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Chapter Text

The first time Merlin had heard the phrase, he hadn't thought much of it. Granted, he had been talking to a giant dragon (after finding out that dragons still existed, or at least one did) who thought that the absolute ass Prince Arthur was his destiny, so he was thinking everything being said was full of shit, but he still didn't notice.

Was he supposed to? Everyone knew what Arthur would be one day. The prince had been born and raised under Uther's rule, and he would take the throne after his father. Arthur fought well and would defend the kingdom from any outside threats, of that Merlin was certain, but that ensured nothing about the way Arthur would rule internally. From what he had known of the man at that point, Merlin wasn't sure what he was supposed to expect that was so great. All he had seen was a spoiled brat who didn't understand what it really meant to be king.

Reflecting on his past with Arthur, Merlin smiled wryly at the thought that he could have known more than Arthur about that subject. Yes, the prince only had Uther as an example (a man who obviously did not understand it at all). Yes, Merlin had grown up at the border of Cenred's kingdom and knew what it was like to have a king that simply did not care about his people. But Arthur? Sure, things had been rocky in the beginning. The situation with Sir Valiant quickly came to mind. A man who would believe the word of one man over another due to something as shallow as status would not, could never, understand what it meant to be king.

But that had not been what had really happened, had it? He had believed Merlin at first, and, even if he lost some belief in the face of his father's opposition, Arthur had believed Merlin in the end. A life of being sheltered from the real problems by Uther made his belief only go so far, yes, that had to be it. Because Arthur had grown. He most certainly did not remain the man who Merlin had met when he first arrived in Camelot. When it came down to the needs of his people, when it came to his plan of action against his father's, he was truly willing. He truly understood what it meant to be king. And as time went on, he began to understand when things weren't so dire in the threat of death, but in the sake of decency.

Chapter Text

The next time he heard it had been a few years later.

"Do you honestly believe this was necessary, sire?" Merlin's horse, Aurelia, trotted up beside Arthur's, struggling under the weight of her burden. They had spent the previous day hunting and were halfway back before stopping for the night, choosing to continue their journey back to Camelot in the early morning. Of course, their group had been relentless in their pursuit of animals given Arthur's presence, and Merlin's horse was suffering for it. Did horses of royals really need special status over the manservant's horse?

"Quit your complaining Merlin, that horse is only carrying skin and bones. Oh, and all the game." Arthur shrugged, fighting the appearance of an upturned lip. This commentary aligned with much of the prince's routine teasing of his servant, although he still tried to explain himself. A few new knights followed behind him, and, unlike Merlin, he was attempting to make a good impression. "Winter is approaching, we need food."

"But you're the prince!" Merlin huffed. He rolled his eyes and then focused on Arthur's stomach. Arthur followed his gaze warily. "You know as well as I do the only place this meat will go is into your kitchens, and I don't think that's going to help me when I have to put your belt on."

"Merlin!" Arthur's eyes bugged out. Merlin winced at the hint of seriousness in Arthur's tone. His master was used to these kinds of comments from his so-called insufferable manservant, but these new knights were the sons of Uther's close friends. Merlin couldn't let Uther discover how they talked to one another, or he might be sacked.

"Oi!" one of the knights, Sir Rodrick, called out. The group followed a bit more closely on their horses, but remained behind Arthur, probably out of respect to his royal status. Such suck-ups. "Show some respect to your prince, boy!"

Merlin, as idiotic as he could be, turned to Arthur, perhaps for some sort of defense. The two of them had grown closer lately. Yet Arthur merely glanced back at Sirs Rodrick, Lucian, and Marcus. The grimaces that graced each of their faces made Arthur's decision.

"Just be quiet for once, Merlin," Arthur hissed to his manservant, glancing back once again. He fixed his gaze ahead, slightly picking up his horse's pace. The rest of the group followed suit.

"Of course, sire," Merlin said softly, his shoulders dropping and head bending down. He nodded first to Arthur and then to Sir Rodrick, saying in a louder voice, "I apologize, my lords."

Merlin kept his head down for the rest of the journey. After all, Arthur hadn't seemed to notice the whispers between the knights after the incident. Best to keep the situation from him lest it actually turn into a disagreement which Merlin would inherently lose from his status.

By midday, they had reached the courtyard, and a flurry of stableboys awaited their dismounting. Well, awaited Arthur's and the knights' dismounting. Merlin was already off of his horse, hurrying to walk behind Arthur after rushing to tie Aurelia to a post. The knights forced him to trail behind, and they had made it all the way to the main entrance before Arthur turned around to address them.

"Sirs Lucian, Rodrick, Marcus, thank you for joining me for the past day." Arthur gave them a smile. He turned to Sir Rodrick and nodded at him respectfully. "That family of rabbits was a most admirable catch, Rodrick."

"Thank you, my lord," Sir Rodrick replied. He bowed slightly, and, when he came out of it, stood just a bit taller among the other knights. "But I believe we can all agree on your deer being the most skilled encounter yesterday."

"I certainly don't agree," Merlin muttered, glancing worriedly at Aurelia. The mare was getting old, and he didn't like to see the stress the weight put on the poor horse's legs. Arthur's deer weighed as much as nearly half the rest of the game. The weight of all of the game was rather ridiculous for one horse, and Merlin was beginning to think Arthur had placed the entire burden on Merlin's horse as some show of dominance for Uther's men to see.

This time it was Sir Lucian who turned and glared at Merlin. He apparently deemed Merlin unworthy of being berated by speaking directly to him, however, as he turned to Arthur and said distastefully, "Your servant is incorrect, my lord. The prince's personal manservant should be more than a complete fool. Maybe he requires some discipline."

Merlin's mouth dropped open when Arthur merely chuckled. "Yes, perhaps. Merlin, I believe you need to go back and deliver the game to the kitchens, then sharpen my sword, polish my armor, draw up my bath, and fetch some lunch."

"But sire, you must attend your father's counsel in three hours!" Merlin gaped, frowning at the business of his day. Arthur would most certainly be resting from the trip while he had to work harder than normal to finish on time. "I would be lucky to finish half the jobs on that list in time!"

"Now, Merlin!" Arthur said, already walking away. Merlin sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted nothing more than to rest, and now he had to do hours of work. Alright, he may have exaggerated when he implied that he could not finish the work in that time, but that didn't mean it wouldn't be grueling work on a deadline. He was just walking down the steps when a hand on his left shoulder startled him. His eyes flew open.

"He said now, boy!" Sir Lucian growled. His fingers gripped Merlin's shoulder even tighter, and Merlin saw the knight's eyes narrow. "Maybe you just need a push to go faster."

"Wha—" Merlin gasped as the wind was knocked out of him and he tumbled down the last ten steps. He lay there for a few moments trying to regain his breath. When he finally felt he could open his eyes again, the young knights had already turned away as if nothing had happened, or perhaps as if nothing that mattered had happened.

Merlin slowly stood and brushed off his jacket, turning to the courtyard. There was nothing he would like to do more than remark on the knights' behavior, but he didn't think Arthur would approve (now that he thought about it, however, since when had that stopped him?) and Arthur's work would not do itself. Merlin instead walked toward Aurelia, ignoring the men above him in rank. While the other horses had been led away by stableboys, Merlin was left to take care of Aurelia since he wasn't nobility. This was the one difference caused by class that he didn't mind - Aurelia had been his for the past few months and he enjoyed the time he got to spend with her.

As he lifted the rabbits and deer, he grunted at the sudden weight on his shoulder. He must have bruised it when Sir Lucian pushed him. He could barely carry the dead animals to the kitchen normally, let alone with hindered breathing. This amount of meat really should require two people to carry it at minimum. Knowing he was alone and had a mountain of work ahead of him, however, he struggled to straighten his back and set off toward the kitchens.

Making his way through the halls, he noticed a multitude of servants looking at him in a manner of annoyance. Merlin, the scrawny boy he was, usually darted and dashed on his travels throughout the corridors, quickly avoiding any potential mishaps. Today, however, the heavy load in his arms slowed him considerably more than even Arthur's armor. The majority of the servants were thus forced to wait for him to pass or linger behind as he blocked their path. The only person who looked at him with any other expression was Gwen, patiently waiting with her laundry basket for Merlin to pass. She shot him a sympathetic look, but could do no more save carry on without garnering some miffed glances herself.

After a few more minutes, he reached the kitchens and handed off the meat to a cooking girl near the back. His stomach growled; between the hunting and camp setup yesterday, he hadn't had time to eat, regardless of the fact that the new knights seemed to be pigs and ate all of the stew. Still, he knew better than to try and nick food from the Chef on days such as this one. The Chef was like a hawk on days of the king's counsel with the people, wary of any peasants who might sneak in and tamper with the meals. Gazing longingly at a plate of chicken, he made his way to the armory for Arthur's sword and armor.

Two hours later, Merlin sighed for what felt like the hundredth time, another scrape sounding from the sword in his hands. His arms ached after polishing the armor, a chore which hadn't even seemed necessary. He had just cleaned it a few days before and Arthur had barely worn it since. If you were to ask anyone in the kingdom, however, they would prattle on about how everything had to be kept in perfect condition, how that sparring match two days before had involved a tumble into the dirt, hadn't it? A speck of dirt is unacceptable for royalty. All would discuss what an honor it was to serve the king-to-be. Surely Sir Rodrick and the other knights would have liked to remind Merlin of that fact. Arthur too, for that matter.

Merlin paused mid-scrape as he came to the realization. Was he really that much of an idiot? He scoffed at the idea of him and the prince ever actually being friends. A friend wouldn't turn on him at even a hint of consequences from his father, right? It had been a couple of years, however, and Arthur could usually tolerate his remarks, if not only amusedly berate him for them. He had toed the line with Uther before. That hadn't been the case today.

Uther's men, he desperately claimed on behalf of his doubtful mind, they had been why Arthur had shut him out. But they had gone hunting with knights before, Arthur's and Uther's alike. There was nothing different this time. And that was when he realized it had always been like this, hadn't it? Merlin was the servant. Perhaps his quips slid in situations that would get anyone else flogged, but Arthur had this air with other people. Not of shame of Merlin himself, but more shame of the idea of a relationship of any kind with a servant. Especially around nobles, Arthur slipped easily into the master and servant routine. And today, when he had agreed with Sir Lucian's suggestions involving discipline, that had really topped everything. Had it really all been an unattainable mirage?

A loud bang came from the entrance as the door opened and Merlin jumped, so startled that he dropped the sword. Hurrying to pick it up, he bowed his head to whoever had entered. After he set the sword back on the bench, he didn't even get the chance to glance up before he felt himself being slammed against the wall behind him.

Merlin groaned in pain, his vision turning white for a moment as he moved his arm that had been jammed behind him into the stone. He lifted his hand to his head and ran it through his hair. He gasped slightly as it returned with a sticky substance between red fingers. A possible head injury and sore fingers did not bode well for him, especially since he hadn't even had time to address whoever was in front of him.

Lifting his head, he immediately straightened his posture as Sirs Rodrick, Marcus, and Lucian surrounded him. Bowing his head, he inched slowly into the corner, hoping that perhaps it was just a bout of pent-up anger and Sir Rodrick merely wished to have the bench. As Sir Rodrick began to open his mouth, however, Merlin began to think that the knight's pent-up anger was not something to hope for.

Merlin quickly scurried through the door. The sword was sharpened enough anyways. There were bound to be repercussions for running away from a knight the way he did, but the expression on Sir Rodrick's face and hate in Sir Lucian's eyes struck a nerve in him that was worth any amount of time in the stocks to avoid.

A sigh of relief escaped Merlin's lips as the last bucket was added to the bath. The water was now steaming hot, ready for Arthur in the next few minutes, and he would only have to get Arthur's lunch and help him dress in the hour that preceded the counsel session. As Gwen had gotten a young servant boy, David, to assist with the bath, a great load of his work had been lessened. Perhaps Merlin could even catch a bite to eat.

"Are you ready for your bath, my lord?" Merlin poked his head around the column that hid the prince from view. Arthur seemed tense, on edge. The servant knew he shouldn't press any buttons — Athur absolutely despised counsel sessions with his father, seeing as they only served as a demonstration of his deference to Uther.

"Just a moment," Arthur replied, slipping his shirt off. He waved Merlin away and turned to the younger servant. "David can assist me. Merlin, go fetch my lunch, will you? I'm starving. Hurry up, you've been slow today."

Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he darted past David, turning to head to the kitchens. Of course everything would be completed more quickly since he didn't have to give Arthur his bath before getting his food, but was the comment about Merlin being slow really necessary? Though he supposed he should learn not to expect much from Arthur, obviously he would always have his air of superiority.

As he descended the last few steps in the servant's stairway by the kitchens, Merlin heard familiar voices down the hall. As he leaned his head out, he saw that, sure enough, Sirs Rodrick, Lucian, and Marcus were walking towards him with angry expressions on their faces. They must still be on the hunt for Merlin. He pulled his head back quickly, holding his breath as they approached the doorway, and, without thinking, reached for a nearby vase for balance.

A step, a touch, a quiver.

It all came crashing down just as the knights began to pass. In hindsight, perhaps the vase was not Merlin's best choice for balance. But that wasn't important right now. What was important was the three menacing knights standing before him.

"Oh, look, it's the prince's manservant." Sir Rodrick let out a humorless laugh. The anger burned in his eyes. Merlin could tell that the knight had a very strong opinion on servants getting things done quickly and perfectly. "You know, we thought that maybe you ran from us earlier to go do your chores. But it looks like you're just here lazing about."

"I'm not lazing about!" Merlin exclaimed before suddenly lowering his head. He couldn't explain why, but Sir Marcus's reaction was especially frightening. It seemed to combine Sir Rodrick's anger and Sir Lucian's superiority complex into something deeper and much worse.

"You don't think you are, then?" Sir Lucian said. He tutted at the boy and scrunched up his nose in disgust, probably thinking something about how much more intelligent knights were than servants.

Merlin slowly shook his head. Even if they were stronger than him, he wouldn't accept their comments about his job or loyalty to Arthur. He knew that he always did the best he could to accomplish his duties as manservant, but he also tried to be an even better friend and voice of guidance because he took the prophecy seriously. His dedication could not be questioned.

"Then maybe we need to teach you a lesson." It was the first time Sir Marcus had spoken, and the first time Merlin heard his anger. He had an epiphany in that moment — not only was Marcus one of Uther's knights, but his sister had been saved from bandits by Arthur himself. Sir Marcus seemed to be the most dangerous of the three, one of the most stereotypically proper knights.

Merlin forgot all of his realizations after the first punch flew at his head. He ducked and dodged, but there were three of them surrounding him in a small corner.

Fists pummeled, first aimed at his head, then his chest and his stomach. Merlin gasped after a particularly nasty blow to his ribs. He had already been dizzy before, but now half of his vision was black. Suddenly he crumpled to the ground, too woozy to attempt to stand or flee.

The knights began to kick him, Sir Marcus hitting the hardest. Merlin knew that he spoke out of turn sometimes, but did he deserve this? He flinched as he entertained one single thought: Arthur would answer with a yes.

Merlin went limp. Arthur never cared, did he? No, he had shown that today, in the presence of Uther's knights and out of it. Maybe Merlin really was in the wrong, maybe he should be punished, maybe he deserved this...

Merlin froze for a moment and then shot up with his throbbing hand clutching his head, the other around his ribs. He knew he didn't deserve this beating, Arthur wouldn't allow it on any servant. He couldn't let the knights get into his head.

The knights, shocked by their prisoner's sudden resistance, let him escape. Merlin sprinted as fast as he could, nearly making it to the counsel chambers. He knew Arthur was due there soon, if he was fast enough the knights wouldn't be able to do anything.

It was right outside the door where Sir Marcus tripped Merlin and began to pull out his sword.

"This will teach you to stay where you're told," Sir Marcus growled, moving the blade down to Merlin's ankles. Some kind of sadistic glee flashed in his eyes. "Maybe without your feet you'll learn to not run."

Merlin sucked in a deep breath and yelled as Sir Marcus began to slice through his pants into the skin. At this point, Sirs Rodrick and Lucian had caught up, but stopped, simply watching their comrade. They looked nervous, but not for Merlin — perhaps they thought Sir Marcus was going too far, but they only worried about what would happen to themselves if anyone found out they were involved. They stood silently as Merlin began to scream in pain, sobbing.

Sir Marcus covered his mouth, but it was too late.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" Arthur's voice rang out with anger and Merlin sighed in relief as Sir Marcus retracted his sword. The prince had arrived, leading a small bunch of peasants to the counsel chambers for the sessions. "Get off of that man, Sir Marcus, what are you doing to — Merlin!"

Arthur rushed forward and disarmed Sir Marcus before pushing him away, leaning over his servant. His expression instantly filled with worry which Merlin could barely see as his eyes glazed over in shock. He found it difficult to keep his eyes open.

"Merlin, are you alright?" Arthur's tone held concern as he brushed his fingers lightly on Merlin's injured legs. Merlin hissed at the contact, forcing Arthur to withdraw his hands lest he cause him any more pain. "What happened?"

"We were simply teaching him some discipline for you, my lord." Sir Marcus smirked, back on his feet next to Sirs Rodrick and Lucian. The knight stood tall with pride while his peers swayed unsurely beside him. "Of course, he tried to run, so I was ensuring that he wouldn't be able to do that again."

"You were teaching him discipline for me, were you?" Arthur slowly stood up and tilted his head. He crossed his arms and began walking slowly toward Sir Marcus. "Did you think that I, the crowned prince, could not handle the discipline of my own manservant?"

"Why, no, I just..." Sir Marcus trailed, his eyes wide. He stumbled back for a moment, but Arthur reached out and grabbed his arms, holding him in place. Merlin grinned. He knew Arthur had only been acting and in a bad mood. Too bad Sir Marcus couldn't tell the difference.

"Quite frankly, I'm insulted that you think I would ever want any servant treated in this manner," Arthur continued, his voice hard. He squeezed Sir Marcus's arms even tighter and Merlin could have sworn he heard the knight give a small squeak of pain. "Is this what represents the house of Pendragon? Would you like to come with me to my father? He simply loves his image, as I'm sure you know. Of course, since you are most certainly knights based on your honor, he could see what you mean. Although I would think that your fathers would disapprove of their legitimately honorable legacies being tarnished. Guards, one of you, fetch Gaius. The others, take these men to my father. Counsel is postponed for today."

The guards rushed to complete their respective tasks, and Arthur soon disappeared into the counsel chambers. Merlin heard a fair bit of yelling. Uther was most likely more lenient with this type of behavior than Arthur let on in his speech, but he knew that the king wouldn't want people thinking he had rewarded someone insubordinate the job of the prince's personal manservant, or that this was how they were treated. It wouldn't be the most severe punishment, but Merlin knew he could trust Arthur to take care of it.

As Gauis and the guard lifted Merlin onto a makeshift stretcher, carrying him away, one of the peasants said it.

Chapter Text

It wasn't only in Camelot, either. Arthur had always seemed to have a reputation throughout the lands, one that strangely transcended that of him being the Crown Prince of Camelot. That fame wasn't always spoken of reverently, however. Alongside the gracious chatter ran bitter flows of jealousy and hatred.

Merlin was sure that some of this was deserved; after all, Arthur was a bit of an ass, particularly before they had met. Multiple people, especially among the lower classes, must hold grudges against him for past slights and derisive comments. Arthur had always been willing to put on a pompous show, whether it be his own indulgent behavior or a mask worn among the comfort of noble acquaintances.

Some of it stemmed from his birth — Arthur would always be Uther's son. Countless people quietly resented the crown, mainly on the basis of Uther's rulings. It could go without saying that anyone among the magical community simmered with some sort of anger or frustration with regards to the Great Purge and the chains surrounding their very identities. Over the years, many people had tried their hand at ridding themselves of those chains in vain efforts to strike Arthur with them. While these outbursts were all based on a public image rooted in Arthur's family, Merlin wasn't quite so sure if the people were wrong yet. He had never been able to gauge where Arthur stood on the whole issue of magic, as evidenced by the fact that Merlin still hadn't revealed his own magic.

Still, he could always tell that something else was going on, some other wheels were turning. He couldn't explain it beyond having a sense that something was in the air, something blew with the wind throughout the kingdom. People seemed to imagine some great future once Arthur took the throne; some seemed to think it would be terrible at the same time. Merlin didn't quite know the extent of it yet, but he could tell when incidents exhibited something beyond mere anger or hatred. A strange current of fear and rancor ran underneath some of the half-witted ploys and bumbled assassination attempts.

One day, Merlin and Arthur were riding out east from Camelot. Officially, Arthur was making a check on the eastern garrisons to bolster defenses against Cenred, but really they were stopping along the way to investigate reports of Morgana which were surfacing around Ealdor's area, mainly in the Forest of Ascetir but some lying beyond towards Merlin's home village. He only hoped that the truth didn't extend that far; Merlin would very much like the danger to not make itself personal to him by threatening his mother. Hopefully, if Morgana was really there, she wouldn't think so much about hurting him as going after Arthur. Although, now that he thought about it, going after Merlin would likely incite a reaction out of Arthur and Morgana would get what she wanted anyway.

Merlin kicked Aurelia a tiny bit (though not too hard because he hated when the knights hurt their trusty horses in a petty, immature race) to get her to gallop a bit faster.

The journey got very quiet as they made their way into the Forest of Ascetir. It almost felt like some darkness was hanging in the air, stifling the conversation as they attempted to cling to the little light that was left. They would need to make camp soon, Merlin realized. They couldn't make it through the forest before night fell, and it would be much safer to stop now and avoid tripping over thick knots of tree roots to make a fire later. He voiced this observation to Arthur, who made a typical comment about Merlin being lazy and continued for a few minutes before stopping at the edge of a clearing.

The two of them dismounted, Arthur leaving his horse for Merlin to tie up along with Aurelia. He paced around with his hands on his hips. Despite the lack of noble company, the pompous aspects of Arthur's usual comportment leaked their way into his natural behavior. Merlin snorted at this, although cut it short as he had to do all of the work now. Per usual.

Arthur sat in silence as Merlin set up camp, dragging over some fallen logs to sit on and laying out their bedrolls. He beat them a bit to make sure there weren't any bugs — he had definitely learned from that mistake when Arthur gave his head a good clobbering — and dragged the larger, comfier one over by Arthur. The man was still sitting wordlessly, staring off into the growing darkness between the trees.

"I'm going to go grab some firewood." Merlin waved his hands a bit in front of Arthur, who didn't react. Merlin pursed his lips in slight annoyance, although he knew the prince couldn't possibly be in a good head space right now. Morgana's betrayal was still fresh in the kingdom's minds, and so was Lancelot's tragic death. Arthur probably needed the time away from the knights to reconcile the new reality regarding the state of the magical war.

Merlin trekked out of the clearing toward the river he had spotted when they were riding. He might as well refill their water now so he wouldn't have to venture out a second time later when it really was too dark to see. He could cast a soft lighting spell, but he didn't want to risk it. Even if it was a simple spell, it would be very evident to anyone who caught sight of the light that he had been using magic when they approached and he didn't have a torch or lantern. He especially couldn't risk it so close to Arthur, who was already on edge as it was. Frankly, the prince could kill him if he discovered Merlin's magic right now, and Merlin wouldn't really blame him.

The animals seemed to take their cue from the Crown Prince of the land as it was fairly quiet as he made his way through the forest. He couldn't even hear any of the pesky crickets that normally interrupted his sleep on excursions such as this one. Merlin frowned at this. It really did feel like a blanket of darkness had seeped its way into the very land of Camelot. He could only hope that that blanket wouldn't suppress all the light-hearted memories he had with Arthur and Gwen and, more recently, the knights. He missed the beginning of his whole journey, when things were simple and relatively easy and people weren't turning evil left and right. On that note, his mind turned to Agravaine. He didn't want to go crazy and paranoid seeing as the guy had just arrived, but what a snake.

A sudden snapping sounded somewhere nearby, and Merlin stilled. He slowed his breathing and tilted his head, trying to determine where the noise had come from. It didn't help that he proceeded to trip over one of the aforementioned knots of tree roots, knocking around a few branches of a bush and rustling the leaves.

Merlin was seriously starting to believe that he had stepped on a stick and tripped afterwards all on his own. He was a huge clutz, as Arthur often pointed out. It definitely wouldn't be the first time it had happened. He pushed his hands against the firm earth, trying desperately and predictably failing not to fill his fingernails with dirt as he lifted his body upwards.

He was almost all the way back up when he went tumbling back to the ground. All he could think as a pain grew in the back of his head was that this time, it definitely was not his fault that he was now sprawled out on the dirt, his temple having collided with yet another tree root. Probably.

Merlin's eyes drifted shut.

Spoiler alert: it was not Morgana.

That much was clear when Merlin cracked his eyes open, trying to discreetly figure out who had captured him without letting them know he was awake. Thankfully, his captor had tied him to a chair, so he could save his energy for the escape. He internally scoffed at this; what with all the times he had been captured, he knew anyone vaguely competent at kidnapping would hang him by his wrists and tire him out. Amateur.

Merlin's internal smirk soon slipped, and he shivered involuntarily. He could feel something slinking around in the air, something evil. His magic reached out around his body and collided with a dark presence near the ropes on his wrists and ankles. Something wasn't right here.

He tracked the dark presence from his bindings to a corner of the room just at the edge of his vision. It made his head pound even harder as he knew moving his head would give away his consciousness, but it was a relief to discover his captor's masculine form. Sure, he looked pretty strong and the dark presence didn't exactly give off an "I'm easy to take down!" vibe, but it would totally be fine, Merlin assured himself. Arthur must be looking for him, after all, and neither of them would really be able to deal with Morgana at this point in time. Although Merlin wasn't entirely sure how to deal with his present situation.

Concerningly, his ears were ringing a bit. No, it wasn't quite ringing, but more of a strange buzzing. He couldn't make out what was causing it, but he chose to focus on the hearing he could manage at the moment. In the background, he heard some kind of muttering, likely from the corner in which his captor was bent over a table.

Alright, so he needed to escape as soon as possible. He didn't really feel like becoming some experiment for a magical lunatic, especially not while Arthur was looking for him. After all, he couldn't sully magic's good name any more in front of the prince, but he also had to not die in that process. Merlin thought this was a very good plan.

Of course, said magical lunatic chose that moment to turn around and make direct eye contact with Merlin. He didn't even bother squeezing his eyes shut and going limp, knowing that the ruse was up.

The despicable man spat the words out, venom laced in his speech and deep hatred intertwined with his anger. His face wrinkled, contorting into a frightful jumble of narrowed eyes and red pigmentation and sharp veins. Afterwards, he stalked closer and closer to Merlin, raising his arms and continuing his spew of hatred. Only, no, wait; the man definitely wasn't talking about Arthur and the Pendragons anymore. No, in fact, he wasn't even speaking English anymore. The rant now seemed to take a foreign, metered form of chanting.

Merlin decided that this definitely was not good. He tried his best to swing back and forth, move the chair backwards to buy some time, but the man was already on top of him, he could feel his breath, hot on his face, spitting saliva everywhere. Merlin wrinkled his nose, but he knew he couldn't let himself get caught up in his disgust. Especially since his chair was now tipping over.

He groaned as his cheek slammed into the cool floor. It was extremely drafty, so he must be near some room on the perimeter of this building. That was good. He had to focus on this bright side seeing as his face was now bleeding into the ground and dirt was most certainly being mashed into the open wound. Better to focus on getting out of here than on the possibility of not making it to Gaius to take care of whatever could have possibly just entered his bloodstream. Crazy people live in pigsties.

Merlin froze. The man was still chanting, but the words no longer sounded foreign. In fact, they seemed to alternate between chunks of two languages that Merlin knew very well. Obviously, he knew English, but, then again, everyone in Camelot did, so the other held a much more serious threat. He definitely had cause for concern in that the tongue of old sorcerers had been shoved into this old coot. It only slightly registered in his mind that these words were probably dark spells being directed at him, particularly since he could have sworn that the old man had just mentioned Morgana.

"The dark witch is right, Arthur is a curse upon this land!" the man yelled frantically, his eyes bulging unbelievably large out of their sockets, his teeth tearing through the air like it was a pan of fruays. Merlin stopped his train of thought for a moment to sniff the non-existent apple bread pudding; subsequently, he realized his mistake and skirted back on track just in time to throw his weight entirely out of the crazy man's path. Objects hitting the wall at that moment included his chair and his head.

The man quickly shifted his gaze in his direction, towering over the warlock. Merlin would try to stop him, but, he had to admit, he was curious; he had no idea what the man was trying to do, and whether it really connected to Morgana's plans or if this man was simply batshit crazy. Besides, Merlin could feel the dark magic swirling with the mysterious breeze in the room, and he wouldn't want to try to counteract something and end up with some horrible rebound.

Perhaps he should have tried something earlier, as waiting was most definitely not the move. The strange wind suddenly slithered towards Merlin, first ripping away the ropes that had bound him to the chair and then creeping underneath his arms. Merlin felt himself being lifted as if by invisible hands, so many of them, each one so forceful that he could not fight back. They dragged his body up by his wrists, which eventually they pushed against the ceiling and the rest of his body hung from there. Merlin wondered for a moment if maybe this man was not an amateur kidnapper or if it was just the intelligence of the magic itself aiming to wear him out. Probably the latter, Merlin thought, as the man stumbled around, still spewing bumbling babble from his mouth.

And then he said it, and time stood still. Why had Merlin been hearing it so much? It had moved beyond a simple title, morphing into some unknowable mass lurking in the shadows of the kingdom. And why had the man said it with so much hate? Why did Merlin not understand any of it, while so many others seemed to know it deeply, deeply enough to feel so strongly about it?

But Merlin had no time to think about the matter further, as at that moment a crashing noise sounded nearby. A window, perhaps? He hadn't even finished running through the logic in his head when Arthur came crashing through the door, having slammed his shoulder against the wood until it broke down (read: he only had to do that once, as Arthur was a crazy beast; Merlin could just magic it open, though, so who was really winning?) and rushed in with absolutely no caution. Ah, friendly concern, how refreshing. His eyes landed on Merlin, who was now swinging precariously from the ceiling above some strange pit that definitely had not been there before.

"MERLIN!" Arthur shouted, uselessly but with passion. Merlin broke out into a smile in complete ignorance of his current predicament; he knew he could get himself out of it, but of course Arthur would just perceive his sudden, happy relief as idiocy. "Merlin, now is not the time for your jokes, watch out!"

Merlin swung himself closer and closer to the crazy man, who for some reason stood chanting at the edge of the pit. Which was growing. Oh no. Maybe there was something to worry about?

Not for long, though, as Arthur had run up to him with his sword, holding it to the man's neck. The guy seemed pretty freaked out, so that was good. What was not good was that Merlin felt himself slipping, probably along with the crazy wizard's concentration.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled, reaching out a hand. He looked pretty worried. Merlin kept this grin inside his head, though, and instead focused his expression on the wizard.

"Arthur, get out of the way!" Merlin swung himself back and forth with all his strength as if he had the abdominal muscle of a knight. He didn't, of course, he just used his magic to propel his body forward in a way that could conceivably happen if he had any strength whatsoever. When he appeared to have gained enough momentum, Merlin launched himself across the room and kicked the wizard square in the face, timing his breaking of his magical bonds with the second the wizard dropped down cold. Arthur might still think he was an idiot, but Merlin considered himself to be pretty intelligent. It was the only reason he had gotten this far in Camelot with his magic.

The crazy old man lay still in the dirt. Arthur looked down at Merlin, who had slammed into the wall and slumped down, and then back at the man. His head turned back and forth between them.

"Well, Merlin, your clumsiness may have a use after all," Arthur chided, kicking the crazy man over to ensure that he was really knocked out. He shifted his gaze to Merlin and looked at him for a moment, head tilting in thought. As he lifted Merlin to his feet, Merlin could have sworn he saw relief in Arthur's eyes. Well, at this point of knowing each other, he knew that that was what it was. "Care to tell me how you ended up here?"

"I was getting the firewood while you were pouting at camp, remember?" Merlin gave Arthur a pointed look. Obviously it wasn't the prince's fault that there had been a crazy old man in the woods ready to jump him, but he could have been a bit more alert. Merlin usually made a more concrete plan with Arthur about where he was going and for how long, a habit they had developed over the years what with the random assassins and now the growing threat from Morgana. Merlin also suspected that it correlated closely with the strength of their friendship, but Arthur would never admit that, even if Merlin knew that Arthur believed it to be true. "He was just in the woods and he jumped me, and he knocked me out on a tree root."

"A tree root, Merlin?" Arthur asked bemusedly, raising his eyebrows in surprise. He pursed his lips and then smiled. "I would have thought that someone with such a thick skull would be less inept at remaining conscious."

"Hey!" Merlin protested, but didn't press the issue. He would get Arthur back with another jibe later. Right now, he did need to focus on the problem at hand. "Well, I woke up here, and he started doing some weird chanting stuff at me, and then he mentioned Morgana, but I don't really know why because he kept switching languages. He also said you should be murdered a lot, and then he magicked me up in the air, and then you came in. Absolutely no idea what the pit was for."

"He mentioned Morgana? By name?" Arthur's brows furrowed and he placed his hands on his hips, glancing down at the old man. He frowned. "So she has been in this area."

"I don't think he was working directly with her," Merlin responded, thinking back to the man's rudimentary tactics and phrasing about Morgana. "He thought she was some dark queen, but it sounded more like he agreed with her than he was working with her. Like maybe she passed through here and convinced those with magic of her point of view and then moved on. His magic wasn't anywhere near the level of Morgana's, he was kind of just a driveling mess. Oh, and he seemed to think you were some prophetic curse on this land."

"Alright, we'll tie him up here and send some guards to get him once we reach the garrisons." Arthur held his chin up decisively as he made his way toward the busted-down doorway. A silent sigh seemed to pass through him, one which Merlin pointedly ignored. He let the prince turn his stony gaze into the path ahead rather than force him to uphold a mask. "No reason to linger here any longer if Morgana has moved ahead. Besides, my father's men will be expecting us soon. The last thing I need to do is disappoint him when he's in this state."

Merlin nodded solemnly and followed closely after Arthur, sparing one last glance at the crazy old man.

They never did investigate too far into what he had said.

Chapter Text

When Uther died, it slipped within the whispers throughout the villages, tucked within all the other compliments and complaints about Arthur. Suddenly everyone was speculating about the future of his reign. They would gather in groups and speak in hushed voices, glancing around themselves as they tore themselves up over something of which they had no control.

Merlin worried too. No matter anything else Arthur had gone through, this had to be the worst. It was difficult to watch his friend go through such a hardening of emotion and mind. He would take every curt statement and demanding tone if only it would help Arthur get better. But it wouldn't, and, despite that fact, Merlin knew he still had to do it. Arthur may be stuck in this routine, but Merlin would do his very best to ensure that Arthur took out all of his anger on his servant and not the kingdom.

Merlin came from the common people, he knew what it was like to be ruled by a merciless king. Uther had been one thing, but at least he had inside knowledge on that front; Cenred was a different matter entirely. Merlin never wanted to feel the fear he had felt as a younger man when his supposed king cared nothing for his village or the people around them. It seemed only fitting that he now lived in Camelot surrounded by people worried about their livelihoods for the exact same reason.

And so Merlin heard it a lot when he was in the Lower Town. His excursions had lessened recently given Arthur's current turmoil, but he still had to venture out sometimes to grab things, as well as to visit Gwen. He found it difficult to comfort her, as she had tried to be there for Arthur, but Agravaine's influence convinced the heavyhearted king to push her away. Right now, she was merely a servant, and so Merlin extended his friendship from his place of understanding that. Still, moody as Arthur was, he had never gone entirely back to treating Merlin the way he had when they had first met. Merlin liked to think that their bond had run deeper than any hardship, and it remained naturally unbroken. He only wished Arthur would pluck up the courage to admit he could do it with Gwen as well.

Merlin was walking through the Lower Town now, desperately wishing the dull silence would be filled with vivid light and sounds of the common people. The Lower Town had never matched the free feeling of his Ealdor, his outlying village home, but the struggle in poor life ran common through all the towns in the same way, and that lifestyle carried a certain spirit, something that everyone who had lived it shared. It was part of the reason why Merlin and Gwen had been able to bond in the first place, why they could understand each other without ever having met. Of course, it wasn't the only reason; Merlin had had plenty of differences with people of similar backgrounds, and Gwen herself had her own sort of charm. That charm seemed to have slipped a bit lately.

He walked up to the old wooden door and knocked lightly, giving Gwen her time to get up and let him in. He knew that she was simply exhausted after her duties nowadays and would often lay down at home as soon as she could. She had lost a lot of her buzz after Morgana left, and Arthur's recent treatment of her certainly did not help. On account of this, Merlin tried his best to come by when he could, to get her up to have a meal and to get her to take care of herself. He already had plenty of practice with Arthur in doing the same thing.

He smiled softly when Gwen opened the door, her beloved shawl clutched closely around her shoulders. She faintly returned the smile, though Merlin suspected it was more out of politeness and gratitude than happiness, and ushered him into the warm candlelight and toward the table in the middle of the room. They sat in silence for a moment, breathing in the comfortable familiarity in the air. Sometimes a total break from the exhaustion of social mechanisms could only be fulfilling as a joint defiance of those social mechanisms.

"How's Elyan?" Merlin asked, leaning his head against his palm, which was propped up by his elbow. It wasn't only Gwen who was tired. He would do what he could to preserve his energy and perhaps give some to her.

"Good, as always," Gwen replied, her expression hardening as she thought of her brother. She worried too much, or perhaps Elyan required that much worrying and she just shouldn't have to worry so much. "He's always been one to lighten the mood and joke around. Of course, he probably should take things more seriously right now. And Gaius?"

"So stressed that his hair is turning white," Merlin quipped, a wry smile on his lips. Gwen chuckled lightly. That reaction of hers presented a bit more genuine positivity than she had shown before. "There's a lot going on right now, but at least it lets me come down here. I haven't had quite as many royal duties in the Lower Town as of late."

They were good at this, Merlin recalled. It had been a while, but they could still do it. Making random comments, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. It may seem unhealthy to some, but they both knew that it was what they needed sometimes. Camelot could be too much, especially right now.

Talking around it didn't feel exactly right tonight, though. Merlin needed a bit more heavy of a distraction. He would still do his bit to let Gwen get her thoughts out, though. They would just need a change of venue for him.

"Speaking of, why don't we go out for a bit?" Merlin suggested, already shrugging his brown coat back on. He made his way around the table to get Gwen on her feet. He knew he had made the right move when she didn't protest; he felt glad that she at least accepted his support, even if it pained him to think of why she needed it. "The last thing I need is to be cooped up, no matter how good the company."

"Alright, that sounds nice," Gwen answered, taking his hand and walking toward the door. Along the way she grabbed her bag and extinguished a candle, leaving one lit by the entrance. "Want to stop at The Rising Sun?"

"Lead the way, milady." Merlin bowed jokingly, although the motion did contain genuine respect. Not only was Gwen a great friend deserving of that respect, but she very well could be a lady one day, a queen even. Arthur wasn't quite in that headspace yet, particularly because of Uther and Agravaine, but Merlin was holding out hope that it would happen once the current depressing predicament and threat of evil had been vanquished. Presently, though, it also helped to lighten the mood just a bit more. Every bit was necessary.

They ambled arm in arm down the cobbled street. The colors hadn't brightened, and neither had the weather. As the temperature dropped, Gwen shivered; Merlin intertwined his arm more closely with hers and picked up the pace.

Fortunately, they both knew quite a few shortcuts due to their jobs and spotted the tavern in no time. The two made a beeline straight for the yellow glow radiating out of The Rising Sun's windows, grateful that the tavern lived up to its name in lighting and warmth.

They hurried through the door and, after stopping for a moment to take in the heat, Merlin selected to aim for his usual table, the one tucked in the corner by the door. He had used it more than once, for multiple reasons: it was quite nifty for spying and not being noticed, and it was always easy to escape out the front door from. Tonight, though, he had a different reason in mind; he just wanted Gwen to be able to relax without getting harassed.

He would never personally understand it, but he knew women in the Lower Town got a lot of trouble later at night or when alone. Even if the men causing that trouble had their own explanations of frustration in life, they weren't excuses. Merlin had vowed to never let Gwen get into a situation where hearing those excuses was necessary.

Merlin glanced around the tavern. Scarcely any people hung around at this hour, most likely because many had families to tend to or didn't want to be caught out alone. Others might have felt the same tiredness that Gwen did and had no one to energize them enough to come out. Still, a few stragglers remained; the regular drunkards, a few pairs of people like Gwen and himself, and a group of men playing some game at a round table just a few feet away.

Merlin chose to focus on the men. Perhaps some true rays of light could be found within the illusion of brightness everyone was projecting. Or perhaps he would only see more of the same truth.

It appeared to be the latter. Their expressions were light, their speech jovial, but the air hung heavy with some kind of weight to it. Almost as if they weren't truly happy, simply enjoying a moment spent not thinking about something else. Rather, Merlin knew, about someone else. He knew it all too well, and so did Gwen. The entire kingdom stood by in their work with bated breath.

"I won! Good heavens, I actually won!" a short blond man from the table exclaimed, his eyes wide and wrinkling with faint traces of a real smile. Maybe his youth lent a hand to his hope. "Hand it here, fellows, a new man has beaten you."

Merlin couldn't remember when the switch had flipped to make him feel so old.

The rest of the men at the table glanced around at each other, a couple allowing small smiles to grace their otherwise grim faces. The tallest of them all subtly gave a nod toward the youngest, and together they handed over the winnings. The short blond grinned to himself. Probably the happiest thing that could happen in his life right now, Merlin thought sadly.

The men began to play another round, although this time the young victor had stepped away toward the bar. Likely he had claimed to need another drink, but Merlin presumed he had other motives given his proximity to one of the only single people in the bar. Merlin internally lauded the confidence with which the young blond charmed the taller young man. Merlin wished he could act so openly and boldly, or even that he could act at all. Alas, Fate did not seem to want any of his own pursuits to last long. That overarching shared one seemed to always take precedence.

While his responsibility was a deeply personal one, it seemed he was not the only one with the same goal in mind. Plenty of people worried about Arthur. Gwen, for one, and Gaius, but many others as well. Sometimes Merlin forgot who Arthur was, what he stood for, what he had to do. That could happen sometimes when one addressed a king as a close friend. But here, now, Merlin remembered that most people in Camelot were just that: part of the common people. And those people depended on their king, expected a lot out of him, but they also worried about him.

"I hope young Stuart never loses that contentment." The tall man sighed as they all placed their bets into the pool of winnings. The piles were quite meager. Similar in stature to everything else nowadays. "Of course, it always ends up unavoidably being taken away. Our new king shouldn't have been forced into being king so soon."

"It's a stage of life that everyone has been subjected to, especially under his father," another man commented. "I only wish it didn't have to happen to everyone. Alas, most people are born into hardships in lifestyle, and even if they don't, they always suffer some kind of tragedy in this kingdom. Camelot has been breeding unhappiness and misfortune for decades."

"Maybe Arthur can change that." The tall man clutched his game pieces tightly in his fingers for a moment before letting them drop into the pile. He gazed at them longingly as if he never wanted to give the tiny discs up. "Maybe things will be different for those who come after us."

"He'll have to make his way through his own hardships first," the eldest of the men reminded them. He had less hesitantly continued with the game, but now spared a glance at the pile as they began to play. "This one is particularly difficult, and he'll have more nasty ones to come."

"He has the strength to do it." The tall man firmly held his ground both in the conversation and in the game. He touched his fingers to the pile of winnings before dividing them among everyone there. For the first time, a touch of hope appeared in the others' eyes. "The only question is if he'll have the mind to. I think he will. Have you heard what they say about him, what they call him?"

Then the tall man said it, and Merlin felt a little lightheaded. He leaned his head against his arm for a moment. So this reputation of Arthur's had spread everywhere in the lands. It had to mean something great. It wasn't simply some legend which sorcerers feared or a throwaway title which commoners mistakenly used as a sign of respect.

If the common people, his people, talked about his master in this way, Merlin knew he had been serving the right master all along.

"Merlin?" Gwen waved her hand right in front of his face. He snapped his eyes away from the men to her. She sat there waiting as patiently as ever. Even she retained her kindness in the most unkind of times. "You alright? I've been trying to get your attention for nearly five minutes."

"Yeah, yeah..." Merlin distractedly let his gaze wander back to the men for a moment before shaking himself back into the moment. He forced a smile at Gwen. "Well, I will be. We all will be."

He said that last bit with the confidence he needed. The confidence they all needed. He supposed it at least had to be a good sign that these people stood by Arthur. The commoners now all supported him, quite a good marker of how far the man had come in his journey to becoming king. Hopefully he had come far enough that he would lean back into that support a bit and use that strength to rebound from the terrible tragedies of his life. There had most definitely been a time when Arthur wouldn't have and when the people held him in much less respect. Merlin knew that the only way Arthur could truly achieve a better rule than his father and make a difference was to listen to the people and tend to their needs, not merely giving attention to certain royals.

Merlin vowed to never let Arthur get out of touch the way he had been before. If Arthur ever became the prince he used to be when they had first met, the kingdom would be subject to another Uther. Merlin had to make sure that their king lived up to these great expectations that everyone, for whatever reason, seemed to share. He had to ensure that those expectations he lived up to were perceived as great by the right people and not terrible.

Chapter Text

Once, Merlin even said it himself. He still hadn't understood it, of course. He was just angry, and unsure, yet very sure at the same time, and so, so frustrated, and he spat it out in the midst of their argument without even comprehending it.

Life in the kingdom of Camelot had been tense recently. Merlin knew that this dreary ambience which seemed to be from out of nowhere was really only a sudden heightening of all the events of the past years. People were dying, Morgana was growing more powerful, Mordred was back, and Arthur was learning more about what it meant to be king every day. Merlin just wasn't sure whether he was learning the right lessons every time.

Could Merlin even properly judge which lessons were right, though? There had to be a reason that Arthur was the one who was king and that he had such a great prophecy laid out ahead of him. Merlin would never rule over anyone, even as the most powerful warlock to ever live. Still, he was supposed to lend a guiding hand to Arthur to get him into the position to rule as greatly as he was supposed to. But how much direction was Merlin supposed to give? Should Arthur not have his own power over his destiny and rule? Should his own ideas and decisions not play into the greatness of the prophecy? Arthur was the one meant to be king, the one prophesied into greatness. Some of it must come from him, not Merlin.

Arthur was already dealing with a lot. The growing threat of Morgana's forces and Merlin's apparently cold treatment of Mordred had already riled him up, but the recent encounter with Uther's ghost had left him rattled. Yes, he had asserted his choices in ruling over his father's, but there had been moments where he had questioned himself. Merlin disliked how disasters such as these could shake Arthur, even if it was only for a moment, so easily. His upbringing seemed inseverable at the few threads that were holding on.

One of those threads was attached to the gigantic elephant in the room: magic. Merlin felt that his mountain of a task had only risen higher as the years went by. Obviously he had had some hopeful moments, but, in these darkened days, his destiny overwhelmed him completely. It was hard to feel hopeful for the supposedly great future when everyone in Camelot lacked hope for daily life now.

There were other problems, yes. One stuck out extremely obviously to Merlin: Mordred. He didn't understand how Arthur could trust him so easily. Of course, it must be a good sign that Arthur would trust a Druid. Maybe not for his own life as king, as Merlin knew how that could end, but for Arthur's future reign. Mordred served as a baby step, although Merlin fiercely wished that he could be that stepping stone himself.

Merlin couldn't tell Arthur. After all these years, after all they had faced together, after everything, he couldn't tell him. Merlin tore himself apart about it day after day, wishing this prophecy would just fulfill itself. Why would something meant to happen take so much work?

Arthur had changed over the years, but Merlin struggled with knowing whether or not it was enough. To be the great king he was supposed to, Arthur would need to learn to listen not only to his peers but to other people, to let them help him. Agravaine had served to both further and complicate this goal. Obviously Arthur had learned to put less stock in someone's word simply because they were royal, but he also had learned to put less stock in someone else's word and more in his own. He had turned inward rather than expanding his outward focus and trust.

Could Merlin fix this? Was this a legend and prophecy or a fantastical illusion of the future?

He believed in Arthur, but, on the worst days, Merlin found himself doubting what could turn out so stupendously great about the king's rule.

One such day had started out normally. Merlin went to wake up Arthur, said his daily mantra of "Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!", got pummeled with a pillow for it, and upped his dodging skill later when Arthur threw a goblet at him. The goblet would have to be cleaned, but at least that responsibility would fall on the kitchen staff, so Merlin counted his lack of a headache as a win.

Well, he did for five extra minutes at least, because Arthur liked to take every opportunity he could to possibly injure his personal manservant. Most of the time, it was inexplicable amusement, but Merlin had noticed in the past few years that it had turned to a way for Arthur to take out his emotions. He did miss a lot though, which Merlin appreciated, because he knew that the king didn't lack good aim.

Merlin acted the same as always, though, making jokes as he helped Arthur dress and delivered his breakfast. Sometimes teasing Arthur about the things he didn't do himself helped him forget about what he did have to do himself. Sometimes he got stuck in a rut where nothing could help. Today, he wasn't there yet, but he was close.

They made their way out the door within the next few minutes as Arthur could linger however long he wished as king but chose to be more punctual than Uther ever had. Merlin could check that off of his list of getting Arthur to become a great king since Arthur hadn't always arriven to his duties on time as prince. Merlin chose to ignore how his own service had sometimes played a role in that lateness.

They walked silently but peacefully, Arthur bumping his shoulder against Merlin's every now and then. Merlin would jostle him back a few times before stopping so that he didn't break his arm. Still, they walked side by side now, Merlin rarely trailed behind his king anymore. He did take a small step back when they reached the council room.

Since Arthur had become king, they had found themselves less involved in training and excursions, and more in paperwork and council and knights' meetings. Merlin didn't completely mind, particularly since it saved his limbs from possible bruises and mutilation, but he more often than not found himself missing the excitement and exploration. These meetings bred both boredom and simmering bitterness. Merlin was meant to guide Arthur in the right direction, but he could never tell him exactly how to rule, and sometimes his friendly advice fell on deaf ears.

Today's first meeting had been with the knights. These happened frequently, particularly with all the battle strategies they had needed to devise recently. Fortunately, today's meeting focused mainly on bolstering defenses in outlying villages and transporting supplies safely, so Merlin could simply stand and think for a bit, at least when Arthur wasn't yanking him forward to get his attention.

All had been well, or as well as it could have been given the current state of the kingdom, until one of the knights inevitably brought up Morgana.

This time was different, Sir Hadwyn had explained, as she had before occupied the territories in the northern plains, but now she had moved closer to the Mountains of Andor, northeast of Camelot. Merlin's ears perked up a bit at that development. Her movement was only in the general direction toward Ealdor, he knew that it probably meant nothing, at least not anything significant relating to him, but his mind would dwell on the possibility of a threat nonetheless.

Arthur, though, had not seemed to dwell on it, or any kind of reason why Morgana had moved the way she had. Of course he took anything involving Morgana seriously, he assured all of them of that fact and they believed it, but he seemed to take everything involving Morgana with the same severity every time when Merlin knew the gears in her plan were picking up speed. He felt like Arthur had only been looking at the battles while Merlin knew the possible outcome of the war.

His knowledge of Arthur's prophesied rule always placed the heaviest weight on Merlin's shoulders. He only wished that Arthur would be able to share in that burden with him, especially since Merlin increasingly felt as though he had no idea what to do.

In this situation, though, Merlin did at least have an idea as to what to do. He only needed to convince Arthur of the very serious threat Morgana posed.

When the meeting ended, the knights remained seated as Merlin gathered Arthur's things. He let Arthur sit for a moment as he picked up papers from the knights and then gently shook Arthur's shoulder. The knights stood up as Arthur made his exit, Merlin walking behind, and only afterwards did the knights leave the room.

Now the two of them were walking to Arthur's chambers since now came the time for the aforementioned king paperwork. These consisted of a variety of things such as letters to important people and tax documents and the like, but the most pressing at the moment were the knights' assignments. Merlin didn't step up beside Arthur on this walk. They both needed the space.

They reached Arthur's chambers and Merlin took care to close the door, lighting a candle outside it. The rest of the servants knew that this candle meant Arthur wasn't to be disturbed. Merlin didn't want to see what would happen if he was right now.

As Arthur began his paper-signing, Merlin headed for the freshly delivered load of laundry which had been placed just inside the door. While Arthur more often than not interrupted Merlin's work to ask his opinion on various matters, he never liked when Merlin simply stood there waiting. Perhaps it felt too much like he had a servant waiting around all day. Merlin didn't care too much to find out, because at least if he started working he could avoid Arthur's jokes about his laziness and get ahead on his work for the day.

As Merlin folded the clothes into drawers and hung others up in the wardrobe, he noticed Arthur flipping between papers constantly but keeping his silence. Strange, Merlin thought, worriedly glancing at the king. Arthur normally consulted him when he was upset about something like this. Merlin knew that this had to be about Morgana.

"Everything alright, sire?" Merlin paused for a moment, not sure if Arthur had been listening. After a beat, the king raised his head dazedly, and Merlin continued. "Is something troubling you?"

"No, Merlin, I'm fine." Arthur narrowed his eyes while he made his terse statement. He jerked his head upwards and then focused back on his papers. "Get back to work."

Merlin stared at the king for a moment, taking in his tousled hair, the slight red pigmentation in his cheeks. Merlin bit his tongue back despite his concern and turned back to the laundry. He took extra care in the folding now, partly so nothing would anger Arthur, and partly so he could stay in this spot a bit longer surveying Arthur.

Arthur sat at his desk for many more minutes without Merlin's interruption. He seemed to stay stuck on the same stack of papers, the ones Merlin knew pertained to the knights' assignments. In his right hand, Arthur held his quill, which currently served less to sign his name and more to drip ink over everything. Something was definitely wrong.

"Arthur?" Merlin called out softly. Arthur jumped in his seat and dropped the quill. Merlin could see the ink blotting the papers from where he was standing. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Merlin, I told you that I was fine!" Arthur grimaced in annoyance, crossing his arms and tilting his chair slightly away from Merlin. "Keep doing your job, I can handle mine on my own."

"You shouldn't have to," Merlin said, his eyes trained on Arthur's for a moment before trailing to the floor in deference to the anger that he saw. He had hoped to quietly get Arthur to open up, not anger him into a defensive strengthening of his internal walls.

"Excuse me, Merlin, but I have been training to be king my whole life." Arthur stood up suddenly and slammed his palm into the top of his desk. Merlin could have sworn he heard the wood give a creak. "The closest you've gotten to the demands of being royalty is serving me."

"And does that mean that I know nothing? That my life and experience has no bearing on what happens in Camelot?" Merlin responded, slowly looking up at the king. Arthur seemed to pause before taking in a deep breath.

"I know how to rule the kingdom, and I don't need help from the common people." Arthur gradually made his way around his desk, shaking the papers on top with each step. "It's my responsibility to help them, not the other way around."

"Don't you understand?" Merlin raised his voice. He clutched the shirts he had been folding close to his chest. "It has to go both ways! You can't do this alone!"

"When I ask for your opinion, you can give it, Merlin." Arthur walked up to Merlin and forced his right hand away from the clothing, gripping it tightly. He locked his gaze onto Merlin's eyes as he squeezed the servant's fingers. "Do you doubt my ability to keep this kingdom safe?"

"Of course not, Arthur, you're a great king," Merlin replied as he bowed his head. He stood there, motionless, for a moment, letting Arthur breathe. When Merlin straightened his neck again, however, his eyes held just as much determination and fire as Arthur's. "You will be praised for many years to come, you will have a great rule. I know you will. Have you not heard what they call you?" And Merlin said it.

"What does that have to do with any of this?" Arthur's tone still held defensiveness, but his posture had calmed slightly, and he seemed more focused on Merlin's words. Perhaps he focused specifically on those words, deeply affected by the connotation they carried even if neither the king nor the servant really understood them yet.

"You have a great destiny ahead of you," Merlin answered. "But you have to earn your great title somehow. You have faced so many challenges, and more will pass, Morgana included. The only way you will get through them is by listening to the people and working with them, not by shouldering every responsibility yourself and not getting others' input. The things you accomplish will be remembered and praised, but the way you deal with your challenges and rule your people will be lauded even more greatly."

The two stood there silently, Arthur still gripping Merlin's hand. Merlin could feel his heart beating and he knew that Arthur's was too. He could only hope that they were beating together and not against each other. When Arthur let go of Merlin's hand, his question was answered.

"Merlin...I apologize." Arthur leaned back against the table and rested his hand on Merlin's shoulder, holding it there for a bit. "You know how highly I think of you and that I believe in the people of Camelot and all the lands. I shouldn't have forgotten it."

"It's alright, Arthur," Merlin responded, flashing a small smile at his old friend. "You have a lot being thrown at you these days. It's not your fault you got overwhelmed, but you do have to remind yourself to fix it. You're the only one who has the power to make decisions to change everything right now, to make things better for the world to come. You have to remember that you don't have to do it alone, you have to let others weigh in and help."

Merlin saw the first bit of genuine happiness he had seen all day from Arthur. He wished it could have come from the kingdom running perfectly, but he was glad he could still evoke it from Arthur himself.

Merlin was glad to serve his king.

The king seemed glad to be served, for one, but also to serve his people.

"You're right, Merlin," Arthur said before striding back over to the knights' assignments. He held up a map. "So, what are your thoughts on our defenses near Morgana's position?"

Chapter Text

Now Merlin thought he knew what it meant.

He had faced so much in his life. A lot of it had been with Arthur. The best and worst of it had been with Arthur. Always with Arthur. They had become closer than brothers, they shared a bond like no other. It wasn't supposed to shatter now.

The two of them lay there, Merlin leaning over Arthur. How could he be dying? It wasn't supposed to be like this. Merlin was supposed to save Arthur. If this happened now, then what he had been doing for all of these years would have been for nothing.

Merlin sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. As his closest friend's life ebbed away, Merlin thought. He thought back to the time they had shared together. Merlin felt a spark in his mind, one that lit up the darkness everything seemed to be falling into. One that lit up the future.

Arthur was here now. He had been here for years, fighting and joking around with Merlin, defending the kingdom, navigating a relationship with Gwen, trying to do better than his father ever had. He had done so much, and yet it couldn't be enough. On its own, it never could be, because his task was so much more than one lifetime. But Arthur would leave an impact, one that would ripple throughout the lands. Despite any mistakes, his successes far outweighed anything else he had done, and Merlin had a feeling that the magic knew that.

The magic whirled in the air now, surrounding the two of them, embracing Merlin as he embraced Arthur. It hummed with the music of their lives, of Arthur's life, and all they had gone through; but it also carried a tune of another time, echoing a new era, something that had yet to come. It drummed with the beat of the words that had chased the two of them from the very moment they had met. The words that Merlin had never quite understood, and never heard as clearly as in this moment even though no one was saying them now. He could hear them, and he understood now more than ever.

Arthur, the pompous prince, would come again. Arthur, his just sire, would come again. Arthur, his valiant protector, would come again. Arthur, the one so persistent in the face of so many hardships, would come again. Arthur, who understood Merlin more than anyone else, would come again.

Arthur.

His friend.

His king.

And not just any king.

The Once and Future King.