heard the guards lock the door, but no sound of chains rattling that would signal Morgana had moved at all.

.

Arthur wondered if he would ever sleep again. He wanted to scream, and cry, and fight. He wanted to see Morgana executed and he wanted his friend back. He wanted peace, he wanted revenge. He wanted to sleep.

Merlin found him staring at the ceiling instead. The servant entered the chambers in the dead of night with an inquisitive look, standing in front of the door silently. Arthur regretted having no answers for him, not about anything. Sitting up, he gestured to the other side of the bed.

"Sit with me, will you?"

He couldn't contain a sigh of relief when the servant obliged, saving him from having to be alone with his thoughts a second longer. Merlin sat gingerly at the edge of the bed, only half turned towards him. Arthur wasn't quite pleased with that, so he moved to sit next to Merlin, side to side, suppressing a shiver as his bare feet touched the cold stone.

"I want you by my side, tomorrow, when I pass her sentence." The King said.

There was a slight falter in the warlock's expression, a soft pinch of his brows, a darkening of his eyes. It was something he would've ignored before, and come to regret it afterwards. He knew better now.

"What is it?" He asked.

"It's just... I- I don't understand. She's too powerful to be captured by any common witchfinder."

"You think she's planning something?"

Merlin was doing that thing with his lips he always did when he was troubled, or stumped by something. He used to see it when he would write his speeches, sometimes on the table, but sometimes on the floor, as he said he found it comfortable. It wasn't as endearing now, but rather deeply worrying.

"No, it's not that. When I reached out, the absence of magic... It was like nothing I've ever felt before. It was terrifying. She'd never agree to that."

"The witchfinder said he found her east of Essetir, took her by surprise." The king offered.

Merlin shook his head. "No way."

His knuckles were turning white where he'd gripped the bedding, his back straight and tense.

"Give me some time, to get answers." He blurted out.

Arthur shifted. "You can't ask me this! She is an enemy of Camelot. A dangerous one at that. You know what has to be done." He defended.

"I know, Arthur, I know. I know how hard it is for you, truly, I understand. I'm only asking for some time. A few days, until I understand."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair.

"She's never going to answer any of your questions."

He sighed. "I know."

"She betrayed me, Merlin." He breathed out, feeling a familiar swirling in his belly. The guilt in Merlin's eyes as he looked away only made it worse.

He trusted Merlin, he did. But he'd trusted Morgana once, too. He'd trusted Agravaine, and Gwen, and Lancelot. They'd all betrayed him, and still Arthur trusted, unwilling to learn from his mistakes.

Stubbornly, he trusted Merlin, even when his mind reminded him insistently that all he knew of him was what he let him know, that he'd already betrayed him once, that he was a sorcerer.

And he knew that, maybe, that was to be his undoing, but somehow the prospect felt less frightening than that of being without him. Maybe, he realized in a moment of terror, it didn't matter if Merlin was trustworthy, because, more than anything, he needed him.

Him, and only him, Arthur could not afford to lose. If he could, he'd hold onto him with all his might, sink claws into him so he could keep him and never let go, just so that he'd never have to watch him turn his back and leave.

But he couldn't, so he agreed with a heavy "alright", because he knew it was not his hands that would keep him.

Merlin looked at him again, something white hot and fierce in his eyes, that made every hair in the King's body stand.

"I am devoted to you, Arthur." He said.

He spoke his name like a promise, slow and clear. No one else called him by his name anymore, but Merlin did. He thought of how it sounded so right, so perfect, only ever coming from Merlin's mouth. It was a promise made to him, not to the crown, or to Camelot.

"And I to you." He answered.

It wasn't a King pledging devotion to a servant, not right then. It was a man, only then starting to realize what it was that mattered most to him.

"Stay with me, tonight." He pleaded

"Of course." The answer came easily.

Arthur laid back down on the left side of the bed. It was funny how he'd always done that, as if the right was reserved for someone else. After Gwen had left, it had been jarring, to wake to cold sheets, but he never migrated to the middle, always saving the space for someone that had yet to walk into his life.

Now Merlin sat on the right, at the very edge of the bed, back straight. He'd stay like that all night, Arthur knew, just because he'd asked. He saw the small and pathetic part of him, the one that despised the loneliness.

"Not like this." Arthur complained. Merlin looked confused, insecure for a moment as he got up off the bed.

"Lie with me."

Reluctantly, and after a few seconds of staring to make sure Arthur meant it, he did as he was told. He kicked of his boots, folding his jacket neatly on the nightstand. He laid on the left, eyes to the ceiling, hands folded over his stomach.

It wasn't something new, for the pair to lay side to side. It was easy, comfortable, like all the times they laid their bedrolls alongside one another or huddled for warmth on the forest floor, even if sharing the royal bed caused a part of Arthur to come to life.

He could barely hear Merlin's breath at first, as if he tried to make no noise at all, to be as unobtrusive as possible. Something about that made Arthur cringe, a wave of guilt reminding him he had no right to seek comfort in his servant, didn't deserve it anyway. He watched his chest move up and down, and all he could see was the point of his sword pressed into it.

When Merlin turned to look at him, Arthur felt paralyzed. His breath got caught in his throat, any words faded away.

The concern in the warlock's eyes was so, so sweet. "Are you breathing?" He asked, low and teasing, with a hint of genuine worry.

Arthur nodded, even if it was pretty much a lie.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asked softly, turning on his side, eyes running over the King's body.

I need you, Arthur wanted to say. I need you to hold me because I'm terrified, and useless, and so, so tired, and I can only breathe when you are near. But he could never ask that of him.

"You don't have to stay." He said instead.

He should've known better than to think he'd ever have to ask. Merlin understood all on his own. He shifted closer, laying on his back again. A hand reached out, and Arthur felt long fingers card through his hair, soft and soothing. It was a care he was unaccustomed to, entirely foreign to him. It was too affectionate, too intimate. It was everything he'd lacked.

He reached out with his own hand, to feel Merlin's heart, just to make sure it was real, that it wasn't some dream to be awakened from. He felt it then, beneath his palm, a racing beat, a gentle drumming that told him that maybe, just maybe, Merlin felt as he did.

Feeling braver than ever, and just as pathetic, Arthur shifted closer, curling slightly into the other's chest. Nothing happened for a moment, but then a lean arm wrapped around his shoulders, as the other cradled his hair. He could hear Merlin's heart beat even faster, as the King hid away from the world within his embrace. It shouldn't have felt so correct, so safe, to be in the arms of a man that had a million reasons to want him dead, but it did, as his hands moved up and down his skin so incredibly gently. No one had been this gentle with him before. No one had held him like that, made him feel so desperate, and safe at the same time, made him want so terribly.

Arthur nearly hated it.

Merlin smelled of earth and citrus, and his breath was hot where it fell on top of his hair. It took everything in Arthur not to tilt his head up to kiss him. He tried to move closer to him instead, refusing to let any part of him be without Merlin's warmth.

For the first time in many months, Arthur had a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Merlin woke with the dawn. Arthur's leg curled over Merlin's, warm and unmovable as it kept him from shifting. He slept on his back, head lolling to the side as his arm draped over Merlin's own in a loose hold. His mouth was the tiniest bit open, his hair ruffled. For all his pathetic yearning, Merlin had never dared to imagine Arthur so close, so vulnerable. He didn't think he was allowed.

He traced his features with his eyes. He’d rather not feel the fragile perfection crumble under his fingertips. And it was perfect. Arthur looked youthful, in sleep. Sweet. His cheeks seemed fuller, his lips pinker. Merlin wished he could kiss his temple, his smile as he stretched away the sleep. He wished he didn't already know that this would be one of the things that would go unspoken, buried beneath their titles and their fears. He wished that just this once, a good thing wouldn't have to be taken away from him.

He nearly prayed. Arthur's hair moved with his breath, and Merlin nearly gave in. He stopped himself. He chased away the need with thoughts of the mundane, pondering what excuse would save him from having to witness the pity in the old physician's face were him to tell him the truth, and what he'd bring with him when he went to gather herbs. It helped, in a way.

He allowed himself one final moment of peace, a cowards act of bravery, as he traced the stubble on Arthur's jaw with his knuckle. I love you, it meant.

Arthur didn't wake as Merlin untangled himself from him. Maybe it was for the best, so Merlin wouldn't have to watch him stumble over his words and clear his throat, trying to find an excuse.

He returned with breakfast, setting it quietly on the table without waking him. It was his duty to do so, ordinarily, but Merlin thought he could use the rest. And the space, once he woke.

The search for the herbs Gaius had asked was easy, and Merlin returned to Camelot with a full basket. He hadn't told the old man that Arthur knew, yet, and he hoped a job well done would be incentive enough for him to go easy on the lecturing.

In the end, there was no grand lecture and wagging fingers. Gaius hugged him firmly, and promised he was proud of him. He didn't complain when Merlin used magic to boil the water and clean up after their meal, for once, so Merlin believed him. He was too mistrusting, the warlock had thought before, but now it seemed he trusted Arthur enough to allow him to risk getting caught. It was quite refreshing.

Later that day, he headed to the dungeons. The expression in Arthur's face as he'd asked to stand by him when he ordered Morgana executed haunted him, reminded him that she was his sister in more than blood. Executing her would shatter him, he was certain of it.

A part of him knew was wishful thinking, but another part shouted louder, promised him that if only he got the answers he sought, he could save Arthur the pain. Irrationally he held onto the hope that the answers could wipe his hands clean too, undo his wrongdoings, somehow, or make up for them. It was stupid to hope, undoubtedly, but as long as he felt the ghost of a rogue strand of golden tickling his chin, he couldn't help it.

His visit to Morgana proved unfruitful in the end, so he left, went to Gwaine's chambers instead, right as the last hues of purple gave way to the dark. The knight opened the door with the characteristic annoyance at having been disturbed and an undone tunic, but then flashed a huge grin as he realized it was Merlin.

"Ah! Just the man I wanted to see." He exclaimed.

"Why is that?" Merlin asked suspiciously.

"I always want to see you." He said, leaning against the doorframe.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I believe I owe you a round at the tavern." He said, putting on his most seductive smile. Not that Gwaine needed much convincing. He followed Merlin out the door without another word.

"Tell me a story." He prompted once they were sat at a table.

They'd always shared their stories with eachother, trading anecdotes no one else cared to hear back and forth, rediscovering parts of themselves they'd long forgotten as they did. Gwaine had carried the bulk of the conversation, of course, with his extravagant tales that Merlin would think were fake, if he didn't have the scars to prove them. Merlin shared less, most stories he deemed interesting containing more than a few counts of treason.

He now had about a hundred stories he could not wait to share. He smiled as they flashed through his mind all at once.

"Anything for you, sir Knight." He grinned, suddenly knowing exactly what memory he wanted to share.

"So, remember I've told you about my friend Will? Well he and I were inseparable when I was in Ealdor. We were the outcasts, the troublemakers, no one really took us too seriously, so we kind of got away with a lot because no one paid any mind to us, right?"

The barmaid set down their drinks, and Merlin thanked her, swallowing down a good amount of his before continuing. The drunks around them shouted something, then broke into excessively loud, and out of key, song.

"Anyway. One day Will caught me using my magic to clean out the chicken coop -and I was terrified, because up until then no one else knew- but he was great, he kept my secret and all. But since he knew, I started using it more when it was just us." He continued.

"So, there was this miserable old guy in the village, that used to make everyone's life hell, and one time he called Will a bastard, so for an entire year I made sure that he stepped in shit, every single day, multiple times a day if he was being extra awful. It was Will's idea, of course, and no one ever knew. Old man went crazy blaming other people's animals, putting up fences and stuff. It was hilarious. It was our little secret, and even when we got in fights over stupid things, we would always meet up at least once a day to watch old man Simmons step in shit."

Gwaine laughed. It was a genuine laugh, the kind that made everything seem lighter. "I'd quite like to meet this Will. I think I'd like him." He said.

He could picture it, two trouble makers with a kind heart and a love for chaos on either side of him, laughing. He brought to mind specifically the ugly laugh Will refused to stifle always, and Gwaine's wheezing sound he so adored. It made his heart ache.

"I know you would. You remind me of him, sometimes."

"Sounds like a compliment." The Knight smiled, raising his cup. "To Will, then."

"To Will." Merlin agreed, meeting his cup with his own. They both drunk.

"You know, you were my first real friend." Gwaine said after a moment.

He smiled as he told him, a warm and sad upturn of the lips that made him look like the young man he'd met all those years ago. "You're the only friend I've got." He'd told him once. Now he watched him with the other Knights, how they fought in perfect synchrony and bickered like a married couple afterwards, his heart swelling with pride.

"An honor." Merlin bowed overdramatically.

Gwaine scoffed. "Yeah, yeah." He made an indecipherable gesture. "Anyway, when I first met you I thought what an odd bloke."

"Thanks." Merlin scowled.

"No, it's a good thing." The Knight chuckled.

"It would be, for you." He joked.

Gwaine's laughed. "Anyway, the point is, after a while I kinda figured out the reason for that. I wasn't sure, but you know... I had my suspicions."

"You never said."

"It didn't change anything. Besides, I wanted you to tell me."

"You know why I didn't, right?"

"Camelot. Dangerous. I get it." He frowned.

"For you, Gwaine." He clarified. Gwaine looked taken aback.

"I trust you, completely. But I'd be putting you in danger just by association. If I ever got exposed, I couldn't risk taking you down with me." Merlin explained.

"You know I'd go down with you anyway."

"I was kinda hoping you would be too mad at me for lying to you for that." Merlin shrugged.

"I wouldn't be. I'm not." Gwaine replied, almost offended.

"I know. Good thing it didn't come to that, then."

He accepted that with a shrug. "Did anyone else know?" He asked.

"Gaius. And Lancelot. We killed that Griffin together."

It was a story often retold amongst the Knights, and Gwaine had heard Arthur's version a million times already. It was one of the stories he didn't mind relinquishing the credit for, because it told the truth. Lancelot really was the hero of that one, and Merlin's assistance didn't take away from that. The look in Gwaine's face told him he disagreed.

"How many times has a victory of ours been owed to you all along?" The Knight asked as he leaned back on his chair.

"Most of them?" Merlin laughed.

"Not mine though, right?"

"No of course not. Your losses are all yours."

"I don't lose."

"You lost to Percival quite a lot last time, as I recall."

"He's a monster of a man. And I had a headache from the ale."

"No, you didn't. The drink I gave you was enchanted." Merlin smirked.

Gwaine laughed and slapped the table. "I knew it!"

Merlin pretended that wasn't terrifying.

"They should build you a statue." The Knight decided.

"I'll ask Arthur."

"Ask for unlimited wine, too."

Merlin flashed him a cheeky smile. "I might not have to."

Looking around to make sure everyone else was too preoccupied with their own drink to pay attention to them, he closed his eyes and mouthed an incantation.

Gwaine's eyes were alight with awe as he examined his now once again full cup.

"How's it work?" He asked, bright and curious. No one else had asked him that before.

"I don't actually have magic, exactly. It's more like I am magic. Using it... It feels correct, necessary. Like breathing." He explained. "Everything is magic. I take it and give it shape, or direct it. The tart was all my magic. The wine I summoned from the barrels."

"Incredible." He whispered.

"It really is."

He'd never been allowed to express that, before. In his wildest dreams, his friends offered him forgiveness. He hadn't dared hoped for such effortless acceptance, admiration even. All at once, Merlin was overwhelmed by a need to tell Gwaine about every amazing thing he could do, every petty revenge taken and every day made by his magic. He wanted to show him the mundane side of it, the beauty in it. Even more than that, he wanted to discover it himself, to remember what it felt like not to fear his magic.

"I'm so glad you know, Gwaine." He sighed.

Finishing off his drink, Gwaine smiled. "As am I, my friend."

.

Merlin picked up Arthur's dinner from the kitchens, feeling the glee of time spent with Gwaine dissipate into nervousness.

"Merlin." Arthur acknowledged as soon as he walked in.

"Sire."

"I'm sorry. For last night. It won't happen again." He was cold again, Kingly.

"Right."

Merlin wasn't too hurt by that. It was what he expected, the only thing that could happen. Anything more than a night of weakness carried far too many expectations, became too painful.

He set down the tray, and left the chambers quickly.

When he returned, the food remained untouched, and Arthur sat at his desk, papers scattered all around him. He was focused on something he was writing, absorbed enough to startle when Merlin entered.

"Do you want me to bring you something else?" He asked.

"What? No, no." He muttered quickly.

"Do you need anything?" He asked again, awkwardly tapping his fingers against his thigh.

"You're free to go."

Merlin did. He returned the next morning, to find the king still at his desk, fast asleep over some yellowed parchment. It brought another image to mind, one from several years ago. He'd found him just like that, face full of stew and laughed, poked fun at him until he'd turned red at the cheeks. He missed their bickering, missed how easy things used to be.

"Sire?" He spoke softly. Arthur shot up as if the desk had burned him.

"What are you working on?" Merlin asked. He wouldn't admit he found the way Arthur looked completely lost for a few seconds, looking around with swollen cheeks adorable, but he couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"I've been going over the peace treaties, trying to figure out how to go about repealing the magic ban." He said, voice thick with sleep. He rubbed at his eyes, straightening out the papers in front of him.

"You're repealing the ban." Merlin repeated, tearing up.

He hadn't dared ask Arthur about it yet. He'd known that it would happen, eventually, but Merlin had always imagined it would be due to an important alliance, or a life-changing event. He hadn't thought it would ever be so simple, spoken with a shrug as if it didn't mean the end to the brutal hunting of his kind.

"I am." The King confirmed, and Merlin sucked in a breath.

The relief crashed into him like a tsunami, making his knees buckle. "Thank you, sire." He said, and his voice broke. "Th-"

"Don't." Arthur cut him off. His shoulders hung low. "I should've done it long ago."

Merlin scoffed and wiped his eyes. "Oh, stop with the whining." He exclaimed. "You're doing an amazing thing, Arthur. This... This means everything. Truly."

Arthur's mouth opened to protest at once, but he fell silent again.

" I am not whining." He grumbled at last.

Merlin's heart could have exploded. There he was, the Arthur he knew, the Arthur he loved. He grinned hugely.

.

Merlin and Arthur went through too many documents that day. Merlin offered his counsel where he could, and for once, Arthur listened. They took a break in the afternoon, when Arthur headed to the training grounds and Merlin to the dungeons.

He brought the guards he now knew by name some sweets this time. He pretended not to hear when Thomas expressed concern over the King's orders that granted him free access.

Morgana was sitting where she always was, looking even paler than before. The uneaten food grew mold to the side. Merlin still offered her a tart.

Looking away from her, so his eyes were hidden, he mouthed a spell that insured Thomas and Matthias could not hear them, nor notice anything out of order.

"Arthur is repealing the ban on magic." He said.

Maybe it was cruel to snatch away her purpose in a moment like this. He imagined that, without it, Morgana didn't have much left. Still, he told her, because he needed her to understand she didn't have to fight anymore.

"He wouldn't." She spat immediately.

"You're wrong about him. He's going to do the right thing." Merlin insisted.

Morgana shifted, eyes wild. The warlock had no idea what to make of it. In the moment, she looked dangerously fragile, moments away from shattering. Her mouth opened and closed, she struggled with the chains.

"You stupid boy." She muttered, and she laughed, briefly, but it was different, all twisted and dark. His mind slipped, told him his Morgana didn't laugh like that, but that was wrong, wasn't it? This was his Morgana. His responsibility, his creation, his fault.

His destiny hanged like a ball chain around his neck at moments like those. He should've known better than to think he could escape it, known better than to lose himself in his efforts. It had taken him a long time to understand that his actions were meaningless, in the grant scheme of things. Now, he decided, that if they were to be meaningless, they would at least be kind.

He breathed in deeply, and did what he should've done all those years ago. Kneeling in front of Morgana, he called her name and made his eyes glow.

The gold couldn't have faded from his eyes when Morgana lunged, icy fury turning her into a vicious animal. She pounced with her fists, weak and useless against Merlin, but unrelenting.

"It's you!" She screamed. Merlin didn't know what that meant. He pushed her off too easily, left her panting on the ground as he stood above her.

"Morgana..."

"Emrys. You are Emrys. It's been you all along." She said, fear washing over her features as Merlin's eyes flashed gold once again. He'd put up a barrier, an invisible wall, in a way, to keep her from attacking again.

She retreated, her back pressing against the wall as chains rattled. There was no need for them, in the cell. As long as the cuffs remained, there was no need for the chains that connected them. She wore them anyway.

"I'm sorry." Merlin said, struggling to catch his own breath, leaning against the metal bars.

"I know you to be my doom, so get on with it." She spat.

He shook his head. "I won't do that."

"You're a coward." She accused.

"And you're a power-hungry maniac that slaughtered innocents. We all have our flaws."

She tried to attack again. Merlin's magic held her back.

"Now that magic is safe, what do you have to fight against?" Merlin asked. He was coming off quite desperate, he knew, but that didn't matter.

Morgana growled. "Not against, for."

"For?"

"For those that have been hurt at the hands of those that despise magic." She said, her voice going higher, turning into a cry.

And just like that, Merlin understood. He remembered seeing that look on Morgana once before, when she'd put her life on the line for a young druid boy. It was the same fierce protectiveness she wore now, and Merlin knew it could only be for one being.

"Aithusa is safe." He said.

Morgana crumbled. Merlin almost thought he could make out the glisten of a tear.

"Where." She demanded.

"With the Great Dragon. Free to go anywhere."

She nodded shakily, genuine relief washing over her.

"You were protecting her. That's how you got captured." The warlock spoke as the thought came to him, more certain than he'd felt about anything in a long time.

"I traded my freedom for hers."

Suddenly, Morgana looked more like the friend he'd lost.

"Please, eat." He said, offering the tart to her again. For the first time in three days, the High Priestess accepted. With a softly spoken spell, the hideous metal collar she wore fell to the floor. He couldn't take it all off, couldn't risk it just yet, but it felt like a small step in the right direction.

"I want to see her again." Said Morgana.

Merlin knew better than to make a promise he couldn't keep. Her crimes were too great for that.

"I know." He whispered instead, and left the cell.

Chapter Text

"Father is going to be mad!" Arthur complained.

Morgana giggled. "We won't tell him. Come on!" She urged, giving him a smile of pure mischief.

Arthur looked around him nervously. The door to the armory was open, it's creaking sound as the breeze moved it echoing throughout the corridors. Morgana nodded to it excitedly, already tucking her long hair into the neckline of her dress, to keep it out of the way.

"Fine. Before the guards come through." Arthur agreed, like he always did.

The little room smelled quite bad, the Prince noticed. It was where the Knights kept their equipment when they weren't using it. Morgana picked up two swords from a pile, and handed one to Arthur.

He'd held real swords before, but only briefly, when his father would ask him to fetch him his own, or when Gregory, his favourite guard, had allowed him to see his, upon Arthur's request. The latter incident had resorted to a cut down his arm, and never seeing Gregory again.

Real swords were heavier that the wooden ones Arthur trained with, and much longer. He resisted swinging it in the tight space, instead gripping Morgana by her wrist and running until they reached the girl's chambers. They giggled all the way there, as they eluded the guards and servants that would tell on them.

Once the door was closed, Arthur wasted no time testing the sword, swinging it wildly, trying to repeat the movements he'd perfected with the wooden swords. Morgana quickly positioned herself next to him, and tried to mimick his moves.

Every time she failed, she tried again, ignoring the Prince's small laughs each time she dropped her sword.

"It's not fair! I want to learn how to fight!" She cried after what must've been the sixth or seventh time she dropped the sword.

"Why don't you?" Asked Arthur, genuinely confused.

"Uther won't let me." She scowled.

"Oh."

The boy considered for a moment.

"Don't worry, Morgana. You won't have to fight. I'll protect you." He promised.

.

Morgana looked, simply put, terrible. Her eyes were sunken in and her skin pale, the dark shreds of fabric she dressed in dirty, her hair tangled and rough-looking. It was such an unimportant aspect of her transition into a stranger, the loss of her beauty, but Arthur just couldn't get past it. It was the physicality of it, he supposed, the visual manifestation of the shift of her soul.

Morgana didn't look like the girl he'd grown up with, because she wasn't. She couldn't be, because the girl he'd known, stubborn, righteous, kind, couldn't have borne to see innocents slaughtered for her own gain. She would have never watched them die with something closer to satisfaction rather than disgust in her eyes. Arthur couldn't forget it, the look of mad hatred in her eyes as she'd sat upon the throne and pretended she couldn't hear the screams.

Morgana was entirely different, evil. He was sure of it, until he looked at her a little more carefully, and he noticed her lip twitch in the way it always used to, her hands folding over each other exactly like before. He imagined the High Priestess driven mad by her hunger for power willingly giving it up for a wounded creature, and his world collapsed.

Mourning a loss became considerably harder, when the person was not quite gone. How could he sentence her to death, when he'd be killing the kind girl he knew at the same time?

"Cat got your tongue, brother?" The witch taunted.

Arthur went tense. "Why do you hate me so, Morgana?"

"You've the audacity to ask that? After taking a stand against magic at every turn?"

Not every turn, Arthur thought. He'd gotten it right at least once.

"I would've stood by your side, if you'd told me." He said weakly.

"I would have to be a fool to trust you after all you'd done." She responded, stone cold.

"I'm not Uther!" He almost yelled. "I- I tried to do better, sometimes. I never-" His words were interrupted by a frustrated grunt. "I'm going to repeal the ban." He said at last, watching for Morgana's reaction through the bars.

"Is that so?" She asked, leaning forward. A challenge. "Then take off the cuffs. Let me show you how powerful magic really is, what it can do to a person, with just one little touch."

She dragged out the last part, a cruel smile on her lips. For a moment, the King thought she could read his mind, had seen the nightmares in which Merlin stroked his cheek as he drove a knife through his heart, over and over again, until he woke.

"No."

"Why not? Show me that you won't go back to trying to eradicate it as soon as you realize you're powerless against it. Prove to me you're not afraid of it."

"I don't have to prove anything to you. You're an enemy of Camelot, magic or not."

"I wouldn't be, if Camelot wasn't an enemy of me." She said, defensive, but she meant it.

"If you got the chance, would you prove that? Would you give up your claim on the throne?" Arthur asked.

"Does it matter? You're still going to execute me."

"It matters."

Morgana looked him straight in the eyes.

"No."

The thing is, when they were younger, they'd heard someone say that if you mean to lie to someone, you must do it while looking them in the eye, so they don't suspect it. They'd both taken to doing that, but they'd developed different tells in the process. Arthur furrowed his brows after. Morgana would stop her breathing, too focused on not breaking eye contact and appearing nervous.

Morgana was holding her breath now.

Arthur nodded.

"Good to know."

.

The king sought out Merlin. He found him in the armory, polishing some armour while Gwaine kept him company.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Gwaine smiled when he greeted him, and so did Merlin. It was a shy, guarded thing, but Arthur only had himself to blame for that.

"May I borrow him?" He asked the knight, who was leaning back on a chair as he rested his feet on the table Merlin was using.

He waited for confirmation from Merlin that it was okay, before standing up with an exaggerated grunt and leaving them. He clapped Arthur on the shoulder as he did. This time, it felt like a compliment.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asked, already on his feet.

"Nothing's wrong. I have a favor to ask of you."

"Ask away."

"I want you to show me how powerful you are."

Merlin stilled. "Why?"

"I'm curious is all."

The warlock raised an eyebrow in a way that would have had him swearing he and Gaius were related if he didn't know.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin. What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know." The king admitted.

"What's this about?" It was almost an accusation.

"Nothing. Forget it." Said Arthur, more annoyed than he would've liked.

"If there's something you want me to do, I can certainly try." Said the warlock, clearly not willing to just let it go.

"No. Just- leave it."

Merlin raised his hands in exasperation.

"I'm going to call a roundtable meeting this evening to announce the repeal." Arthur declared, awkwardly changing the subject.

Merlin accepted that with only mild annoyance.

"I'll let them know." He said.

"There will be a seat saved for you."

Merlin looked at him in alarm.

"The court won't like that." He pointed out.

"I'm the King, Merlin. I think sometimes you forget I rule this Kingdom. If I want you to have a seat at the roundtable, you shall."

"Forgive me, your majesty, for not wanting to see Camelot in disarray over a servant seating at a table." He said bitterly.

"Then you wont be a servant. I hereby bid you, Merlin of Ealdor, court sorcerer and esteemed advisor on all matters of magic." He said, waving his arms wide.

Merlin frowned. "I want to serve you, Arthur."

"I need someone to guide me on matters of sorcery a lot more than I need someone to wash my socks."

"I think you underestimate how badly your socks need washing." He said, flashing a timid grin. It was almost familiar.

Arthur chose to ignore the jab. "It'll be just the Knights and Gaius today. None of my father's advisors, for starts. We can start small." He prompted.

Merlin looked to the ceiling as he considered. After what felt like minutes of only small puffs and huffs from a torn Merlin, he agreed.

"Fine."

Arthur smiled, feeling a greater sense of accomplishment than he'd felt in a long time. He could picture it, Merlin in tailored dress shirts, respected and free. It healed something in him, to know that he could finally do something for Merlin in return.

Smiling back, annoyingly adorably, Merlin pointedly ignored the half-clean armour in front of him, and shrugged.

"Not your servant anymore, right?"

"Right. Might get someone at least half competent this time."

"What's the fun in that?" Merlin teased.

"You think you're fun? The stress you cause me has aged me a good ten years."

Merlin nodded in mock understanding. "Yes, it's unfortunate. You can really tell."

Arthur failed to come up with a witty response. He left and slammed the door behind him instead, but there was a quirk to his lip as he did.

.

The seat Arthur had kept for him was directly oppositional to his. Merlin sat in between Gwaine and Leon, while Elyan, Percival, and Gaius occupied the seats next to them. Two seats remained empty, as they had for a long time, haunted by the ghosts of Camelot's disgraced lovers, the traitor Queen and Knight, his closest friends.

Merlin would give anything to have Lancelot and Guinevere there then. He missed them, day and night, when things got especially bad, but mostly on the rare occasions when something good happened. Gaius was too serious, too cautious, and Gwaine, for all his good intentions and talent for making him forget his worries, still hadn't known of Merlin's magic. So he'd kept good gossip to himself, as he did all his joys and pains. There was no one left do him to share them with.

Before, Lancelot had become so good at reading Merlin, the warlock sometimes thought the Knight was hiding a magical ability himself. He'd always be there, right before Merlin cracked, with a shitty excuse for Arthur and some food in hand, and he'd keep him company until Merlin felt light again. Sometimes, he'd join in on his antics too, a willing accomplice in Merlin's chaotic endeavors.

Gwen, for her part, had one of those smiles that felt like a warm hug even from miles away, and the oddest sense of humor that she rarely let show. Before they'd left, tears in both their eyes as Merlin screamed for them to save their love while they still could, she'd held him in a tight hug that seemed to last forever and told him she'd known, and loved him regardless.

Merlin never blamed them for leaving. He knew their love was too great for Camelot, but as Arthur called for the meeting to begin, Merlin wished it wasn't as such.

He found comfort in brown eyes just as kind and understanding as the two pairs missing, as Gwaine locked eyes with him, promising his support wordlessly. Something told him he would need it.

Arthur began by sending away the servants and ordering the doors closed. He looked at each person sat around the table separately, his look heavy and emotional. When his gaze fell on Merlin, that of others followed it, eventually all turning to catch a glimpse of the servant sat at the most important table in all of Camelot. No one had mentioned him, at first, probably because they'd been trained not to question Arthur, or maybe because they assumed he'd be gone before the meeting started.

"With this meeting, we mark the beginning of a new era. Every person at this table is an integral part of Camelot's function, and amongst the people that have my trust." He began, voice strong, properly royal.

"I have followed my father's way, so far, and have come to understand that was a mistake. I wish for my reign to bring peace, and prosperity for every citizen of Camelot. That means reforming of the system Uther put into place. This is why I have chosen each of you, to help me facilitate those changes. "

"My first step is going to be repealing the ban on magic." He declared, and then it was silent.

The setting sun graced the King with it's light, traces of golden illuminating his form, impossibly blue eyes shining as if with a light of their own. Magic accepted him, surrounding him, dubbing him then The Once and Future King.

The words lingered in the air, too slow to be absorbed. It was too great of a thing to be contained in a single moment. It stretched, and Merlin floated with it, weightless for the first time in his life.

When he came down from it, there were tears in Gaius' eyes, as he nodded proudly at Arthur. Gwaine was smiling, gentle approval in the way his lips curled and his eyes softened.

Sir Percival, druid born, looked relieved, a notion shared by sir Leon, even through his obvious surprise.

But sir Elyan, the man who shared the kindness of his sister, as well as his complete inability to hide his thoughts, he simply looked angry. He'd lost much to sorcery, in a way, Merlin knew. His father had been executed after being falsely accused, and he himself had suffered at Morgana's hand. The magical attacks against Camelot had not been limited either, and Elyan had taken more than enough hits from them. The knight was tense, obviously struggling to bite his tongue. Arthur noticed.

"Spit it out, Elyan."

"Sire, if you'll allow me. Do you not think it dangerous?"

Merlin held his breath. He knew, even if the King denied it, that he did. When he'd ask him to show him how far his power could go, he had a glint of fear in his eyes, as he traced Merlin's movements in the way he'd been taught to do in battle, so he was never blind sighted by an enemy's move. He didn't think it coincidental that the request had come right after he'd went to visit Morgana, or that he'd asked him to strengthen the wards that bound her about a million times. Merlin knew Arthur was afraid of magic, but he knew just as well that he'd begun to understand he didn't have to be.

"I have come to realize that magic has been an ally as much as it has been an enemy. As I've been told, it is but a tool in the hands of men. We should not fear the sword, but the man that wields it." He replied, with the characteristic ease of a Royal, and the confidence of someone who has full faith in his actions.

"Sir Elyan, I understand your apprehension. I know magic has caused you great suffering before. I do not blame you for fearing it, but I ask you to trust I would never do anything that would put the people of this Kingdom in danger."

Elyan remained silent.

Arthur turned his attention to rest of them. "Magic used for good should not be illegal. I have gone over the laws, and will soon announce the change to the court, as well as the people."

There was nodding, and there were questions. Arthur answered them all. Gwaine declared his support first, followed by Gaius, and then the rest of the Knights. Even Elyan, eventually, swore to trust Arthur, avoiding mentioning magic in his oath.

There was a single question gone unanswered, and it's time to be asked was then.

Leon spoke up, elegant and noble as always. "I can't help but point out that while Morgana is still under our control, the timing for such a change is questionable. What made you change your mind now, my lord?"

There it was. Merlin tried to breathe, but it proved way harder than usual.

"Merlin did."

Every single pair of eyes was trained on him, but he could only look ahead. For one blessed second, it was just him and Arthur in the too-large room, before they'd lost each other.

"I have magic. I have been using it for Camelot all this time." He said, with as much confidence as he could muster, and waited.

Gaius was the only one to speak, his voice fragile as more tears spilled.

"I'm proud of you, Arthur." He said.

Merlin was sure the physician had been deliberate in using the King's name. He didn't make a habit out of it, too respectful of rules and titles, and everything else Merlin couldn't care less about. Now, however, Gaius wasn't talking to the King. It was the boy he'd watched grow up into a man so brave, and so, so wonderful that heard the words. Merlin didn't miss the way Arthur practically melted at the praise.

The others all looked to Arthur, tense and wary, but the King only inclined his head, gaze soft as it fell on the now known traitor.

Then, Merlin felt it, a heavy hand on his shoulder.

In the brief second right before the grasp became oppressive, terror overtook him. In that tiny moment, he was transported to the courtyard, the smell of burning flesh and pine suffocating him. He froze. He'd never acted before. He'd watched, from the sidelines, and then puked until his entire body ached from it. How could he do anything now?

He waited for force that never came. The touch on his shoulder never turned to a punishing grip, never tried to drag him to the dungeons. Sir Leon was ducking down to meet his eyes, reaching out for him in a gesture of support, noble and daring. Merlin was more than surprised to see the First Knight, fiercely loyal and obedient to a fault, so eager to forgive treason. He inclined his head once, so elegantly it almost became ridiculous. He was thanking him, Merlin understood, in a haze of relief and adrenaline.

From the other side of the table, sir Percival was smiling.

"Merlin will be appointed Court Sorcerer and Advisor of all things Magic. He has served this Kingdom from the shadows for far too long, and it is time for that to change."

Swearing loyalty to Arthur had been the easiest thing he'd ever done. He bowed to him, and felt it within his bones, that it was the right thing.

Chapter Text

The counsil went on for hours. They went over the process of the repeal and the details of Merlin's responsibilities over and over again, until they were all rubbing their eyes and asking Merlin if he could magically sort everything out. Leon asked a series of questions, being unnecessarily mindful of his phrasing, so that he did not offend him, and soon the meeting that was supposed to decide the future of the entire Kingdom devolved into the Knights recounting old stories and Merlin providing the missing pieces.

He was surprised by how easy it was, by the Knights' willingness to accept their lives were owed to a servant, and a warlock at that. Even Elyan thanked him in the end, right as Arthur dismissed them.

"It was you that healed my father, was it not?" He asked, softly. Merlin nodded.

"Gwen told me the story. How you confessed when she was accused. You tried to do the right thing." Elyan reassured him.

"I didn't, in the end. I'm sorry." Merlin breathed, feeling a weight be lifted just by being allowed to finally apologize to Elyan, even if he knew it was meaningless.

"I know." He soothed. "My sister is a smart woman. And she loves you a lot. Sometimes I think more than she does me." He chuckled. "If she trusts you, I'd be a fool not to." He laid a hand on his arm as he told him. Friendly. Accepting.

"I love her too." Merlin said, his heart aching with her absence.

Gwaine interrupted, pulling Merlin into a hug.

"First round on me!" He announced, and the others cheered.

.

All but Gaius met at the tavern some time later. They were cheerful and eager to drink, ordering more than they usually would just to mess with Gwaine who quickly regretted his offer. Merlin promised to pay him back discreetly, as long as he never told Arthur he could do that.

They placed bets, and they laughed, and Merlin felt more at home than he ever had before.

Leon dragged his chair next to him at some point, tapping him on the shoulder. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, his blonde curls frizzy and messy, and he didn't seem to pay any mind to the ale Gwaine had spilled on his shirt just moments before.

"Can I tell you something?" He asked him, resting his elbows on the table, and Merlin couldn't help but smile at the extremely rare sight that was a relaxed Leon.

He didn't wait for Merlin to respond, leaning closer to the warlock and speaking in a relatively low voice. "I knew you had magic. I saw you use it to trip the slavers that attacked us on the way to Essetir some years ago. Arthur was trying to find out if it was a planned attack, and I was about to confront you, when I saw you heal Gwaine. It was that time when he was hit so hard at the back of the head that he'd had to miss training for a month. He was unconscious, and I was sure he'd have some permanent damage after that, if he even woke at all. But you healed him."

Merlin shrugged in the face of open admiration. "Yeah, well, Camelot would be bland without him."

Leon laughed, looking to Gwaine, who was flaying his arms around in exaggerated gestures as he spoke to Percival. "Thank you, for keeping us safe." He concluded.

Then, he shook his head. "Also, for someone with such a dangerous secret, you sure were pretty shit at hiding it."

Merlin snorted, drawing the attention of the others. "Sir Leon just cursed!" He announced, laughing loudly.

Leon glared at him, betrayed, and threatened the others with extra laps if they did not cease teasing him, but he still laughed with them. He should really laugh more, Merlin decided. He was always too serious, always buried under tons of responsibility and paperwork, never letting his guard down. Merlin could certainly sympathize.

"Thank you, for keeping my secret." He whispered.

"Ah, I'm not as rule-bound as you lot make me out to be. Besides, I can't think of a single person that cares for Arthur more than you do. I'd be foolish to take away our King's fiercest protector." He half-joked, but Merlin could feel his heart warming.

"You should come out with us more often." He concluded, and then was assaulted by a cleaning cloth to the face. Gwaine was laughing, feigning innocence even as Percival, Elyan and Arthur all pointed at him.

"Oh don't worry, Gwaine, you're still my favourite." He teased.

The Knight winked at him without missing a beat. "I better be."

They all laughed. Even Arthur was laughing that day, joining in with witty remarks himself every now and then, looking younger by ten years as his cheeks turned pink and his hair became ruffled. He looked beautiful.

When the time came for them to part, it was actually Arthur who paid the bill. It earned him a side hug and clap on the chest from an exceptionally joyful Gwaine, as well as cheers from the rest of them. Percival and Gwaine left together, leaning way too close to eachother, giggling like little children, while Elyan helped a quite smashed Leon back to his chambers.

Merlin went with Arthur. Back at the royal chambers, he picked up the pieces of clothing Arthur kept throwing on the floor, laughing as he went.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked, watching him in amusement.

"Well, you see, your clothes don't actually have legs, so someone has to pick them up when you throw them on the floor." He explained in a mockingly gentle tone.

Arthur threw a pillow at him. Merlin picked that up too. "You're not my servant anymore." Arthur reminded him, as he changed into a nightshirt on his own semi-successfully. With the pile of clothes in his hands and the pillow under his armpit, Merlin quickly fixed it so it sat correctly over his shoulders as he passed him.

"Have you got a new one?" Merlin asked as walked to the dresser.

"I'll find someone tomorrow. You don't need to do that."

"I know I don't need to do it." Merlin simply replied, setting down the clothes and tossing the pillow back at Arthur. He caught it.

"You don't have to be here." The King insisted, a little softer this time.

"Someone needs to take care of your Royal arseness." Merlin said, smiling at the confused face on the King.

"That's a new one." He smirked. "Not one of your best."

Merlin shrugged. "I'm out of practice."

Arthur laughed softly. Merlin moved on to gathering the discarded plates and cutlery on the silver tray.

"You don't have to do that." Arthur repeated, voice taught.

"Why do you keep saying that?" The warlock asked, examining Arthur. He sat with his hands in front of him, blushing. "Do you want me to go? I'm just gathering the tray and leaving." He muttered, confused.

"No I don't want you to leave!" The king whined, rolling his eyes as if Merlin was stupid for even suggesting it.

Merlin laughed. "How much have you drunk?"

Arthur threw a shoe at him this time. Merlin stopped it with his magic mid-air, and made it drop to the ground.

"That's cheating." The king grumbled. Merlin only grinned at him.

He decided to light the fireplace manually before he went, firstly because it was what he always did, but most importantly because he rather enjoyed the open side of Arthur, and was not in any particular hurry to lose it. As he moved through the room, Arthur watched him from where he sat on the foot of the bed, making eye contact every time Merlin turned towards him.

"Is something the matter?" He asked carefully, because even for Arthur, who made a habit out of staring at him for minutes at a time without thinking anything of it, this was getting intense.

The king fidgeted with the sheets, looking away and then back to him. "I don't want you to stay with me because you must. If you're going to be here, be here as a friend." He told him.

Merlin gave up on his task, opting instead for having the fire roar to life with a word. He sat by Arthur on the side of the bed.

"I was your friend even when I was your servant. As if you could force me to do anything." He replied jokingly.

The King's voice wavered. "Then why did you leave?"

"What?"

"That morning. After we... slept. Together. You left without waking me and avoided me all day."

"I thought that's what you'd want me to do."

"Why would I want that?" He blurted. His eyes were open and earnest, as they dipped to Merlin's lips and then shot back up to his eyes.

Merlin sat breathless. He hadn't noticed how close they were sitting, until they began to lean closer, and Arthur's breath, hot and shaky with need, landed on his skin. Arthur's hand followed it, callused fingertips tracing his cheek in the softest way.

"I need you." He whispered, low and raspy, and Merlin was lost.

He'd known for a long time there was nothing he could deny him. At the hint of desperation in the soft drag of his voice, he gave in, crashing his lips against those of the King.

When he kissed him back, it was a release so sweet Merlin could drown in it. The kiss was clumsy, dripping with urgency they both felt, as Arthur pulled Merlin closer and Merlin went, surrendering to a high unlike all others. It was tender and lustful in equal measures, as they struggled against the laws of physics, trying to meld into one.

Merlin had felt desire before, had indulged pretty maidens and handsome men a handful of times, but this, holding Arthur, getting to kiss him, this was different. It went so much further than simple want. He felt it with his entire being, every last part of him buzzing with sweet perfection.

Fire burned all around them, or maybe within him, but Merlin didn't didn't care. All he knew was Arthur, Arthur's breath in his own lungs, his hands holding him close and his heart beating loud enough to be heard.

He pulled away just to revel under Arthur's gaze, to watch him look at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the entire world. Arthur panted, eyes shining with something unmentionable, and he kissed Merlin again, as he scooted backwards onto the bed, pulling Merlin with him.

Merlin followed, positioning his knees on either side of Arthur, crouching over him, taking in the breathtaking sight that was his King so... Raw. He traced the edge of his jaw and the curves of his neck with fingers and with lips, ran fingers through soft hair, felt the beat of his heart beneath his palm. He came alive.

Arthur was breathing heavily, his lips trembling with an ask he never formed. He was beautiful.

Merlin could feel so much life flowing through him, electrifying and dizzying, and it could've been the alcohol, but Merlin knew it was just Arthur. He kissed him again, magic exploding out of him and causing him to shudder. It surrounded them as they came together, casting them both in golden light, embracing them. Arthur gasped, awe struck, and Merlin couldn't resist kissing his neck, his jaw, his forehead, his eyes. He revelled in the way Arthur surrendered to his touch, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure and emotion.

Slowly, as if hesitating to touch, Arthur reached to hold the side of the warlock's face, so devastatingly full of care. Love, even, if Merlin was feeling brave. He kissed the middle of his palm, and didn't resist when Arthur pulled him into another lingering kiss.

It was artful, their merging. They fell into a rhythm so perfect it was as if they had known it all their lives, finding flawless harmony in the way their bodies met, understanding one another in a way more intimate than they had thought possible. It was perfect, and Arthur was perfect, and for a short while, Merlin didn't feel so wrong either.

They never broke contact, even after the kisses had stopped and their breathing had evened out. They held eachother in the middle of the bed, until the candles he hadn't meant to light had gone out and they both fell asleep.

.

Arthur woke up content.

Merlin was in his arms, finally, finally, where he should be. His back was pressed firmly against Arthur's front, so incredibly warm, and he held onto the arm the King wrapped around him, even in sleep. Arthur kissed the nape of his neck, where short dark hair faded into pale skin, and felt his heart soar all over again at the mere fact he was allowed.

Being with Merlin... It wasn't what he'd anticipated. He'd expected a sudden plunging into regret so dense he'd become encased in it. He braced for it, as his lips slid from neck to shoulder, and he dangled over the edge. If he were to fall, he'd make the most of the sturdy ground before he did, he decided.

Arthur had learned to live like that, in-between moments, in the beat between the notes, in the shut-eye of a blink. So before he could feel it, the awareness of how wrong it was, he kissed the man he loved, the servant he'd raised high, the sorcerer he'd forgiven.

Then, he did it again, repulsion and guilt and everything else hideous he'd thought he'd ought to be feeling joining the dead that'd birthed them, chased away by the marvel that was Merlin's warmth in his sheets. In the moment, there was no fear, no obligations. It was just them, in the gray light of a sun not quite yet risen.

Arthur hadn't fallen. Merlin hadn't let him.

He let himself be lulled back to sleep by Merlin's breathing.

.

The next time he woke, it was to Merlin shifting in his embrace. He rolled away from him, grumbling in annoyance at the light that now filled the chambers. They hadn't really gotten around to drawing the curtains last night. It was an act so simple, so ordinary; Just a pair of lovers towing the line between sleep and wakefulness, enjoying the warmth and not wanting to give it up. It was entirely pure, refreshingly light. Arthur could get used to it.

With Merlin no longer snoozing on his arm, which had gone numb hours ago, Arthur untangled himself from the sheets and drew the curtains closed. He heard Merlin hum in appreciation without waking up, so he sneaked out of the chambers as quietly as possible.

He went to the kitchens, to grab two servings of the finest breakfast in Camelot. Merlin was too important for anything else. He picked stuff with Merlin's sweet tooth in mind, filling a silver tray with different pies and every kind of fruit, as well as some meats, some cheeses.

With the overloaded tray, he headed back to his chambers with a mission.

He could claim it was about making sure Merlin got what he deserved, but he knew well by now that it was never about what someone deserved. Frankly, he couldn't be grateful enough for that. Because Arthur, he didn't deserve Merlin. He didn't deserve his softness and his care. He never would.

But Merlin wanted him regardless. And Arthur wanted him back.

He thought of towers higher that should be possible, and maps that proved people had sailed for months across oceans, and he accepted that desire had always been the only thing that mattered. It shaped them all, guided lips and arms and swords.

It guided Arthur to walk faster.

He knew what it meant now, this ever present pressure in his chest. He knew what it needed. And he'd do anything to get it. One night, and Arthur was changed. Nothing compared to the elation of watching the skin around Merlin's eyes crinkle and his chest shake as he laughed anymore. Arthur craved it like a man addicted, and maybe he was. Maybe that was what love was.

How stupid he'd been to ever believe he hadn't loved him. He always had, he knew now. Even if the fear had smothered his love, it was there. Only now it'd risen to the surface, like driftwood in a troubled sea, with Arthur clinging on for dead life.

All the showing off, all the gifts and jokes and hurt, they made sense then. The way he always looked for him, and the way his heart skipped a beat everytime Merlin was looking at him back, it made sense. The way he wanted more than anything to see him happy, it made sense.

His desire had shaped him, all those years, only into a twisted shape, full of holes and nooks and curves Merlin would fit perfectly into. It was a wretched thing, in that way, his longing. Needy and desperate for the release of being the one to put a smile on Merlin's face, but locked away too deep to find it. It'd rotted him from the inside out since he'd met him, back when he was an even bigger prat and Merlin was innocent. Now it'd erupted, bubbling to the surface of his being, overwhelming him.

And all because Merlin had kissed him.

Back inside the chambers, Merlin sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. When Arthur pushed open the doors, he straightened his back, staring at him expectantly.

Arthur was thrown off only for a second, before he remembered why he was there. "Breakfast!" He announced.

Merlin huffed in disbelief.

"You brought me breakfast."

Arthur got his smile then, the one he'd done all of it for. He wandered if he could make it stay on his face long enough for someone to paint it. He wanted to keep it.

"Well, I haven't got a new manservant, yet." He replied.

Merlin's eyes followed him as he set down the tray on the table.

"I thought-" He began, but then he shook his head.

"What is it?" Arthur pried, taking a seat at the table.

Merlin fidgeted with his own hands. Intertwined, bony and pale, the same hands that had traced Arthur's skin just hours ago. What a marvel.

Merlin just smiled. "It's nothing."

Arthur thought he understood, anyway. It wasn't that Uther's voice in his head had quieted. He hadn't forgotten he was a king, and Merlin was a manservant, and a sorcerer at that. It was just that for the first time in his miserable life, he didn't care. Bringing Merlin breakfast wouldn't just make them a normal... anything, but he did it anyway. That was what Merlin had done to him, that very first second he touched his lips to his, and he'd taken every decaying part of him and loved it to life. He'd made everything simple. Damn titles and politics, Merlin asked do you want this? And there was not a part of Arthur that was not burning with desire as he replied Yes, Gods, yes.

Arthur had kissed him back, and everything had gone quiet. No noise, no fear. Just the thought of Yes, this is how everything's supposed to be.

"Well?" He prompted, gesturing to the food. Merlin met him at the tablle, chuckling softly to himself as he sat on the chair next to Arthur's. His hair was sticking up in every odd way, his shirt was wrinkled and his eyes were glassy with sleep. Arthur loved him.

They ate together, plucking food off of the tray with their fingers, and Merlin teased him, something about Mary and the tray he got.

In a moment of silence, when the food was almost gone, Merlin cleared his throat. "I don't know how powerful I am."

Arthur chewed a piece of sausage.

"You asked me, yesterday. The truth is I don't know. I've never had a chance to test it. If I'm being honest I was scared of more than just being discovered." He confessed.

He was scared of his own power, Arthur understood.

"But," Merlin continued. "I'd like to show you, if you'd like."

Swallowing, Arthur nodded.

"I'd like that." He said, feeling his heart speed up.

Chapter Text

Gaius pulled Merlin into a hug as soon as he stepped through the door.

"Your mother would be proud of you." He told him. "Your father too."

Merlin didn't respond. He nodded, and removed himself from Gaius arms. It was a good day. He'd cry about it tomorrow, he decided.

"Arthur offered me new quarters." He announced instead, changing the subject.

Gaius sighed. "It's only right." He said.

"I told him I want to stay here. If you don't mind."

Gaius smiled. "My boy." he whispered, so full of pride and affection.

Merlin shrugged. "I might let him get us better mattresses."

"You know the lumps are good for my back." Gaius protested.

"See, I don't think you'd know if they were bad. You've never tried anything else!" He countered.

Gaius raised his hand dismissively. He handed a cup of tea to Merlin and grabbed one for himself, smiling softly. They sat opposite of each other, on the small table that splintered on one side. It'd gotten that way when Merlin had spilled some sort of concoction on it, that stripped away the wax. Opposite of him, the door to the bottom cupboard was sealed shut forever from that time Merlin had tried to hide Gaius's birthday gift from him. Everywhere he looked, parts of his life lay etched in the wood or lost amongst the clatter. This was his home.

"Thank you." He said. He hoped Gaius knew he wasn't talking about the overbrewed tea.

Gaius raised an eyebrow, but then he softened.

"It's me who should be thanking you." He replied. "You've set us free."

Merlin couldn't stop the tears this time.

Free.

How beautiful it would be, for kids like him to grow up and not have fear embedded into every thought. For them to let flowers grow out of stone and have others call it beautiful. To be allowed to heal, to experiment, to fight on the same side as everyone else.

And he'd get to see it. He'd get to make it so.

He will make it so. Him and Arthur, together. They will be free.

"If you-" He sobbed. "If you hadn't taken me in, none of this would've happened."

Gaius began to speak, but Merlin continued.

"You've been a father to me." He choked out, sharp sobs swallowing the last word.

Gaius was crying too, now. "My boy, you did this yourself. You cared about the world enough to change it, when all I ever cared about was you. I didn't want to lose you."

Merlin had blamed him for his apathy so often, he'd forgotten that behind all the wisdom and the wrinkles, Gaius was but a man that had lost everything in the past and couldn't bear to lose anyone else. Under Uther's rule, he'd had no choice but to turn his back on magic and squeeze his eyes shut, if he were to survive. He didn't get to hide, like Merlin. It ached to think about.

"You won't." Merlin cried. Gaius reached for his hand over the table and gave it a squeeze. Merlin held onto the wrinkled and spotted hand of the man that had always tried to keep him safe.

"He loves you, Arthur." Gaius said after a while of the only sound being Merlin's soft sniffling. "He's doing this for you."

"I love him too." Merlin confessed.

"I know you do. You have, for so long."

Merlin could do nothing but nod.

"He knows." He said lamely.

"What?"

"Everything I've ever hidden from him. He knows. My magic, my feelings, he knows everything. And he doesn't hate me. Gaius, he brought me breakfast."

"I'm proud of you. Both of you." Gaius spoke through tears.

Merlin threw himself into his arms like a little child once again, and Gaius held him tight until his chest had stopped shaking.

.

Arthur loved to fight. He was good at it. His hands were made to hold a sword, his father used to say. He'd thought it a compliment, at first. Then he'd taken his first life, and the thought had soured.

After it'd happened, Leon had caught him staring at his sword, not quite brave enough to pick it up. They were still kids back then, both of them. They were friends, as close to equals as they could get. He'd stood next to him under the burning midday sun -way too bright for such a dark time- and pointed his sword at his neck, forced him to pick up his own blade to defend himself. He had Leon's sword out of his hands in seconds. His father had then congratulated him on his swordsmanship. He'd been watching from the corner the entire time. When he left, Leon had sat right on the grass, and waited until Arthur joined him.

"Do you think it's wrong?" Arthur had asked him. He didn't need to elaborate. He'd watched Leon retch in the middle of the blood soaked village, and locked eyes with him as he pretended not to see a mother flee with her kids.

"I think you're going to be a much better King than your father." He'd replied.

"Will you tell me if I'm not?"

"I vow it." The Knight in training had promised.

They'd laid in the sun for a long time that day, and when Arthur had picked up his sword again, he'd done it with Leon's words in mind.

Arthur thinks the Knight had forgotten his vow sometime during the next years. They grew up, and their friendship faded. Leon turned... Obedient. He was a good Knight, the very best, he always thought. Loyal, definitely. To Camelot and to Uther. He never spoke up against the King again.

After his father had died, Arthur thought of that day often. There was a part of him, buried under all the grief and responsibility, the part that had agreed with him then, that wished desperately Leon would come up to him like he used to, call him by his name and not his title, and tell him he believes he could be better.

Leon never did. He bowed deeply, and obeyed his orders, and stayed out of his way.

They weren't kids anymore. They were a King and his first Knight.

That night in the tavern, however, he'd seen his old friend again. Arthur didn't remember exactly what had given it away, but something about the way he spoke to him that day made him understand he'd known about Merlin's magic before him. Pissed drunk as he was, he was quite easy to read, and Arthur had caught himself studying him intently, desperately wishing some of the easy acceptance he exhibited extended to him, as well. The mead had made him just as transparent, apparently, because Leon leaned close to him at some point, bracing himself with a hand on his shoulder. I always knew you were going to be a good King he'd said just to him. And Arthur had been lost for words. Then Gwaine had started rambling on about love and death and sex, and they'd both drifted in inebriated bliss as Gwaine's statements grew more extravagant. Neither brought it up again.

Now, the two of them sparred under the early morning sun, warming their skin just like when they were kids. This was the part of fighting Arthur liked. He liked the challenge, the grace of it when his life wasn't in danger. With Leon, it became a game of skill and cunning, both of them too familiar with each other's moves for it to ever be predictable, or boring. They changed their patterns, and went against instinct and muscle memory to throw off their opponent. It was fun. Arthur loved it.

On that specific day, he beat Leon with uncharacteristic ease, which, considering the state in which he was carried to his rooms the previous night, wasn't all that surprising. He caught his breath laying on his back, blond hair sticking to his forehead as he smiled softly. Feeling brave, Arthur laid down beside him.

"Do you recall that promise you made me, after the raid?" He asked.

Leon turned towards him, examining him for a few seconds, before exhaling. "So much has changed since then. I didn't think you'd remember that." He admitted.

Arthur felt the sun on his face and through his eyelids. It was a quiet morning, the only noise to be heard that of life buzzing all around them. "I never forgot." He admitted, keeping his eyes closed. Not the raid, and not the promise. He carried them with him, equally defining moments in the back of his mind each time he made a decision.

The Knight stayed silent.

"Why didn't you keep it?" He asked after a while, voice small.

Leon shifted. "I was young when I made that vow. Naive. I thought one could just tell a king how to rule and it would matter. I know it wouldn't have been my place, now."

"It would've mattered." Arthur protested, albeit weakly.

Leon looked at him with a palm over his eyes to block the sun. "I always had faith." He said. "I waited for you to prove me right."

Arthur didn't meet his eyes. "I fear your faith was misplaced. I doubt I would've figured it out if it weren't for Merlin."

Leon didn't argue. Instead he asked "Do you love him?"

To his first ever friend, Arthur admitted the heaviest secret he'd ever held. "Yes." He whispered.

"I wandered how long it'd take." He responded, smirking.

"Was it obvious?"

Leon sighed. "Painfully so."

The rest of the Knights found them sunbathing in the middle of the training field, armor and equipment discarded in favour of feeling the sun against their skin. When they sparred again, Arthur fought with the same innocent passion he'd had as a child. He beat Leon, and Gwaine beat him. Elyan lost a bet to Percival, and for the first time in a long time, he complained to him, and not about him. Arthur didn't think he could wish for anything more.

.

A servant he didn't know drew his bath that day. He was younger than Arthur, with red-brown curly hair and green eyes. As he poured the water and carried the soaps, all Arthur could concentrate on was how unlike Merlin he was. The boy was nervous and timid, and Arthur couldn't help but recoil from his touch, for no reason other than the fact he wasn't Merlin. He missed him, he realized, after only having been apart from him for a few hours.

He tried to be kind to the boy. Kinder than he'd been to Merlin, at least. He still sent him away early, however, and finished the packing on his own.

Merlin was waiting for him at the stables. He wore that stupid neckerchief of his and the blue shirt. He smiled nervously when he saw him, and Arthur wished he could lean in to kiss him right there. Maybe he would, one day.

.

Merlin led the way. He promised a short ride, and frankly Arthur was glad for that. Merlin was nervous and fidgety, barely engaging in conversation. Sometimes, he would look back at him, and he would smile, but his eyes would be so full of grief. Arthur didn't quite understand why.

Merlin wasn't the only one that was nervous. When Merlin had asked to show him, he'd wanted to decline. It wasn't quite as easy as he'd thought to shake the fear that had been beaten into him his entire life. This wasn't the harmless sorcery he'd defended in the past. This, Merlin, was what his father had been so terrified of. A power so great it was almost infinite. It'd be terrifying to anyone.

But the one that wielded it was Merlin. So Arthur had said yes anyway.

Merlin's magic felt like... Life. Tangible and perceivable life, buzzing in a frequency that was purely Merlin. He'd felt it when they kissed, and golden ribbons of pure magic had erupted out of him, dancing above them and moving in and out of the warlock that hadn't even seemed to notice. It was frightening, yes, but also wonderful.

"What are you going to do?" Arthur asked him.

He'd halted the horses in front of a still lake. The woods faded into low and colorful vegetation around it's shore, timid flowers sprouting from in-between smooth rocks.

Merlin dismounted his horse. "I don't know." He replied.

Arthur followed suit. He didn't push any further. He removed his shoes and let the water lick at his feet. It was freezing cold, even in the middle of summer, but he didn't mind. Merlin came to stand next to him.

"Are you scared?" He asked.

Arthur hummed. "Should I be?"

Merlin examined him. "I don't know."

"Are you scared?"

"I don't know." The warlock said again. He seemed ashamed.

"Being afraid has never stopped you before." Arthur pointed out. "Try anyway."

Merlin looked at him, and his knees almost buckled. Intertwining his fingers with the warlocks, he leaned in to kiss him. Merlin pulled back.

"Don't." He breathed out, eyes downcast. "You haven't seen yet."

Arthur squeezed his hand. "It won't change anything." He told him. He was sure of it.

"You don't know that." Merlin said.

"I know you." Arthur replied.

It shocked him to find how unshakeable his trust in Merlin was. Such a short time ago he'd been so unsure, so terrified that he couldn't trust Merlin, but all of that seemed like a lifetime ago now. He knew Merlin, he was sure of it. He wasn't naive enough to believe he knows where he's been or what he's done, it was simply unimportant. Because he knew Merlin was good. He spared the animals they hunted, for gods shake. He could hold the entire universe in his palm, and Arthur wouldn't be afraid.

Merlin still pulled away.

"Alright." He mumbled. He gave Arthur a look that looked unsettlingly like an apology, and took a few steps into the water.

He flexed his palms, keeping them parallel to the lake's surface as his fingers danced. He began to speak. Softly at first, then with a force that seemed to flow through him. His voice was deep and rough, and powerful. Arthur held his breath.

The first thing that happened was that vines tickled his ankle. All around them, and as far as Arthur could see, plants perked up, became more vibrant as Merlin breathed life into them. The lake glittered, soft white light emanating from it's surface at first, reminding Arthur of the bath Merlin had drawn him. Then, it grew brighter, bursts of gold and rust and silver making the summer sun seem dull in comparison. Right in the middle of it, Merlin smiled. Arthur had to cover his eyes.

Then Merlin began to move, his arms and body swaying in fluid motions, guiding the light and transforming it, making it slither on the lake's surface and on the shore like a serpent, circling Arthur a couple of times and then shooting up towards the sky, exploding into a million glittering embers that rained down on them. They danced like snowflakes in the wind, descending slowly.

Then Merlin shouted something, and everything stopped. The noise, the movement, all frozen as if time itself had halted it's march. The embers glowed in the air, completely still. Arthur reached out, nudging one with his finger. It remained floating where Arthur moved it, glowing like metal in the sun, even though it wasn't the sun that gave it it's light. It was Merlin.

Just a long distance away, Merlin did the same, and he laughed. Arthur couldn't stop looking at him. He looked like... Everything. Like all the beauty and the mystery of the world compressed and condensed into a single person. He was so much more than a man. Finally, Arthur thought he understood. He was magic.

He wasn't sure when he'd begun to cry, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, except the gravity of Merlin, pulling him in like a flame did moths. He was running before he knew it, ice cold water inconsequential as he reached for Merlin. He pulled him into a kiss, a hand on either side of his face as he did.

Then everything came alive again. The whistle of the breeze, the ruffle of the leaves and ripples of the water. It was all restored in a single second, life vibrating all around them as glittering light washed over them. Birds cried out in the distance, and Arthur stood with Merlin, waist-deep in the water, foreheads touching as tears wet both their cheeks.

They kissed again, soft brushes of lips becaming a promise.

Arthur wanted to speak, to tell Merlin he was incredible, and the most amazing thing he'd witnessed, and he loved him, oh he loved him, but he couldn't bring his tongue to cooperate.

It was an incredible thing to witness something that should not be possible be managed so effortlessly. It changed everything, in a way. Everything he'd ever known shattered right before his eyes, and it came as no surprise that it was Merlin that had cast the stone that caused it.

It was a good thing, however. He didn't doubt that.

Merlin led him back to dry ground by the hand. Once they were out of the lake, he dried their clothes with a word.

"You're not scared." He whispered against Arthur's lips.

"I'm not." Arthur confirmed. Merlin smiled. They sat on the grass, now abnormally green, shoulders touching as they stared at the last specs of magic settle on the surface of the lake. It glowed a gold that resembled Merlin's eyes.

"Does it tire you?" He asked him. Merlin hummed in consideration.

"Not really. It's the Earth's magic. I'm just the vessel." He answered plainly. Like it wasn't the most awe inducing the King had ever come across.

"Incredible." He mumbled again, unable to stop himself. Merlin huffed a laugh.

"I could keep the crops from wilting." He thought out loud, twisting a blade of grass between his index and his thumb.

Arthur was at a loss for words.

"My father was so wrong." He said. "So was I."

It crushed into him, guilt and regret sharp as knives. It was so wrong. So, so wrong.

"You came around. Thank you." Merlin told him and planted a soft kiss on his knuckles. Arthur's hand trembled.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "For everything. I'm so sorry, Merlin."

Merlin held onto his hand, rubbing circles with his thumb.

"I forgive you."

Arthur kissed him again.

Merlin laughed softly. "Does that mean you don't regret letting a warlock into your bed?" He asked jokingly.

"Not even a little." Arthur replied, kissing his shoulder. Merlin exhaled in relief.

After some time, Arthur stood, heading for the horses. He returned with a few bundles of food in one hand and a bottle of strawberry wine in the other.

Merlin grinned. "Is this a picnic?" He asked.

"Someone once told me it was romantic."

"If you actually get to participate in the date, that is." He teased.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's all for you, this time." He said, as he laid down the different foods

"Does that make me your mistress?"

Arthur froze. He hated the thought. "It makes you my... Partner." He tried.

"Arthur..."

"Lover?"

"Arthur."

"Merlin."

"The people won't accept that." Merlin said softly, ducking down to meet his eyes.

"I don't care."

"You're a King. You need an heir. Someone that can give that to you."

"I need you." He protested.

"You have me. You can find someone-"

"I want you. I don't want to hide. If the people can accept the slaughter of their neighbors they can accept that I won't get an heir."

Merlin took the bundle of fruit from his hand gently. "Alright." He agreed.

He bit into a peach, juices running down his chin. "You can be quite sweet, you know." He said, smiling.

"Shut up." Arthur replied.

"Ah. Well, it was nice while it lasted."

Arthur stole the taste of peach from his lips. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Chapter Text

Morgana never cried.

There was no relief in something so mundane, not for her. So she planned. She fantasized about the euphoria of victory, of justice, and the ways by which she would achieve it. She thought of all that had been stolen from her, all that she will take back, and allowed rage to settle in her lungs and shimmer in her stomach. It was as much a lifeline as it was corrosive, and irrevocably a part of her.

She didn't wish to be without it. If it overpowered her, if it drove her mad, it still led her closer to victory. She was happy to let it. When the witchfinders first locked the iron chains around her wrists and dragged her away from an unconscious Aithusa, promising to be back for her after they had had their fun with Morgana, she let it consume her. It became all she was. She vowed to make every single one of the men with the twisted smiles beg for death at her feet.

She'd screamed all the way to their shelter, but her curses meant very little without the aid of magic. After they stopped, she was in too much pain to continue. The anger never left her, however. She knew then it never would.

That night, caged like an animal, all Morgana felt was the prickling, pulsing emptiness that took root within her soul. She had thought she'd be strong enough to not be made entirely powerless. She planned her escape all night.

In the morning, the men took her to a brick house too far away from any village or settlement. They kept her there for nine hellish nights, before they threw her back in the cage and loaded her onto the carriage. None of her plans worked.

They reached Camelot during the night, and she was thrown to Arthur's feet. She'd thought of a thousand ways to kill him on the way. She didn't get to try any of them. The emptiness ate away at her, little by little, agonizing and inescapable. There wasn't much of her left by the time she was thrown into the dungeons. Not even of her anger.

But then... Then Merlin had gifted it back to her. His eyes had glowed golden and she had known she was looking at Emrys. At her own doom. All along, it had been him that had kept her from getting what she was owed. Every single time it was him undoing all of her efforts, undoing her, little by little, failure by failure. Her wrath was a cataclysm, flooding every part of her as the coward that had let them all burn held her back with barely a word mumbled. Ruinous, red hot rage coursed in her veins instead of blood, but at least her heart beat.

And then Merlin had sat opposite of her and handed her some food. Aithousa is safe he'd said, and Arthur is repealing the ban. She'd felt a whole lot colder.

The ground beneath Morgana's feet had crumbled, and this was her fall. She'd always imagined Emrys as old, and vicious, and oozing with power, a god-like being whose feet don't touch the ground. She wasn't sure why. It made sense, she supposed, that it would merely be someone she'd thought a friend.

The man opposite of her was nothing like the version that resided in her nightmares. Merlin looked like he always had. Cute. Goofy. Sad. Not untouchable. And she knew him. He followed Arthur around like a lost puppy and tripped over his own feet. He was brave, for a servant, and had never been obedient, but he was still... Merlin. He couldn't have achieved what she hadn't been able to. It didn't make any sense.

Merlin- Emrys returned to her cell on what must have been her third day in Camelot, holding a bowl of cut up fruit. It made it worse that she was certain it wasn't part of some trick, and that he had prepared it himself. It drove her mad not to comprehend his reasons.

The greatest sorcerer to ever live, the agent of her death, sat across from her on the filthy cot and smiled sadly as he popped a piece of peach in his mouth. Then he placed the bowl firmly in Morgana's cuffed hands, and gestured for her to eat from it. She chose a red grape, smooth and crisp and more appetizing than anything she'd seen in months. She found it was too sweet. There was a time when that meant she would have saved them for Gwen. She could hardly remember it. When the taste of the grape faded, she chose a sour cherry.

Emrys sat crosslegged on the cot, watching her eat. His ears were even pointier than she'd remembered. She hated him. She really did. It couldn't be him that had achieved everything Morgana had given her soul to see come true. A man who chose to be soft, to be kind, couldn't have survived their game of brutality and come up the winner. A boy that smiled over a piece of fruit couldn't have been the one to liberate magic. That wasn't how it worked in that messed up world of theirs. Morgana knew that. She'd learned that.

Prey couldn't afford to be kind to the hunter and High Priestesses didn't bow down to tiny, frightened men. Those were the rules. Cruelty had never been a choice for her; Uther's blood in her veins damned her, dropped her into the front lines of a war she hadn't begun. What else could she do but make sure she won it?

She'd fought for magic. She'd fought for survival.

Merlin had called her power-hungry. Perhaps she was. When the choice came to having power or being dead, how could she not be? She had been starved of control all her life. How could she not hunger for it now that it was within reach? No one blamed a starving man for feasting. No one mourned the meat on the table.

She hadn't built this world. She only paid its price, until nothing of hers remained. Not her image, nor her mind. Not even a memory of her held fondly.

But Merlin, he was still the same. He'd managed to remain kind.

"How did you do it?" She asked, and the warlock locked those curious, sickeningly gentle eyes of his on hers.

"Did what?"

"You got everything you wanted. And you never had to spill a drop of blood."

Merlin dropped his eyes. He moved his hand slowly over the stained mattress, a sad downturn to his lips. The mold and the filth accumulated over many years disappeared beneath his palm and, briefly, Morgana wished her hands could be wiped clean just as easily.

"I've spilled blood. I'm not sure that I always had to." He replied. For a moment, he looked ancient, heavy as the sky. Perhaps Emrys had wished the same.

He straightened his back. "Arthur was the one that did it the right way." He said, eyes shining. It was something about the way he spoke his name that made her stomach churn. He worshipped him. Morgana would feel bad for him, under different circumstances. It was all wasted in her brother.

He didn't deserve praise for stopping the hunt a few years too late. "The right way" was a privilege reserved for those whose signature could change the world. People like her and Merlin only got one choice. Trying to get him to see that was a fool's errand, however. She ate another cherry.

"He would have done it for you, too." Merlin stated. And perhaps he was right. Maybe Arthur really would have, saved her all the suffering. Or maybe he would've been the one to light the pyre.

Merlin sighed at her lack of a response. She expected him to go, leave her struggling against the greediness of the void, maybe to return when it would no longer matter. But Merlin stayed. He shifted nervously for a moment, and summoned a hairbrush and a bowl of water, along with a white rug.
Morgana had never been more disturbed. It was undoubtedly the most frightening thing she'd ever witnessed. The ease with which he'd done it simply shouldn't be possible. He hadn't even used a spell. His eyes had glowed for just a second and he'd held the items in his hands. It went against every law of nature, and yet the way magic flowed through the man before her seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

The extent of his power was nearly unfathomable. The things Morgana could have done with a power such as his limitless.

He handed her the wooded hairbrush. The handle was smooth and heavy in her grip, the bristles long and dull. It looked like the one Gwen used to use to de-tangle her hair in the bath. It would be lathered in rich creams and fragrant oils then, and the brush would slide easily through shiny strands. Now, she thought the brush might break before the knots came loose.

Merlin dipped the washcloth in the water and wringed it out.

"I've made mistakes, Morgana. I failed you. Everyone did. What happened to you never should have happened. I... should have been your friend. I was wrong to let you weather their hatred alone. And you... You've been cruel, and you've caused so much pain. But we're being given a second chance. Gods know we don't deserve it, but we are. We can stop fighting now." He told her. It sounded sacred, like a vow. Morgana considered it.

Merlin inched closer, holding out the cloth, wordlessly asking for permission. For reasons she couldn't grasp, she granted it and Merlin brought it to her face, softly wiping at the skin, cleaning away the blood and the grime. He was gentle with it, more so than necessary, and it reminded Morgana of the way Gwen used to touch her. Her heart was heavy.

He cleaned her face and moved on to her hands. He wiped each hand carefully, from the forearm to the tip of her fingers. He hummed as he worked, a slow, sad melody that she felt like she'd heard before. Morgana remained still, watching the man that was destined to take her life clean the dirt from under her fingernails.

The chain knocked the bowl as Merlin moved her hand, and some water spilled on the mattress.

"Ah, sorry." He exclaimed quickly.

Morgana stared at him. "What are you doing?"

Merlin curled his palm around her own. "We were friends, before."  He replied simply.

There was a certain rawness in the way he spoke, every word hiding a serrated edge that sawed away at the walls she'd built.
She almost wished Arthur had been less merciful, or perhaps more, and killed her on the spot. The melancholy was too much, too thick. Morgana choked on it. In her exhaustion, she looked within her for the girl Merlin was talking about. The girl Gwen had loved fiercely, the girl that laughed.

There was nothing of her left. She regretted it deeply.

Merlin held up the abandoned hairbrush. "Let me help you." He said. "Turn around?"

Morgana did.

"We were friends." She confirmed. She'd been loved. She'd loved.

Merlin didn't say anything else. He began brushing her hair, starting from the ends and going slowly, as to avoid hurting her. He worked for a long time, apologizing each time he tugged a little harder, even though Morgana never complained.

And something in Morgana just... Broke. 
Morgana never cried, but she did then.

Merlin was offering forgiveness. He was offering  redemption.

She wiped away the tears with clean hands.

"A second chance?"

Merlin placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I promise."

The tears didn't stop. Merlin continued brushing her hair.

.

He returned once the night was thick, carrying a blue cloak.

"One last miraculous escape?" He asked. He was smiling.

"You'd go behind Arthur's back?"

Merlin shook his head. "I don't have to." He replied, offering his hand to help her up. Morgana stood without it, presenting her wrists.

"Once we're out of Camelot." The warlock promised. "Sorry."

They walked through the corridors side by side, passing by guards fast asleep half hanging by their chairs and face down on the ground. No one stood in their way at all. Morgana's uneven steps as she stumbled through the halls she'd walked through a thousand times echoed in too-quiet castle, and she wandered if there was anyone left awake to hear it. As Merlin stepped over a young man snoring on the steps of the front entrance, he looked back at her and smiled with a shrug.

Morgana smiled back. She remembered that smile. She held on to the offered hand to make her way down the stairs.

The first breath of cool summer air felt like the greatest blessing the Gods could give. She stood for a moment, feeling the night breeze on her skin. Hair tickled her face and she sighed, a hint of warmth returning to her.
Arthur waited for them outside the gates, wearing a commoners cloak. He held the key to the cuffs in his hand. He grabbed her wrists with none of Merlin's tenderness and wiggled the rusted piece of metal until it sunk into the lock.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked him.
Arthur's eyes were filled to the brim with emotions Morgana couldn't name. He paused his struggle with the lock.

"The guard that's in front of the gate today, he had a brother. You killed him. Along with so many others. You're far from innocent, Morgana."

How quick he was to speak of guilt as if he was exempt from it.

"So why not execute me? Why go against the will of your people?" She demanded.

Arthur sighed, and unlocked the cuffs with one final rough twist.

"Because you're my sister."

The cuffs fell to the ground, and so did Morgana.

.

She came to to Merlin kneeling in front of her, a silent question in his eyes.

"A second chance." She whispered, and Merlin nodded as he offered her a hand to stand.

She did nothing but revel in the fullness of buzzing, electrifying Life coursing within her as Magic became one with her once again, chasing away the cold and the ache and the terror. It was ecstasy. She experimented, conjuring a tiny trembling flame. It was weak, barely there, but it was real, it was magic. She laughed.

She held it in her palm the entire way.

.

Merlin was a dragon lord. It made sense, somehow. He'd explained everything to her as they walked. How it came to be, how he'd used it, about Kilgarrah and Aithusa. Arthur, for his part, had only walked a bit closer to Merlin and stayed silent.

He knew everything already, it seemed, and yet the way he looked at Merlin, it was with nothing but fierce, all-consuming adoration. She tried to remember if it had been there that entire time, and she had simply missed it. It felt like it had.
Merlin smiled softly once they'd reached their destination and turned to the sky. As he shouted to the stars, exuding such raw power that the air grew thick with it, Arthur gazed upon him with awe. In those moments, he looked like the furthest thing from his Father's son.

Morgana knew then, the war had ended.
She hadn't won it, but she was free of it anyway. She had... Survived, after all. The grass was soft and green beneath her feet, and the moon just shy of being full. The days to come had yet to be drenched in blood. Maybe they never would.

Merlin and Arthur sat on the ground, shoulder to shoulder, Merlin's knee resting on Arthur's thigh. As she watched, Arthur leaned down to whisper something in his ear, and Merlin smiled, taking his hand into his own, and slowly, tenderly leaning his head against his shoulder. They looked content.

She felt oddly proud. Loving whom they had no right to, changing the world to make it so they did, it wasn’t a revolution, but it was close enough. It was brave, and Uther would loathe it, and she found herself hoping the Fates wouldn’t take it from them.

.

Aithusa's uneven wing flapping cut through the silence soon enough. The dragon threw herself at Morgana before she'd touched the ground, wrapping her neck around her as she wept. The future was empty and terrifying, but they were together. Morgana could almost remember how to be happy.

.

Morgana got swallowed by the night sky, soaring over the mountaintops on top of the dragon's back. Merlin and Arthur stayed behind.

Sitting on the softest patch of grass, they watched the sky be painted pink and golden by the rising sun. Arthur laid his head on Merlin's lap, and the warlock traced shapes on his skin. Neither spoke for a long time.
When they did, it was about nothing, mostly. Percival and Gwaine, that girl Elyan met and couldn't stop talking about. About the stars and the sea and the creatures that lived within it. To Arthur, it all sounded like "I love you." That was what he meant, when he said he'd like to see the ocean, that was what he heard, when Merlin admitted he can't swim. I love you.
The sun rose only for them two, that day.

"I'd marry you, if I could." He said. From where he was laying, he watched Merlin's throat stretch as he laughed softly.

"I never knew you were such a romantic." He spoke gently.

"I would." He insisted.

Merlin looked down to him, stroking his jaw.
"Do you promise?" He asked.

"I promise." He replied.

Merlin brought both his palms to his mouth. Cupping them, he breathed into them. When he opened them again, he held a ball of golden string.

"This is something the druids do." He told Arthur.

He took Arthur's hand, pressing a soft kiss on his knuckles, before he tied a knot around his index finger with the string. Bending down to kiss him, he whispered against his lips.

"I'm betrothed to you, Arthur."

Arthur took the string from him, sitting up to tie the other end around Merlin's finger.

"I'm betrothed to you, Merlin." He vowed softly. He kissed him again, and he swore he could feel his soul meeting Merlin's.

The delicate string bound them, like Merlin had claimed destiny did, once. He had despised the thought then. Destiny had sat heavy on his shoulders all his life. Now, when it came to Merlin, he found he didn't mind.
They married that day, with only the Earth as their witness. They returned to Camelot together, and never separated again.

.

The announcement was made the very next day. Camelot shook with it, but it didn't crumble. The few that rose against them never succeeded. They left Camelot instead, searching for a more hateful land, and the kingdom was all the better for it. Merlin and Arthur stood side by side, partners throughout all of it. Friends stood behind them, ready to catch them when they stumbled.

They rebuilt the Kingdom hand in hand. They re-wrote the laws and renegotiated treaties. They always tried to be fair.

The people welcomed them. It took a long while, years of plentiful harvests and miraculous healings, but their hatred retreated, to be replaced by gratitude. Extravagant entertainment shows and sorcery services followed, as the fear planted in people withered and died. The druids begun to share their wisdom and sorcerers with valuable skills turned to Camelot in search of appreciation for their talents. The Kingdom thrived.

There was peace. For many, blissful years, there was peace.

The king and his warlock fought tooth and nail for it, side by side. Against the two of them, only time ever came up the winner.

Arthur Pendragon died first. His heart stopped as he lay in his lovers arms, his very last breath carrying his name.

Merlin followed soon after.

He had done his part; He had saved Magic. It did him a favour in return, it let him rest.

Merlin knew when it was time. He laid in their bed, on the right side, and listened to the world sing just to him. It bid him farewell, and then it was quiet. On a clear summer night, early enough for the castle to still be bustling with life, Magic cradled his soul as he had cradled It, and carried it to where he’d be happier, where he was always meant to be.

.

There are two stars, somewhere amongst the constellations, that have shined always, and forever will. Not many people notice them, and those who do can’t quite tell them apart, their light merging into one twinkling marvel that they gaze upon for just a second before moving on, searching for the brighter stars, the ones whose stories they already know. If their eyes linger for a moment, however, if they stop to think and they squint just right, then they wonder. They speculate, about the twin stars that seem like they are one. They make up stories and names for them, but most carry little truth. Only the poets and the lovesick ever get it right. They say they are dancing; They say they love.

They say a single lifetime wasn’t enough to contain a love like theirs. They say they don’t think infinity will be, either.