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-You puzzle me.

-You've never fathomed me out?

-No.

Those words are common as are the sentiments when Arthur speaks them. And that is how it stays, until Merlin cannot take this anymore.

Maybe it's the coming battle, or the way the dragon always spoke to him of his nebulous yet certain future, as if those two things were one and the same, as if one could know and not know at once, and Merlin, after bringing Arthur's armour to him and readying him for his final meeting before riding out to battle, well he thinks that he's gone mad. But he calls "Arthur, I ... I must tell you something, sire," nevertheless.

A clanking of metal, a turn, a sigh. Always a sigh, of exasperation, frustration, fondness; all rolled into one at this moment, perhaps. But Merlin nearly freezes. He sees Arthur heading in front of him through the hall, his armour agleam and cloak over one shoulder as occurs always when he prepares for battle. But he sees the weariness in Arthur's features too. The deep purple circles beneath his eyes - and that, if nothing else, tells Merlin much of his King.

For Arthur is his king, as much as Camelot's. He had grown so much from the prattish bully of a boy Merlin had met so many years ago; more than a decade they have known each other, now. It seems to Merlin an age, and a blink, even in his mind because of the other words the dragon had said, that he was not mortal, he would traverse all time, always, to be with this once and future king.

But Merlin cannot be with Arthur anymore. Not like this. Not whilst hiding. Everyone has tried to keep him safe, those who knew; his mother, his father, Gaius, Lancelot, and Will. But he cannot go to Arthur and tell him that he, Merlin, will not go to the battle; that he will not fight at Arthur's side this time. This last, this most important, time. He cannot take his potion and go off to be Dragoon, no, not again.

He is Emrys, and he must tell his sovereign so. He must tell him now, and earn... whatever consequences he may, whatever punishment if ordered, he will suffer.

He must let Arthur know.

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"What is it, Merlin?"

He's skidding up to Arthur, leather boots screeching on the floor, almost toppling in his typical gangly awkward fashion before righting himself. Always seems to keep his feet with a strange sort of grace, does Merlin. At least, when he can.

He's breathing hard and looks terrified, but presses full lips together before blurting out "I've got to tell you something. Important."

"Ah." With a sharp nod, Arthur reaches out and takes his manservant by the arm, not rough, but not gentle neither. His tone of voice is curt as the dip of his chin as he leads Merlin into the great hall that is the chapel, where sits the Round Table, and where he must ready himself, them all, for the task to come. It is fitting for the pair of them to be here.

He squeezes Merlin's arm and relinquishes it, adding "So, what are you going on about? Are you finally going to admit the truth?"

"The - the truth?" Merlin is stymied. Flabbergasted. Floored. He gapes at Arthur, mouth dropping open and then snapping shut before falling open again. This is not what he expected the king's reply to be. Yet Arthur is standing with eyebrows raised, arms across his chest as he waits. Merlin gulps. The truth.

"I, yes, Arthur, but -" his body feels as if it's crackling with power, the way it does before he uses magic. But he has not brought his power to bear and nor is he going to. Not yet.

Still he feels that sizzling as Arthur lets out a breath and says "Well it's about bloody time you decide to say something! I was getting quite sore with the knights, betting on it."

The king speaks loudly, almost as if... relieved. He's relieved. Merlin's head is spinning. "You - I - you knew?" Arthur, the king clotpole, the most apparently unobservant person in all of Camelot, does he really... Wait. "You bet on - this?" Merlin gestures, hands exemplifying his body as his face wrinkles in some confusion. Arthur and the knights have a wager? They're betting on Merlin's magic?

Arthur sighs in full exasperation this time. He even rolls his eyes. "Yes, it's gone on long enough to amass a fair bit of coin, but. As long as you are happy, if you are happy that's what matters."

"I - what?" Merlin laughs, but it's a burst of confusion. His pale blue eyes are wide and prickling now with the beginnings of emotion. "Erm, yes, it makes me happy to be who I truly am. I just," he gulps now, heavily, the apple of his neck bobbing. "... I'm so sorry that I've had to," to lie. "- that I have tried to hide it for so long."

"Merlin." Arthur seems serious now, stepping closer. "It's all right, I know why you did. People wouldn't understand." It's his turn to huff out a laugh, chainmail clinking with his shrug. "I'm pretty certain that I don't understand, but the heart wants what the heart wants, after all."

"Yes, yes it - wait." Merlin's relieved grin begins fading, having poked its way through his confusion, but now retreats into bafflement again, intermixed with some concern. He purses his lips into an open circle and holds out a hand, pointing to Arthur as his dark eyebrows knit. His heartbeat has begun thundering. He knows Arthur, but this is surprising him.

"What is it you think you've figured out, exactly?"

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Arthur puffs up and then blows air from his cheeks, running his hand over his hair, which is standing up in pieces like hay or straw. Merlin's chin is jutted out in that stubborn way he has, and his eyes are glimmering, but the king isn't taking this challenge. His own eyes flicker over Merlin's face as he coughs.

"Honestly I can't believe that you haven't told me. Keeping secrets is not your forte, Merlin." The slim fellow's eyes flicker in response to that, but Arthur presses on. "Sir Elyan and Sir Percival think you've a drinking problem, but Leon and I are of the opinion you're more amorously inclined. Sir Gwaine said it isn't our business, but I just know you're infatuated with the barmaid."

Whatever Merlin has begun imagining that Arthur would say, it isn't that. He is, to say the least, aghast.

"What?!"

"It's why you spend so many bloody days in the tavern. Come on, Merlin. How could I have not seen it? You were working up your nerves, for sure, as I've never known you to be able to speak to a girl. Or to anyone, without revealing yourself to be an idiot."

Merlin's lips press into a line as one eyebrow quirks up. "I manage to talk to you just fine," he mutters.

Arthur rounds on him. "What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing." Pale features the picture of innocence, Merlin makes a mocking little bow and sweeps his hand. "Please go on."

Arthur snorts. He'll get the man for this. "Ahh, I know there can be certain... issues with performance," he comes close and claps Merlin on the shoulder, looking him up and down, lowering his voice. "Especially after too many drinks. Trust me." He pats the other's shoulder in a manner meant as camaraderie, a we're-in-this-together-and-I-support-you shoulder slap. Though he cannot help but wrinkle his nose a mite. "I definitely understand you keeping her a secret, though. If word got out...," Arthur clicks his tongue and his eyes widen. "The age difference alone -"

Merlin has had enough. Now he is livid, gasping and bright red from the turn this conversation has taken and how on many levels it is so, so wrong. "Arthur, I could never! That's absolutely ludicrous, she - yes that one lady fancied me, called me handsome the once, but that was YEARS ago and - it isn't true, and more importantly, it isn't what I'm trying to tell you!"

"There's no shame in it, Merlin." Arthur's lips are twitching now as his hazel eyes dance with mirth. "Well, there surely could be some shame, but there's no need to get your knickers in a twist. Honestly." He's starting to smile outright. "Though I'm certain if you did, a certain tavern lady would be happy to help out...,"

He is joking, at least somewhat, but the strange mix of outrage and relief and confusion not in the least at the thought that Arthur has talked about these potential... exploits (more than once!) with the knights, along with shame bubbling up within Merlin after all these years, on the eve of battle, such an important and terrifying day, when he had prepared himself to find some sensible way of finally FINALLY spilling his secret, all of those feelings burst loose as Merlin shoves his body back.

His face is crimson as he practically screeches out

"I'M - I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU THAT I HAVE MAGIC, YOU DOLLOPHEAD!"

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There is silence, afterward.

A frozen sort of silence, shocked and brittle, wherein Merlin stares and Arthur stares back, blinking.

Merlin's chest is heaving, his eyes are wide, hands rising to clasp before his still-parted lips as his cheeks and ears are now awash with heat, a flame that douses instant as if an icy deluge has been thrown over him. Arthur's facial features grow intense, pointed; his eyes narrow and one hand goes to his sword hilt as his other hand lifts.

He lunges.

Merlin staggers, chokes. This is it, foolishness has finally gotten the best of him. He feels his knees beginning to buckle in terror, in supplication as his eyelids flutter. "Arthur -"

The king's hand is round his neck and this is it, Merlin's worst fears are confirmed. He feels a coward for it, never mind what Arthur had erstwhile thought, and shuts his eyes. Bites his lips, feeling the iron-sweet salty taste of blood rising in his mouth; he must have bitten his tongue. Bit late for a literal representation of everything in the past, he thinks sardonically before the terror again takes over, the thought that Arthur does not know, or may not care, that all Merlin has ever done with his magic has been for him. His King. His friend. His...his destiny.

Merlin thinks on what his mother had said to him so long ago; He likes you. You're like two sides of the same coin, about he and Arthur. Two sides, yes; and now one is tarnished, surely, in the other's eyes.

"Please," Merlin croaks, his only instance of begging "I know I haven't the right to ask this, but kill me quickly, Arthur." Drops then to his knees, agony ripping through his entire body as his kneecaps strike the flagstone floor. His stomach rolls with nausea even as he lifts his chin, bared for hand grasp or dagger strike or sword thrust -

- Yet Arthur grabs not onto Merlin's neck, but his shoulder instead. "Stay here," and the command is kingly, spoken in the tone that even Merlin, without question, will obey.

Arthur lets go and strides past his shuddering manservant to the great doors and through them. "Guards!" The sovereign shouts.

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Arthur's footsteps are moving away, the sound of the door coming open precedes his shout, and Merlin tenses. This is his end, then. Arthur isn't even going to sully his own sword by killing Merlin himself, he is going to let the knights drag him away to the dungeon instead. But will he die? Merlin wonders how. Can he die, will this...will this be his final act of service to Arthur, leaving magic forever outlawed, its practitioners outcast, forced to hide and exist in the wilds if they are to exist at all?

Merlin does not know if he plans to beg, or tease, or swear, but over the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears he hears Arthur command "I require the room, and am not to be disturbed until further notice." The typical set of guards acquiesce before Arthur adds "Sir Leon." Merlin goes cold at the reference to that most steadfast knight, and cannot stop a tiny wrenching cry from exiting his lips. He imagines Leon's gentle eyes going fierce and hard, the soft curls of his gold brown hair antithetical to everything in his face once Arthur says that Merlin has magic.... "I need you to ensure that Merlin and I are not disturbed. Bring any of the knights you require to help."

"Yes, Sire," Leon's voice sounds incredibly distant and Merlin hears nothing else but the roaring of his ears as voices continue speaking for a moment longer. He feels his chest tighten, his vision tunnel, and hardly registers the slamming oaken doors and sound of Arthur's boots on the stones. He feels a cold sweat bursting along his hairline and his shoulder blades, hearing inside his skull the doleful dropping of the board during hanging, or the shinking screech and squelch of a sword burying itself to the hilt in his chest.

He raises his eyes to the ceiling and the sky, and cannot stop the sluicing tears in their cascade down his cheeks. He feels so heavy, yet is relieved at least to have this truth out at last. He contemplates calling for Kilgharrah, and then instantly negates that course of action; the great dragon had come close last time in Camelot to burning the city to the ground.

Besides, his throat is so thick with tears he doesn't feel able to speak.

Arthur stops beside him, hand heavy as the tone of his voice, as deep as the chasm into which Merlin's heart instantaneously falls. "Merlin."

Merlin tries desperately to respond, to speak up and tell Arthur I have magic, and I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you. He is crying now, completely unable to stop himself, to hold anything back. All he can see is the blur of Arthur's face, gleam of sunlight glowing on his golden hair.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur," he sucks back tears and uselessly attempts to dry them as he forces words from a closing throat. "I never told you, I wanted to tell you, and -" he feels light-headed, empty. His chest is seizing up as he makes slight croaking sounds.

And then a clatter precedes Arthur also on his knees. He seems hesitant to touch Merlin, stops as he is reaching out, which makes Merlin's chest constrict tighter and he feels sick. He cannot breathe, and what a way for him to go this is, to gasp out his life without any assistance from anyone else upon this frigid floor.

"Merlin," Arthur says. "Focus on my voice. I need you to listen to me. I need you to breathe." It's a command, but spoken far more soft than he had to Leon. "Come on, breathe. I can't have you passing out -or falling- after saying something so ridiculous, Merlin. You absolute idiot." He presses his lips together and widens his eyes, shifting slightly as he asks "Why would you tell me that the way you did?"

Merlin sobs again, and he hears the sigh from Arthur, sees the movement that he cannot help but wince at, wondering when the blow will fall, but it is only the king pulling out a cloth from beneath his arm bracer and offering it to wipe Merlin's tears. When the other does not take it, again Arthur sighs and forcibly takes ahold of Merlin's chin, wiping tears away himself. Roughly, of course, but there is care in his touch, in the gesture as well, and as Merlin's eyes clear he looks on Arthur, who looks steadily back at him. Waiting for an answer.

I am an idiot, I am, but....

Merlin recalls the king's most recent question. "Why...why wouldn't I?" His voice breaks. "It's true. I was born with it. I... used magic from the moment I met you, Arthur. I used it to light your way in the dark and to clear paths before you. I, erm, even used it during our first fight and to help in a - a tavern brawl. I tried to save you from bandits, and keep your father alive...," There is a sound from Arthur at that, his body rolls a bit and his eyes get larger, with shock, almost betrayal.

"You -" he presses at the floor with one hand as if to stand and move away "You used magic on my father?"

Merlin, even as his heart is still pounding, shoots out his hand to Arthur now. An automatic impulse to keep him close, to comfort him. "Yes, I...he was ill, and dying, and you were in so much pain. I couldn't stand by."

"...but you couldn't save him."

Merlin's shoulders slump and his chin bows. Figures this would be what he speaks of when admitting his powers, one of his failures. His many failures. "No," he gets out. "I couldn't." His tone is more than a croak, now it's scratching, rough. Almost seeming...older. A seemingly bone weary sound.

Something settles in Arthur's eyes then as he watches Merlin. As if he feels a sense of recognition. His tone is surprisingly gentle, all the ire of his last words gone as he says "You were that old man, the one I always thought was so familiar. Every time I looked into his eyes." Merlin bites his lip and his chin drops almost into his chest. "That was, that was you?"

Merlin nods. "Yes, it was."

"Always you?"

"Yes."

Quiet reigns, and Merlin almost holds his breath, feeling his heartbeat slowing an infintesimal amount. Then Arthur's voice raps out in aggravated shock "If it was, that means I've been knocked unconscious multiple times by your magic, Merlin!"

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Merlin is so shocked by that particular response, as he wipes at his eyes with Arthur's cloth - it's a token, he registers, from Gwen - that he actually laughs, the deep burbling giggle that sounds like liquid poured from a jug, and Arthur acts affronted.

"You do know that I am your king," he says, leaning back and folding his arms "and I also require some proof of this supposed magic you've got."

Merlin, no longer laughing, stares at him instead. Hardly daring to hope, even as this is Arthur, he knows him....

"You're not - you aren't going to kill me, then?"

Arthur stares, shoving himself to his feet. "What? No, Merlin. I asked of you if I ought to accept magic, you do remember that, right?" Merlin nods, silent. "I never wanted - I should not have killed that druid girl, that friend of Mordred's. I lost so much in doing so. Yet you didn't tell me to pardon her," he whirls, striding back and forth now, that ever-present righteous angry energy, the desire to do well, to be a worthy king, shining through every movement that Arthur is making.

Merlin is nearly smiling, no matter how low and awful he feels, still ill as a result of his cowardliness in speaking thus and in not telling Arthur he should accept magic sooner. So much sooner. "Why didn't you counsel me in that instance, Merlin? I know I am the King, but you've never hesitated to tell me when you think I'm acting -"

"Like a total turnip head?"

"- Imprudent."

They both stare at one another directly, Merlin shifting to rise at last up from his knees, and Arthur reaching out to catch underneath his elbow as he wobbles a wee bit. He stands so close, and his strong features drop, draw into a frown. "Did you honestly believe that I would kill y- or have you killed, Merlin?"

He looks hurt, Merlin sees it, the pain entrenched in Arthur's eyes as they stand so close to one another. Feels his own heart drop again, and responds simply "...I just know I wouldn't blame you if you thought you should. And I didn't want to put you in that position." Because I was afraid, he adds in his head. But I grew so tired of being afraid.

"Yet I have seen the virtues of magic, if you're right, stating all that you've done," Arthur starts again. "I'm still not certain whether or not I believe you, you know."

A hint of mirth twitches Merlin's full lips and he lifts his right hand, palm-up. Underneath the elbow of his arm Arthur's own hand still rests. Tenses a trifle.

"Leoht," Merlin whispers, and a light blooms and glows and rises above his hand, his bright gaze flashing gold as he speaks so. Arthur jerks in surprise, breath catching in his throat and eyes widening as Merlin looks to the other with a smile, gaze reflecting the awe in Arthur's own. He reaches out and touches the arm of the King, adding quietly "...Perhaps you'll remember this," stretching his fingers and curling them as if to hold something, the warlock utters "Fromum feohgiftum on fæder bearme. Fromum feohgiftum."

The white light begins twisting upon itself, growing larger and globular, as well as slightly blue.

Sun shining through the high windows causes the light to seemingly diminish, but it now floats just over Arthur's head, bathing his skin in its ethereal glow. The king watches it as if holding his breath and then he gasps, stepping back and staring. "Merlin, this - that thing - I remember a light like that guiding my way! In the caves with the mortaeus flower..." Merlin nods.

Arthur's gaze softens, grows gentle in awe and recognition. "That, so that was you?" His voice echoes across the chamber before softening. "You were watching out for me, even then. Even when you were dying." Arthur's eyes flash with something that looks akin to agony as he speaks thus.

"Of course," Merlin's face is open, serious.

"Even as you said not to ask you to be my servant in the next life?" Arthur kids, taking a breath, hesitating an instant as he makes as if to shove Merlin. The warlock presses his lips and then shifts his shoulder into Arthur's hand, allowing himself to be shoved. A small gesture, but a welcome one as the king's shoulders appear to relax as a result of it. He registers something. "Hang on, if you could send a light like that to me in the caves, all the way from the castle... If you are truly that powerful," he shakes his head, withdrawing a trifle. "You could have the world at your feet, bards playing songs in your name!"

"That isn't why I use my magic, Arthur," Merlin speaks simply. Almost fierce, even as his lips twitch in an incredulous smile.

The king's gaze flickers across his manservant's guileless face, so much better at keeping secrets than he'd told him, or shouted, rather - yet as full of emotion as ever. As constant as ever. Even to stay and physically offer himself up to be killed after revealing his magic, as if Arthur would, could do that to him, but no. Not his friend. He has no issues thinking of Merlin as his friend now, even as he doesn't speak aloud to the matter of how close they are.

Yet Merlin remains a puzzle. An enigma, even. "You're an odd one, Merlin," Arthur speaks up again as Merlin lowers his face, smiling slightly, the globe of light illuminating gleaming tracks of now-drying tears upon his prominent cheekbones before dissipating into the sunlight. Arthur grips his shoulder tightly, a bracing hold that he keeps, feeling the thinner fellow leaning into his touch with seeming relief. "- At least now I understand why."

Merlin grins at him, at last, a real goofy wide Merlin grin. "It's part of my charm," he says, eliciting a scoff.

"Oh, yeah, right."

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Merlin begins to tremble after all that has been said, looking at Arthur - who is rolling his eyes, huffing over him as usual, as if nothing between them has deeply, irrevocably changed. After slight tensing from the king upon Merlin's initial spell being cast, at least. And that means so very much.

Arthur rolls his shoulders and shoots the other fellow a crooked smile, his protruding eyeteeth visible against the flesh of the monarch's lower lip. He blinks and focuses upon Merlin's face and body more closely. Turning to directly face him: "What's the matter now, Merlin?"

"I -" Merlin wipes at his face once more, nostrils flaring as he hauls in air, and offers the cloth back to Arthur, who accepts and ties it around his arm again whilst listening. "It's just a relief. I've hidden who I am for so long, it's - that you've, you've accepted my magic, you haven't locked me up for admitting it, Arthur, I -" he whimpers and his shoulders rise, tense.

With a muttered "oh bollocks" suddenly Merlin feels cool links of metal scratching slightly against his flushing face, and strong arms almost hesitantly encircling his shoulders, a palm patting him on the back. He feels skin then, after an instant - the line of Arthur's jaw, the smoothness of his face pressing against Merlin's cheek and the side of his neck. Fingers of one un-gauntlet covered hand bury in the cloth of Merlin's shirt and vest, and the slim man feels callous-roughened digits at the back of his neck, pushing through his dark hair. "I know," Arthur's voice is gruff. "I know, Merlin." He seems to want to say something else, but doesn't. Keeps his arms wrapped securely around Merlin instead.

"No, but I," Merlin shifts to look into Arthur's eyes. With everything in his voice and heart and eyes, he says in as steady a tone as he can muster "I just - I want to say thank you."

The king's features twist as he nods and says "You're welcome," in return. As Merlin buries his head back in the other man's neck, he thinks he hears Arthur mutter something else, words he cannot quite catch as his arms tighten around Merlin's back.

They stand together, Merlin's heart at last slowing to its typical rhythm, his breathing evening out as the dread weight of his secret is at long, long last lifted. His mind stops pinwheeling at last to register something that causes him to let out a chuckle.

"What?" Arthur asks. "Is something amusing to you?"

"It just, it's funny," Merlin says. "This is the first time we've hugged."

Arthur snorts. "Oh please, don't flatter yourself. I've hugged you before." He withdraws to clap his hands on Merlin's upper arms as the other man cocks his head.

"Oh really? When?"

The king gasps. "I can't believe you don't remember! That should've been a momentous occasion for you. I'm insulted, Merlin." He shoves the other kiddingly before growing serious again. His voice becomes stern. "This doesn't mean I forgive you for holding this back from me for so long, you know. I'm going to have to get used to it."

"Yes, I know." Merlin goes serious too. He lifts his chin, steps back and settles his shoulders as best he can, eyes flicking up to his friend's as he swears "I will do whatever I can to prove myself to you, Arthur. And - at Camlann, I'll be at your side."

He is going to protect his King any way he can.

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"Merlin," Arthur speaks surprisingly soft, still. The warlock has expected searing words to begin, and surely they shall, at some point soon; after the battle with the Saxons perhaps, but Merlin waits on tenterhooks to wonder whether or not the king will demand to know if anyone else knew of his manservant's magic.

Yet even as his stomach lurches at the thought, Merlin turns to Arthur. Trusting him, still. "Yes, sire?" He asks. Even in his quiet words, Arthur seems sure.

But he shuffles, clears his throat. "...Your power," Arthur says, and adds swiftly "Your magic. We must inform the knights of it."

Merlin's eyes go wide. Somehow he hadn't expected Arthur to say that. He doesn't want to ask why? because he's asked himself why not so many times that the words are seared into his heart as indelibly as the scars upon his body. All he can think to say to Arthur is to ask of him "Are you sure?"

Arthur nods. "They should know; we will all be together, and if you mean to fight, do you mean to fight?" A nod.

"Yes, if you - if you'll let me." A stubborn clench of his teeth precedes Merlin bursting out "...and even if you won't let me, I'll, I'm going to come. I aim to stay by your side. Clotpole."

Arthur nods again and clasps his arm with a long blink in nonverbal thanks along with a slight sound of amusement. "All right." It seems as if he adds an even more softly uttered "good," and from the look upon his face, he means it. "But the knights are your friends, and if I am to know, they must also know." Losing a bit of his air of command, Arthur asks "Do you agree? I will swear them to secrecy if you wish."

Merlin's heart warms to hear how carefully Arthur speaks of this, how much he seems to be willing to follow Merlin's lead. Merlin feels a lump fill his throat again and nods to Arthur. "Yes, I think we should tell them. I'd... I'd like to tell them."

He doesn't comment about the suspicion that at least one may already know, but Arthur nods and draws himself upright. "Very well then." He strides across the floor again, opening the doors and inviting Sir Leon and the knights to "Come in, all of you."

They traipse in together, Leon first, Percival scanning the area, Elyan peering from behind Percival and checking the chapel's corners for threats. Merlin briefly wonders what Leon had told them about Arthur's orders, as he had clearly asked all of them to join him in guarding the privacy of their king. Gwaine swaggers into view with a nod and smile for Merlin, asking easily "What's going on, lads?"

"Merlin has something to share," Arthur speaks up, stepping back to stand beside his servant. His eyes catch each of his knights' in turn. "And until you are given express permission by Merlin or myself, not a one of you are to speak of what next occurs within this space. I charge you in your duties as my knights, and more, to your - your love as Merlin's friend. Is that understood?"

There are sideways looks and raised eyebrows, but Gwaine instantly puts his fist to his chest and swears. Warmth suffuses his face.

"For the love I bear to Merlin."

He stares Percival down when the giant knight makes a noise, only for an immediate "Of course. I swear, sire," from the largest knight to follow.

"I too so swear," Leon says.

Elyan nods. "As do I."

Arthur appears almost as relieved as Merlin to hear those words. He nods. "Good." With a slight movement and gesture towards Merlin, he adds "You have the floor, Merlin."

Arthur steps back, folding his hands behind his back as Merlin licks his lips and smiles at the others awkwardly. "Heh, well, it's a bit easier to explain by showing, so -" Lifting his left hand and extending his arm "Ligfyr, upastige draca," Merlin nearly whispers, eyes going to gold from blue.

A wall of flames appears between he, Arthur, and the knights. Elyan lets out a yell, tugging out and pointing his sword into the fire. Leon follows suit as Percival looks as though someone has belted him with a sword pommel directly between the eyes. Gwaine, after jerking his shoulders in brief surprise, shakes out his hair and laughs, facial features lighting up in the wash of flames. The other knights stare at him askance as he gestures to the fire, which forms into an effigy of a dragon, sparks coalescing into wings and horns and tail, a rope of flame as body and legs.

"What? That's fantastic!" Gwaine claps his hands and whoops. "Well done, Merl!"

"What -" Percival still seems nonplussed. "Who, how -"

"You're a sorcerer!?" Elyan yelps.

"Yes," Merlin speaks gently, murmuring "Acwence þa bælblyse" to extinguish the flames. In the abrupt darkness, he tries to shrug, smiling in an attempt to put the concerned and potentially frightened knights at ease. "I'm sorry I didn't - couldn't - tell you before," he says with a rough rubbing of his hand upon the back of his neck. "I hope you can forgive me," his eyes flicker sideways as his lips press together, glancing at Arthur, who stands silently. "And see that I'm still the same person."

With a nod and a bright smile, Gwaine bridges the distance to Merlin and grabs hold of him in a hug, patting the warlock on the back. "Proud of you," he whispers for only Merlin to hear, and Merlin blinks hard and smiles as he hugs Gwaine back.

"Thank you, Gwaine."

There is silence, then, until Leon, brows growing furrowed as he strokes a shaky hand across his chin, eventually utters "Wait... you weren't teaching Arthur sorcery when you said you were reciting poetry together, were you?"

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They are to ride out subsequent to the final discussion of battle, heading for the western mountains. Merlin stops to see Gaius making his way over after the horses are curried and as Arthur says his farewell to Gwen.

Gaius sights Merlin saddling horses to go with the knights and beckons him to the side, asking in a quiet, pointed manner "Merlin, have you forgotten where you're meant to be heading? On an errand of your own?" Or yours, Merlin thinks. He had been all set to tell Arthur he could not go to Camlann, that he was leaving Camelot to run a necessary errand for Gaius.... Yet his heart had other ideas, and so he had followed Arthur down the hall to tell his King the truth. "Am I not going with you?"

"Gaius," Merlin says, "I - I have to go with Arthur. I told him...he knows."

"Merlin," the physician's eyes widen, his face crinkling in shock and disbelief. "You cannot be serious."

"I am," Merlin swallows, looks into the eyes of the man who has been more than a father to him always, and adds "...the kingdom needs you anyway. You haven't got to go gallivanting off after me, helping me along with my skills forever. I can only hope that I've learned enough from you." He begins to choke up, trying to stop tears from filling his eyes again. Shrugs and strives desperately to smile. "This time I'll have to make do on my own. Please," pressing his lips together and looking into Gaius' eyes. "Please don't be angry with me. I know you've, you've done everything - that everything you did to hide, help me hide my magic was to keep me safe all these years." His voice is thickening and he doesn't even attempt to stop it now. "You've done so much for me, Gaius, you've taught me so much and I love you." He opens his mouth to say something else, and reiterates "I love you. So much."

"Oh, my boy," Gaius softens, the lines of his face folding as he opens his arms and comes up to the young man, wrapping them around him, holding Merlin's head in his hand. "I'm not angry," he whispers into the young man's ear. "I am proud of the person you've become." He strokes Merlin's hair, smiling and saying louder "You've brought such joy to my life. I must thank you for that." Face against Merlin's shoulder, arms tightening around his back, the old physician adds "It's been an honour. And Merlin," he withdraws enough to see tears gleaming in the warlock's eyes, a couple traitorous ones trickling down his cheeks. With a soft sound he rubs them away and pats Merlin's face, hands briefly cupping his thin high cheeks. "I'll have your favourite meal waiting for when you return."

Merlin sniffs and nods. "Thank you, Gaius." Gaius nods, and he nods, and the old fellow takes hold of Merlin's arm before relinquishing him with a fond smile and so much entrenched in his eyes. Merlin wipes his own as Gaius goes to Arthur, murmuring to him, hand out. Arthur grasps it, then takes the physician's arm, and draws the old man into a hug of his own. Merlin settles himself and turns to the Queen, in all of her poised and regal glory, but beneath it all, she is still Gwen, his first friend in Camelot. He smiles brightly at her and makes a bow.

"Merlin," she speaks to him before he can say a thing "You are still the bravest person I know. And I know you will take care of everyone before yourself, as always. Just -" she flattens her lips and lowers her gaze before looking up at him "- make sure that Arthur returns to me, and that you do too." She blinks and raises her chin, folding hands before her waist and appearing regal though never aloof. Her eyes are too full of emotion for that, and on impulse, Merlin takes hold of her hand.

"Your Majesty, I swear it," he lifts her hand by holding the fingers and kisses her knuckles, brushing his thumb across her palm. "We shall return to you."

"Good," she smiles. "And - please do watch out for my brother. I don't think you'll be doing any fighting, will you? ... Or at least, you won't be in the thickest part of it. But keep an eye out for Elyan for me. He does have that habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, you know."

"I do," it had been a close call with a magicked blade poisoned by Morgana, whereupon Elyan had thrust himself in the weapon's path to save his sister. Yet another reason Merlin thinks he himself will never know all that Gaius has come to know, as his powers only aided the physician. He also wonders briefly what would happen if Elyan was to learn that Gaius, and not only Merlin, has magic and they had used their combined powers to save him. But "I'll look out for him," he says to Gwen. "I promise."

"Thank you, Merlin. He does have Sir Leon as well," Guinevere glances over where the two knights are standing with Percival and Gwaine, Leon resting a hand on Elyan's shoulder.

"Oh yeah, he'll probably do a lot better with having Elyan's back on the battlefield," Merlin tries to make a light-hearted crack. "You know how rubbish I am with a sword."

Gwen's glance at him is impossibly fond. "Oh, Merlin. You always underestimate yourself." She reaches out and takes hold of his hand, surprising him. "I happen to believe you're stronger than you know."

The way she speaks those words causes him to wonder, and his eyes narrow as he cocks his head. Is ready to ask her if she knows something about him when Arthur calls from his saddle "Well come on, Merlin! We're wasting daylight. And we need all that we can get with the way you ride." There are guffaws and Merlin sighs.

"Things never change."

"Some things," Gwen corrects as she smiles at him. "He does love you, you know."

"Really?" Merlin squints and makes a face. "Dunno, I think what he loves most is taking the mick out of me."

"As you do him," Gwen laughs, stepping back onto the stairs in order to see them off. "But you take care of each other." Those words seem both a statement and an order, and Merlin has no trouble taking them as both.

"We do, and will. I'll see you, Gwen," he takes a chance in calling her name without the title, and is rewarded with a beaming smile as he heads to his horse.

"Goodbye, Merlin." She says to him and waves them off, blowing Arthur a kiss as he gazes at her as if drinking her in, committing her to memory from atop his charger's back. Merlin sees her tears well up as the King mimes catching her kiss and placing it on his heart. Gwaine catches a flower thrown by somebody and Percival waggles his fingers in a wave, trying to coax smiles from Leon and Elyan.

He himself holds up a hand to Gaius as they depart, and Gaius lifts his own hand where he stands before being swallowed by the walls and the crowd, and Merlin feels a cold prickling at the back of his neck. Layered over the sight of the knights and citizens and queen is a funereal pall, a sense of loss that is yet to come; and he wonders suddenly if they all are destined to see Camelot again, and when.

Chapter Text

For the first several hours, it feels as if they are on a long hunting trip, a journey to a neighbouring kingdom to establish positive relations or to broker peace. If it were not for the trail of men following the King and his circle, one could almost see this as a typical peacetime errand of the knights of the round table.

Until late afternoon, when they reach the woods.

Arthur signals for the knights to move, his larger guard and the legion of troops stretching out behind as they ride. Reaching the foothills surrounding the Cambrian mountains, Arthur gives Leon and Elyan the task of leading his men to the field. "We will meet you there," he says. The knights dismount to exchange arm grasps and nods. Percival hauls Elyan into an embrace, practically engulfing the shorter man with his enormous body.

Elyan grunts, doing his best to breathe as he pats Percival on the back. "We shall fight together, Percy. It's alright."

The quiet knight only holds tighter. "Yes, but you must take care of yourself," Percival's voice is a deep rumble yet one that carries to all their ears as he lifts his eyes to Leon's. "And you'll help him," he speaks - not with a questioning tone, for tearing through his words are the emotions of his past, and Merlin recalls with an empathetic burst of pain what happened in Percival's life that first brought him to Camelot. And the pall of Lancelot's death, and death again hangs over them.... The death of one family leads him to fear unceasingly the death of another.

Yet Leon nods, soft curls matching up with the gentle, understanding expression on his own face. "I will."

Gwaine grins, looping his arms around each of their backs as Percival at last relinquishes Elyan, grabbing Leon next in what is certainly a bone-bruising hug. "Don't worry, Perce and I will ensure there is no poisoned blade to impale anyone with this time, while of course we'll all be taken care of by Merlin."

This last is evidenced even now by the fact that as the knights have dismounted from their horses to make their farewells until the battle, the manservant has found a fallen log to tether the animals to. He also gathers together scraps of wood and dried leaves, starting a fire with a whispered word.

When the knights and Arthur turn to take in what he's done, Merlin looks up at them. "I thought you all could eat before we take our leaves. I can make something, for old times' sake." He hesitates, wondering if things have changed between the lot of them now that he has revealed his magic. If they will not accept the aid of a sorcerer.

Yet even as Arthur's face appears to twist just a bit, the others glance at one another and shrug. Gwaine grins and thumps Merlin on the back. "I'm for it," he says.

"Of course, we know you'd never pass up food," Leon grumbles and Percival laughs.

Gwaine winks at him. "You know, you're absolutely right, Leon. Have to keep myself looking like this," he runs hands through his hair.

"What for?" Elyan cracks, and even Merlin breaks into laughter at the subsequent expression upon Gwaine's face. He appears absolutely baffled for the instant before staggering dramatically, hand clasped over his heart.

"What for? You wound me, and besides I doubt you'd know."

"Gwaine the only people who know how wondrous you find yourself are you, and"

"Careful who you slander, Ely, this is Gwaine we're talking about."

"...Good point. I was going to say his mother," Elyan adds, and there are nods and verbalised agreement.

"Alright, I can take that," Gwaine tosses his head agreeably, continuing to sport a grin. "But not only am I dashingly handsome and fabulously daring, I'm resourceful too. C'mon Merlin, I'll go get firewood with you."

"I've got to find water as well," Merlin checks upon the flames and whispers over top of them again. "And set a few snares, unless you lot have seen bigger game than rabbits."

This time the knights say no, they haven't, except for Gwaine thinking that he's GOT game, and there is laughter and lightness until Arthur stands stiffly, jaw clenched, and says "I'm going to call the soldiers to a halt."

Soldiers. The fact that their king is heading to speak to them, to give them leave to stop and rest, to build their own small fires, to hunt and fish before the battle that is to come; it all speaks to the weight of his duties, and also to the truth of where they are and whereto they go.

They are on their way to war.

Merlin feels his heart dropping again as he watches Arthur carry the weight of this fight, and the weight also of knowing who Merlin is - he had not missed the emotions crossing Arthur's features as he'd used a spell to light the fire. He trembles as he stands with Gwaine, as Elyan says he shall walk with Arthur whilst Percival and Leon tend briefly to the fire, studying its flames closer than usual, twisting a bit of wood to look at it, as if the use of magic would, could inherently transform such a thing.

Gwaine gently clasps his shoulder and they turn, heading out of the clearing with the fire and the space wherein their horses are tethered.

***

Tramping along beside him, Merlin finds himself easing with Gwaine. The other man hasn't treated him any different since his magic revelation, not even with sideways looks or slight pauses in speech, and certainly not with the clenching of his jaw or tensing body at the sight of a spell. He's as free and easy and jovial as ever, even as he and Percival are set to find Morgana on the morrow. ("There's always been something about you, Merl," Gwaine speaks up cheerfully. "Definitely something more'n what Morgana's got.")

"I appreciate your faith, but she's incredibly powerful, Gwaine, and it's - her power isn't, well, it's not like mine."

"I'm sure it's not," Gwaine grins. "I certainly don't think Morgana would be resourceful enough to start a camp fire. And alright, I'll say it, she really ought to do something about her hair."

Merlin cannot help but be startled into laughter, even as he adds "Please, I'm being serious, Gwaine."

"So am I. I take hair very seriously, Merlin." He does pause for a minute, however, before adding with the smile dropping from his face "...but I know she isn't like you. She's never done for people without expecting any praise, the way you've always done. Not nearly so much."

Merlin closes his eyes. "You didn't know her when she was - she was good, once. Kind and caring, though she had a habit of not showing it to everyone."

"Like Arthur," Gwaine suggests. Merlin huffs.

"Almost as bad as Arthur, but...she became far worse. I think there was always -" Merlin pauses, throat thickening as he tries to express what he thinks of Morgana, what he has wondered about her and whether or not she is truly, completely evil. What does destiny mean, what does it do to its bearers? Its pawns?

"...Do you think you're a pawn of destiny, Merlin?"

Merlin goes cold as he realises he had spoken about destiny aloud.

At least it is to Gwaine. Gwaine, who has always been one to listen, to be there for him. He took it upon himself to care and to be Merlin's friend from the beginning, and "Aren't all of us the pawns of our destinies, Gwaine?" Merlin inquires softly, stopping beside a mossy tree, the roots of which spread and bend almost like seats. They are proper height, too; which exhorts Merlin to drop and sit, pushing his hands through his hair feverishly. "I know... I've been told of mine, and I feel so weighted with it."

There is a shuffling, movement over leaves and sticks, and then Gwaine's warmth settles next to Merlin. "Well like I said," tipping his head back with a little sigh "It matters not how you're born, that doesn't make you noble. It's what you're like inside," with his open palm Gwaine slaps Merlin's chest and adds "I think it's the same with destinies. Nothing outward shapes us more than ourselves. We choose our paths, acting and reacting to the people around us." He shrugs. "In that we make our own destiny. I mean, I'm pretty sure it'd be written somewhere that I was to spend my days drinking and my nights passing from bed to bed -"

"- or on the floor," Merlin suggests, and Gwaine laughs.

"Aye, fair enough. But from wrong place, wrong time, wrong drink I got up and left the tavern with you."

"And Arthur, because we, I got you into that fight and so we had to take you with us," Merlin sucks in air with a wince of remembrance. "The knife in your leg, you lost so much blood...,"

Gwaine's features are soft even in only the moonlight, as the sun has fully set and faded from the sky by this point. "Oi, if I could have walked out under my own power on that day, I'd still have followed you," he says, and the look in his eyes as he gazes upon Merlin causes the warlock to feel warm in face and neck, all the way to the very tips of his ears. Reaching out and cupping his face tenderly, with an ease and openness as if it is nothing for him to show his truest feelings to the world, Gwaine adds "I told you, you're the only friend I've got."

Gwaine's hand is on his face, and he's gazing at Merlin so tenderly, looking right into his eyes. It is so easy, then, for Merlin to whisper a "thank you, Gwaine. You know, Elyan wasn't completely right. I also think you're pretty wonderful," he adds with a gulp, a nod, and he doesn't plan it but his lips press to the heel of the knight's hand, just at the place before palm and wrist meet.

Gwaine's face looks like it's been bathed in light from the sun; and in this space beside the tree where the wind blows coolly and a night bird calls, somehow the words and the warmth between them staves off worries of destiny, of fate, of the battle tomorrow and his worries about the response to Merlin's magic being revealed, no matter if delayed... With a slight flex of his fingers, Gwaine draws Merlin in to kiss his cheek and then wrap him in a hug.

Merlin sags into the embrace, resting his head upon Gwaine's shoulder with gratitude, and so for long moments together they remain entwined.

Chapter Text

Merlin remains entwined with Gwaine for long enough to grow cold from the press of his chainmail, and his shiver makes the knight retreat and say "Oh, right, we're meant to be getting firewood."

"And water," Merlin listens a moment and then murmurs a spell to show him the nearest water source. "...which isn't far away, here, let's go." His eyes focus again to see Gwaine's dark brown gaze holding his with a smile curving his slightly parted lips. "... What?" Merlin inquires of his friend.

"Nothing but that you have stunning eyes," Gwaine speaks softly. "And they're even more so when they glow as you cast a spell." He bites his lower lip, teeth dragging against the skin so slowly before Gwaine shakes back his hair and expels a legitimate groan as Merlin's gaze flickers and drops bashfully. "Have mercy on me, Merlin."

Merlin almost laughs, as this is typical Gwaine, always flirting. But the fact he says when using magic, Merlin's eyes are stunning - that he feels no disgust or horror, or any negative emotion from sighting the casting of a spell - it hits Merlin with a pooling warmth, a light feeling within him that somehow grows as Gwaine reaches out and curls his fingers around Merlin's. "Lead the way to find us water," Gwaine murmurs, and the manner in which his friend says that sends a shockwave skipping along the warlock's spine.

He wonders if Arthur will feel any of these things, and then shakes his head at himself for the idiocy of that wish. You really are an IDIOT he hears Arthur's roar occur during a hunt after he'd run into the prince and scared a deer away. The sound is echoing through time, as he thinks I am not a fool.

Well that's debatable. Go on, Merlin -

I have many talents, you simply fail to notice. To notice, yes, but Merlin feels a wash of regret, of anger at himself. I didn't want to put you in that position. Yet in the clenching of Arthur's jawline before he went to speak to all his men, Merlin registers anger, hurt, betrayal; can almost hear Arthur's voice saying "You lied to me all this time" and his body stiffens as he thinks on what the king had said about not forgiving him for lying yet.

They will have to talk about it. If Merlin is able to get Arthur to talk.... If he has the chance before they reach Camlann proper.

But he and Gwaine come upon a river now, and there are several dry birches and willows beside and over the water, which makes it a simple task for the knight to fell them using the hatchet in his belt. He lingers a look upon Merlin as the manservant stoops to retrieve water from its rush over rocks, biting his lip again as the other does his best to smile. "We've got wood and water," Merlin says bright as he can muster. "Now all we need is food, crackling rabbit stew, and -"

As he fills his water container and tops it, Gwaine tucks away his hatchet and comes to help him up. "- something sweet," large hand fitting around Merlin's thinner one to pull him upright. "You know how much I enjoy that," and Gwaine drops his hand to rest at Merlin's waist, letting his body rest against Gwaine's. Merlin scoops the water jug in his other hand, free palm at rest on the mail over the chest of his friend.

"I do," Merlin smiles, looking into Gwaine's face. Something is in the taller man's dark eyes as they track to meet Merlin's, and his beard and lips twitch.

"You know me so well, Merlin," burr of his tone and his usual dastardly twinkle lend something more to the comment than its words, something deeper that Merlin feels thrumming through his side from the curl of Gwaine's fingers, the way his thumb swipes across cambric, and how he swallows, Merlin noting the way his throat bobs underneath his beard that looks as soft as his eyes. Words catch in Merlin's throat in a way they've almost never done, save during the advent of his mind pinwheeling as he strove to tell Arthur the truth about his magic, his great power.

He isn't clear on how much Arthur or the knights know, since he has not told them everything he has ever done with his magic; nor does he wish to come out with the admission he'd been told (by a dragon, which might perchance carry some special weight) no less than that he was the greatest sorcerer whose duty lay in serving the greatest king. He has come far, and lost much, and no one knows all he's done or what has been, what may yet be suffered if he cannot use his skills to keep all safe.

Merlin's body jolts a bit as Gwaine squeezes his side before lifting his hand to rub over Merlin's hair. "We'd best get back to the fire I suppose," he sighs as if he regrets having to do it "- though really, Merl, I could stay out here with you all night."

"Same here Gwaine," Merlin smiles "but we know the royal clotpole still cannot make decent stew for himself, and I cannot possibly subject any of you to that on the eve of battle."

"Merlin if I didn't already love you madly, this would make me love you more."

They turn and move together, Gwaine hauling the logs he'd cut onto his farther shoulder so he remains pressed against Merlin as they walk back to the fire side by side.

Luckily Leon had found some pheasants and lo and behold, a rabbit - so they can actually have stew. Merlin removes the rabbit's hide and scrapes off its fur, plucking feathers from the pheasant wings as well before dropping both types of meat into the water jug that he settles over the flames.

Chapter Text

Before previous skirmishes, those times of repose when subsequently the knights would begin the most difficult portion of a quest or head into a situation that may beget battle, there were bursts of jollity and laughter, chats and cheers and levity. It was a consistent occurrence that startled Merlin at times, even upset him. How can they joke? he asked Arthur once, only to hear that a knight takes every day as if it could be his last, because one day it shall be. Merlin had understood, or come to understand the bond between Arthur and his men. More than friends. More than brothers. He has learned to accept such ways, enough even to try and join with them at times. Because he understands. ...I wish I didn't, but I do.

Yet this night is different for them all.

The loudest sound is the crackling of the fire and the horses as they nicker where Arthur stands with the steeds tied up. A shink of knife or sword blade on whetting stone and the slight crunch of vegetables, tubers that are to be added to the pheasant and rabbit stew, battle the popping fire and whisper of wind through trees.

Merlin gets to work slicing wild onions and mushrooms from the area that Elyan brought when he returned to the fire, and Gwaine magnanimously gives up his apple "... to add a bit of sweetness," he says with a smile. His fingers graze Merlin's as he hands the fruit over, and settles next to the manservant to assist him in his chopping.

Percival reaches over then "Pass some potatoes, Gwaine" and adds "What, I know my way round a good spud,"

Snorting "Of course you do," elicits laughter, Merlin's face splitting into brightness. Elyan shakes his head, biting down on his lip.

"You lot are ridiculous," but he hides a chuckle of his own beneath the edge of his cloak. Leon sharpens everyone's blades until the stew is boiling, and when turning over the meat it's tender.

"Supper's ready, Arthur," Merlin taps the side of his bucket with a spoon, and is handed bowls to fill for each of them. "If anyone wants water to drink, we'll have to refill this," he adds, dipping the spoon passing for a ladle into the broth, layering it over each knight's portion as one would gravy. "Wish I had some of me mam's bread to sop this up," he murmurs.

"Y'know what would be excellent," Gwaine says with mouth full

"If you had manners?" Leon suggests.

"Oho, cheeky! I was going to say," swallowing his present bite "- an apple pie."

"Sure you wouldn't want cheese, Gwaine? Or was it pie that tasted of cheese? What was that dream he told us about, lads..."

"You make fun, but I tell you that you were missing out not having such a dream. It was life-changing." Gwaine levels a look at each of them, pointing at the knights. Percival shrugs, Leon laughs, Elyan sighs.

And Merlin rolls his lips and stands with the final full bowl, going to Arthur's side and kneeling, holding the food out to his king. "Sire," he speaks soft. "Arthur, you need to eat."

The other man faces away, shoulders stiffening up and tensing as Merlin kneels close and speaks to him before he snaps "Why are you doing this?" More loudly than perhaps he meant, though it's unclear as Arthur's teeth have clenched and his eyes now blaze. The knights go silent.

Merlin cocks his head in confusion. "Doing... what? I made sure I cooked the meat all the way through."

Arthur lowers his voice, sweeping his arm at Merlin with an aggravated huff of breath. "This! Pretending - acting like a servant. You aren't that at all, you're an almighty sorcerer." You've lied to me all this time.

Merlin blinks. "Yes, I'm a sorcerer," he swallows slightly as he shifts to look into the other man's eyes, dipping his face to search Arthur's expression and then to catch and hold his gaze. "...but I was born to serve you, Arthur." He still extends the bowl, light eyes gazing now into the darkness of the trees, sighting pinpricks of flickering light, the other fires of Arthur's men who all have come to Camlann. "Some men plow fields, some become knights, or blacksmiths, or physicians." Merlin's eyes shift back to rest on Arthur's. "I am proud to serve you," he says seriously. "And I wouldn't change a thing."

I'm happy to be your servant. Until the day I die. Said so long ago, those words ring again, true as then they were yet also with an even greater depth within from memory.

Arthur blinks and his shoulders settle as Merlin crouches, watching him. The king's hair ruffles in a breeze now kicking up chilly; carrying something like cries of fear and agony before the stillness after death. Or of the quiet of a night wherein owls and other animals are going after prey, Merlin thinks disgustedly. There are not always omens; the great dragon hadn't said to listen to the wind, and besides, him being here with Arthur, close enough to stop Mordred or even to take the sword thrust himself on the morrow, that can change the outcome of this day. Surely.

A shiver passes through him and Merlin realises if he continues holding this bowl he's likely to lose his grip upon it. Lowering his arm just slightly, "Alright I know I just made a speech and you're taking time to process it but are you actually going to take and eat this, or are you going to be a prat and force me to hold it out to you all night?"

Arthur blinks again, an infinitesimal "oh" escaping his lips as he takes the bowl. After an incredibly lengthy moment he jerks his chin down in a nod before adding as if without being able to stop himself "You ought to eat too." Merlin settles into an actual sitting position beside his, folding his arms across both bent knees, resting chin upon them.

"I will, after you've had enough."

Arthur's mouth twitches and his eyes narrow. "Hang on, are you calling me fat?! Again?"

"No," Merlin cannot stop a chuckle. "Not this time. I just, I'm here to take care of you. You'll need all your strength tomorrow."

There is so much in those words, and Arthur says "I'll have you by my side." His eyes catch Merlin's, and the other nods.

"Like I said, I'll be there to protect you." Or to die at your side.

He spake such words before, and in the past, Merlin knows they would make Arthur laugh. First in disbelief, then in fondness. Yet he had sworn he would protect his King or die at his side, and it was not hyperbolic in the slightest. Here and now - in Falkirk, at Camelon, to do battle at Camlann - he knows he can and must use everything to protect Arthur, and Arthur knows as well, at last, of his power if not the full extent.

Perhaps it is just his imagination, or an echo of the wind whispering from the trees around them, but the sorcerer swears that he presently hears Arthur say "Thank you, Merlin."

Chapter Text

Mordred had gained allies of his own after departing Camelot, subsequent to his previous attempts to distance himself from Morgana. Merlin thinks on this, wonders how many have joined with him - and knows both of them are, in a sense, what he created - their wills were twisted from good to madness and vengeance.

Morgana, as a Pendragon, had tragedy in her lack of knowledge or ability to trust. The wont of her line, he supposed, and a shock washes over Merlin as he registers how different Arthur is. Pride, belief in self to the exclusion of advice others might give even for benefit...that Morgana had. She (and Mordred, later, through what he learned due to perversion of the Druidic ways) had the ability to twist words into blows; to take assurance of being better than other people for the magic they possess - inherently so. It's so easy to follow one's impulse for vengeance, to sup on hate until completely consumed. Yet hatred does not keep one fed, it gnaws the belly into emptiness and then eats away at the rest of the body, teeth sinking into one's heart and poison into the soul.

Merlin banks the fire and settles beside it, swiping a hand across his face and stretching his body carefully, pale lanky limbs akimbo as he folds his arm beneath his head and watches over the others as they trail off to sleep a little way from him. He whispers a spell that will wake him upon any disturbance and focuses then upon the fire, eyes prickling and then growing heavy with the sight, which blurs as he also begins to drift...

Subsequently moonlight shines down amongst trees, bathing all in its blue-white glow and causing light to burn silvery and stark as shadows deepen into darkness even beyond that of the deepest night. Merlin finds himself searching for something, anything; hears again the seer's words thunder through his head: "... Arthur's bane. You would do well to fear it, for it stalks him like a ghost in the night."

A night like this one --

Merlin hears a sound, registers movement, crackling in, amongst fallen leaves and he jerks, sees a darkening shadow, drifting. Hears thuds, registers them as footfalls, prior to the shink of a drawing sword and feels frigid fear on the back of his neck; sees burning ground ahead, and bodies - his heart is pounding, he has to run, run to Arthur...

And Arthur is here now, before Merlin's eyes, armour tarnished from mud and dirt and gore, yet still shining as he does, as he always has; he stoops in this moment to comfort a dying knight.

Then footfalls traverse the bloody ground, there is a silver gleam of chainmail

Mordred.

Curling raven hair, ice-blue eyes, his features cold and dead with hate; sword up and swinging -

No -

Stabbing Arthur, sword sinks into his side, through mail, light dims, leaving those glimmering eyes, full of so many things

No! Arthur, come on, please -

The king stumbles, Merlin leaps, keening, feeling as if his very soul has been torn in two, half rendered out of what should be, must be whole.

I can't lose him! He's my friend!

"Merlin...,"

Icy deluge stings his eyes, pours down his cheeks. He screams, voice breaking, he roars out to the great dragon, holding to Arthur so tightly his fingers ache as he begs.

Stay with me, hey. Arthur. Arthur!

"...You are magic itself, you are of the earth and sky, fire and sea. You are the child of this land, far more than my son."

What - Father? Merlin raises bleary eyes, somehow clear again, even as he feels light dimming, as it must once Arthur is gone. Father, Merlin's voice is thick and broken as the face of the last dragonlord appears before him, kind eyes and greying black hair. Balinor appears to look at, through, beyond him. To see Merlin's heart break. Tell me, please. Can I save him?

"You must do all that you can, and yet I cannot tell. The world is beyond this, and you are beyond even its scope now. Yet you are strong, Merlin. Stronger than anyone can know or imagine."

Can not spirits see beyond this world of ours? Merlin is pleading. Will you look, after the battle, please -

But Balinor's voice is fading even as he lifts his hand and smiles faintly. "Use your gifts, Merlin. They may yet sustain your King."

His face fades at last to nothing but Mordred's remains beyond, pale pink lips wearing that ever-enigmatic smile as Arthur sprawls before him, sweaty and bloodied, body crumpling, gaze dimming, distancing, his life fading -

No! using everything within him, Merlin shouts. Don't go, stay with me, Arthur! Please... he whispers. Please.

***

There is another noise, then. A snort, shuffle. Scoff. "Merlin, I'm here." A pause, almost hesitation. "You're dreaming, come on, wake up. Don't be such a girl," and a hand, Arthur's hand is upon Merlin's shoulder, shaking his arm.

Merlin gasps into wakefulness, rearing upwards from the place he had crumpled beside a rough log to sleep in the blue-white night. His heart still hammers as his chest heaves, beating so rapidly as if it intends to break out of his body and fly away. He blinks rapidly as well, gasping, wishing desperately that they could fly from here.

Merlin lifts his arm in its sleeve to wipe his face clear of sweat (and tears still mingling in) as he hauls in a breath and presses his lips together, feeling, basking in Arthur's warm, bright, living presence kneeling next to him, mostly in shadow. "I heard you calling my name," Arthur's teeth gleam as he speaks, hand gentle now on Merlin's shoulder. "By the gods, Merlin, you're shaking." As if automatically, the king begins pulling him in, only pausing to look into his manservant's face. "It's alright," he says, so softly and without a trace of teasing; no quips about Merlin being a coward emanate from his lips this time. All he asks is, with head slightly tilted as he reaches out to ruffle Merlin's hair, "Were you worried about me?"

His tone is warm and even, and he's trying for their typical banter now, which would make it easy for Merlin to roll his eyes or scoff out something about being worried about Arthur's armour, not him. But after everything he cannot offer japes and so Merlin croaks out, choking on a feeble attempt at a laugh that sounds more like a sob: "Of course I was, you clotpole. I AM," and he reaches out to the king, fingertips pressing to the cold mail links as he automatically lowers his hand, half-stroking in a brief touch of Arthur's chest. Assuring himself that his king is, in fact, still here. Even as the dollophead is crouched still, studying Merlin like he's a book Arthur is attempting to read. Merlin gasps as he continues "... always have done. I want to keep you safe, you prat. It's too late for - I'm not going to change now," and he tries to laugh, sniffling a mite. Perhaps it is the honest worry he's divulged, or the fact he had been so unsettled by a dream (a burst of empathy for Morgana rises up in Merlin and nearly chokes him) but he gazes at Arthur and is helpless against his feelings.

Something softens in Arthur's face, and the king swallows as he shifts his hand to squeeze Merlin's upper arm, thumb running back and forth across the cloth of his jerkin softly. "I don't want you to change," his tone grows rough as it deepens upon the latter words. "I want you to -always- be you."

Merlin's brows quirk and he feels warm from Arthur's words, a burst of affection serves to calm and ground him in this moment as the other shifts and grunts to settle down in a sitting position beside him. He focuses on Arthur's hold upon his arm, on the movement of the other man's arm and shoulder, offering a space for Merlin to lean and rest by him next to the ashes of the fire.

With a briefly shocked glance Merlin nestles close, feeling Arthur's warmth beneath the cold overlay of plate and mail, hearing his breaths come deep and even, seeing the gold of his hair, white in the glare from the moon, waving slightly in a rising burst of wind. Hears a soft swear as Arthur pulls his cloak and fluffs it out to wrap around himself and Merlin, without making it obvious that is what he has done. Holds the cloth for a prolonged moment with a slight cough and cutting glance sideways before focusing on the forest away from his manservant. "Can't have you exhausted tomorrow," Arthur says. "You're useless enough anyway."

Yet he pats Merlin's side in bracing fashion as soon as the other man nestles in, letting his manservant know in truth he is grateful. So far from their interaction of Merlin thinking Arthur was going for a hug and Arthur being horrified at that suggestion, years and years ago. A tired yet thankful smile splits Merlin's face even as a lump fills the warlock's throat. How far they've come together, the two of them; and how grateful he is that Arthur remains willing to have, to keep, to allow Merlin close after everything. The lies, the magic and all.

Yet Arthur is alive, and safe for now, at this moment; and as Merlin's father told him there is much still that he may do. With Arthur's assurance of not wanting him to change, surely something in the very heart of him can protect - can save - his dear friend's life. If his magic is of the land, well, the land must serve its king.

Somehow.

Chapter Text

Merlin doesn't realise he has nuzzled his face against Arthur's shoulder far enough for his nose to press into the side of Arthur's neck. At least not until the warmth of pliant skin and pounding of the king's pulse-point wakes him enough to register it, as well as to the fact that he has inadvertently shifted his body as well. And so, wrapped in Arthur's cloak together, the two of them are fully entwined, Merlin's bum resting in Arthur's lap.

His arms have wrapped round Merlin's shoulders, the manservant realises, as he feels Arthur's hand, palm and heel and fingertips, moving up and down against his back, rough fingers bumping over his vertebrae in a lazy manner, as if Arthur is as unaware of his ministrations as Merlin was that he had dozed off, shifting into the king's lap in the first place. Moving now a miniscule fraction, Merlin freezes as his nose slips, sliding to rest against the nape of Arthur's neck, allowing him to feel the slightly soft prickling of the king's hair against his skin, but also by that movement necessitating that Merlin's lips have come to press against the side of Arthur's neck where before the tip of his nose had rested.

Merlin means to move, at least to draw his face back so as not to encroach upon a space so close in a manner so intimate, but as he makes to stretch and shift away, he feels Arthur curl his hand, press it to his back, and hold him in place. And unless Merlin is imagining it, Arthur's other hand has risen to push through Merlin's hair and shift his head to rest in a slightly more comfortable position on Arthur's cloaked shoulder. The cloth is bunched enough over plate metal to provide a thin pillow, about as much as Merlin gets from his own jacket when taking it off and folding to use under his head upon a hunt.

They are both drowsy, Merlin is unclear who is more so, and he truly does not want to ruin whatever this moment is as he strives to breathe evenly and not to wriggle about in Arthur's arms. He really does not understand how they had come to this, but despite the tracks of tears dried upon his cheeks and the fact his shirt had dampened drastically from sweat because of his dream, he feels safe and warm curled up with Arthur, listening to his breath and heartbeat - the latter more than a little muffled underneath the king's armour, his surcoat and undershirt, but the mere fact that Arthur lives and is willing - even in the semi-conscious state he must be in currently - to hold onto Merlin like this, to keep him physically close, it fills Merlin's heart with a surge of affection that is almost painful. Even as he had at last told his truth to Arthur, he still feels weighted by the lies, the deceit and subterfuge ...even necessary as it had been when Uther reigned, he wishes he had thought more of Arthur in his rule, but still he was honest about not wanting to put his king, his friend in such a position as admitting his magic openly to the court, perhaps. Merlin nearly shudders to think of it, drawing in a choking breath that if he is not mistaken or delirious from exhaustion, causes Arthur's arms to tighten around his back.

Merlin takes note of the other knights then, as Gwaine makes a particularly loud sound, a snore that causes Percival to groan and thump him. Through mostly shut eyes, Merlin catches sight of Gwaine, grumbling in sleep, nudge his body into that of the enormous knight, and Percival's arm wraps around the slighter man, tugging him into a position where Gwaine's head rests upon Percival's chest. Elyan and Leon, meanwhile, sleep back-to-back, pressed solidly against each other with weapons near to hand.

They all, at least, are resting supine, while Arthur is still sitting mostly upright, even leaning back into the fallen log as he has begun to. Surely his position isn't comfortable, and Merlin feels a stab of guilt that he could very well be the only reason for them resting in this particular way. Arthur had gotten up to see to him, after all. Which has never been his job. Merlin thinks, though, upon the instances where Arthur obviously figured that he, Merlin, needed protecting. All of the knights felt that at some point - even Gwaine, though his knowledge of Merlin's multiple occasions of assistance to him balanced out their concerns as being somewhat equal.

Yet surely Arthur felt very differently. Even in his attempts to soften his explanation of wildren, or various remonstrations about Merlin coming with him to fight a dragon, or returning to locate his servant in cavernous depths, or even not telling Merlin of a quest because it would be so dangerous.

Of course, Merlin always had ways to find out, to go with Arthur, to deal as best he could with whatever they were facing, but that wasn't the point, was it? There is an imbalance now, or a strangeness to their actions, their connection to each other. Or perhaps Merlin is thinking this hard because, there should be, right? There ought to be a change, a pulling back, an act or looks of prolonged confusion or mistrust. But no. Aside from outbursts that are so very Arthur, here he is cuddling with Merlin, for the gods' sake! And that -

"Merlin," Arthur's voice groans, a deep rough register that doesn't curl deliciously in Merlin's ears or throb through his chest, certainly not. "Shut up."

This makes Merlin's eyes fly open, and he tips his head back away from Arthur's neck to stare at him. "I didn't even say anything!" He hisses.

Arthur grunts, shifting his head and lifting an eyebrow. "I can practically hear you thinking. So just...stop it, please. I know you're not an idiot, but you DO need to get some sleep, you know."

"So do you," Merlin retorts in a sharp whisper. "...and I don't think you're going to be able to lie comfortably holding onto me like this, sire."

Merlin's ears burn bright red as he says that, and Arthur replies to him "Oh, you think I'm doing this for you? Because I'm not, I just can't have you shrieking like a giant girl due to any more nightmares." He sniffs, eyes shifting off of Merlin's face, but he does start to stretch into a position less upright.

Even as he keeps his arms around Merlin, only shifting them to encircle his middle rather than his back. He pulls the other flush against his legs and chest, and as Merlin's skin continues to flush, extending from the tips of his ears to his cheeks and the back of his neck, he tries to blurt out something else, but feels his torso constricted by a clenching of Arthur's arms as he utters, breath ruffling Merlin's hair "Good night, Merlin."

"Are, are you," Merlin licks his lips, tone almost a squeak "... hugging me, Arthur?"

Arthur's arms instantly loosen. "No, absolutely not."

"Are you sure, because it seems almost like you were...dare I say, smothering me with affection just now," and Merlin can only be this daring because he's not facing Arthur, because even as he twists his neck to the side he cannot look directly into the other's eyes.

He feels Arthur let out a breath that is almost a sigh. "Merlin, I'm begging you, just once to actually shut up. Right now." His hand is spread across Merlin's chest and Arthur pats it a couple of times, tone a mumble against the nape of Merlin's neck, where his head has come to rest, the slope of his strong aquiline nose resting from beneath the centre of Merlin's skull to the indentation below his hairline. And it is the movement of Arthur's lips ghosting across his skin even more than the words or the way in which Arthur speaks them, that makes Merlin settle into Arthur's arms and go silent without so much as a 'good night, prat' to disturb the king's descent into sleep.

But his lips pressing to skin and the strength of his embrace sends Merlin into slumber mere moments after, and he has no more distressing dreams before the battle.

Chapter Text

Cold is what Merlin registers as he wakes. Chill of wind gusts tousling hair on the top of his head, and what feels like metal against his chest and arms as well as the lack of a fire lit behind him.

At least that is the initial feeling until he hears crunching boots over loam and leaves. He then feels a warm gust of air behind him, sees the flicker of flame shining on metal in front of him, pressing against his stiffened limbs; but the majority of warmth he feels is from the place he finds his face, buried into skin, the hollow of a throat and slightest scratch along with a bony length pressing to the bridge of his nose... Merlin's lashes flutter as his arms twinge and ache, a deep pull in the muscles of them accompanying his realisation that the skin his face is pressed to is the hollow of Arthur's neck, his nose brushing against the sharp line of Arthur's jaw, and that sometime in the night (or more like early morning) Merlin had shifted and wrapped his arms around the torso of the king. His front is flush to Arthur's now, and he feels weight settled around his own body, cinching round his waist and hips. But Merlin also becomes incredibly aware of an occurrence, somewhat common in the morning, but wholly mortifying in this instance because of where he is. As well as the fact that when he shifts, his body rubs against Arthur's - unintentionally - and Merlin bites his lip to stop an automatic sound from exiting his throat.

Merlin hears low words emanate from over his shoulder. He recognises Leon's gentle voice, murmuring to Percival about handing over some apples, cheese and bread to toast. Percival's voice is a rumble in return, saying "... I'm surprised Gwaine didn't eat everything we have to eat in the middle of the night"

Gwaine's voice, from slightly farther back, protests "Oi, Perce, you know exactly what I was up to last night."

"... Snoring loud enough to wake the dead?" Leon suggests.

Merlin can so very easily call up the image of Gwaine catching his tongue between his teeth in a grin as he says "Other things too, Leon."

Percival makes a show of groaning as he sounds as if he is attempting to stretch all of his enormity. "And I've got the knots in m' muscles to prove it."

"...You know you love it, big boy," Gwaine is laughing now, and Elyan grouses, his words muffled as if he has covered his face with the cup of his hands:

"- That's it, you're going to put me off my breakfast, the both of you." There is no real disgust in Elyan's tone of voice, though. Only the usual amount of exasperated fondness for his ridiculous friends.

"I'm sure someone else will partake. Mayhap we ought to rouse the king."

There is silence, shifting, and Merlin is almost holding his breath, practically feeling a physical weight of the knights' eyes upon the pair of them. He feels Arthur's body move against his, but cannot be sure whether or not the king is awake. Feels the sharp tip of Arthur's chin so strongly atop his shoulder, and attempts to focus on something, anything else.

Next he hears a quiet "...We oughtn't bother them,"

"- oh that's rich coming from you, Gwaine,"

"Hey mate I have a heart, who knows how long they've got left together?" And the silence then is deathly, stilted, sorrowful.

A sound like someone being cuffed and the resulting yelp, along with a "well done!" Spake sardonically and sotto voce, seems to make Arthur rouse, and Merlin feels his glower as he speaks to the knights, tightening his hold on Merlin's waist for the briefest second.

"...If you're all quite done ogling and nattering on, I hope everyone has their battle plan. No? Oh, right, because that's what I'm here for." He speaks as if there is nothing strange in this situation, the way he moves, pressing to Merlin and hearing his manservant's hissing breath. "Morning, Merlin," he adds with eyes on his, and Merlin has shifted his face away from Arthur's neck and his arms out from where he had linked them around the other's back. "Seems I've greeted you first this day." Something is soft in his expression, even as his mouth tugs up at one end in a facetious smirk.

Merlin catches his train of thought with difficulty at the press of Arthur's leg and does his very best not to gasp. "Don't you dare call me lazy daisy," he retorts, tone dropping into a lower register from sleep. He makes as if to shove Arthur but his back faces the fire, and his heart thumps at the ease with which Arthur rolls and rises to his feet, hauling Merlin with him. Clapping hands on Merlin's shoulders, he tugs out the wrinkles in his manservant's kerchief and coat. Tis a strange sort of role reversal, and Merlin cannot help shooting a sideways glance at Arthur coupled with a small befuddled smile.

The king rolls his eyes. "- shouldn't you be getting some water for us, Merlin?" He inquires significantly, and the manner in which he tilts his chin and arches an eyebrow in exasperated amusement causes Merlin's chest to constrict even as his face flames. Damn. He really needs to school himself so Arthur does not get to him. How can he, though? It's been ten years....

"Right, yes. Of course, sire." Merlin nods, pressing his lips together and shaking himself free from the thoughts tangling up inside his head like webs. Snatches up the bucket to carry, yes, he's actually doing his job - and almost instantly stumbles over the end of the log next to which he and Arthur laid. Gwaine, with a piece of apple already half-masticated in his mouth and leaning away from the others, fending off literal and verbalised jabbing, catches Merlin's arm just behind his elbow as the warlock whispers a spell to smooth the ground. The other knights look up, Merlin shooting an awkward smile their way, and Arthur, having strode to the opposite side of the fire, settles himself to begin speaking on their strategy for the day.

***

It is discussed that, prior to the gathering of troops so much as there will be, as soon as it is sighted where Morgana and Mordred's allies have made camp, Gwaine and Percival will set to find Morgana out, either to lure her away from battle or stop her outright. Merlin, having shuffled back to the fire with a full bucket and toasted more food for his friends, bites his tongue as he aches to tell them 'no, the real threat is to Arthur from Mordred, you mustn't go, we cannot split up' even as, logically, if they are able to capture Morgana it could demoralise her army. That is, if they share such loyalty through love for her as their leader, and are not solely cowed into following her by their own desires, greed for power or land, for the freedom to fight and maraud throughout the land unencumbered by law and order from kingdoms like Camelot.

But Merlin watches the expressions on the faces of the knights; the stolid nature that is Percival's, how he fights like a ravenous cur with a meaty bone, relentless; the strength of Gwaine, his eyes bright as he glances with a wink over to Merlin, hand gentle atop the servant's as he offers a water cup, that long dark hair swinging before his face and beside it. Still joking but also listening, as with a rough "Aye, sire," Gwaine responds to Arthur's planning with reiteration. As well as a nudge against Percival's arm. "Me an' big man will sneak behind her lines, no problem," he chews and swallows his current bite of food.

Arthur, even in the midst of preparation, sighs and waits for whatever nonsensical reason Gwaine has devised for his plans. "Oh? And why is that not a problem, Sir Gwaine? Because of your loyalty to Camelot and ability to follow orders, I hope?"

Gwaine grins. "Well I'm thinking it's because Percival can make like he's a tree and I'll happily climb him." Percival snorts out the water he'd just been drinking, Elyan clapping him on the back even as he rolls his eyes, and Gwaine adds with an airy wave "...'long with that other stuff, of course."

"...of course," Arthur sighs, and Merlin might be the only one who catches the sparkle of amusement in his eye before it disappears. "You may go on to scout after breakfast, then, as long as Percival accepts your company."

"Without being scarred for the remainder of his life," utters Elyan, and a laugh bursts out of Leon before he has a chance to swallow it down. Merlin, who'd been trying to keep his features steady, bursts out laughing too, and Gwaine soon enough joins in at his own expense.

Elyan shakes his head, but as he looks into the fire he begins laughing also, and Arthur eventually does as well, long and hearty. He tells Elyan and Leon their orders to get the men ready, that he shall lead them into the valley of Camlann proper to do battle.

And Merlin, looking round at these dear people whom he loves, commits this moment of happiness to memory before he must do what destiny demands.

Chapter Text

After the impromptu knightly council, or rather the last hashing out of plans before they all are slated to gather arms and armaments and head to the field of battle, Merlin whispers words to douse the fire and each of the knights sharpen their swords and fasten their armour. It hits Merlin strangely at the sight of Leon situating Elyan's coif, of Percival tightening a strap on one of Gwaine's greaves - they've never had squires, not really; if ever there was one of their company who filled that capacity it would be he; cook, jester, the natural choice for general dogsbody. Yet in Leon's soft smile and the wink Gwaine sends his way, in how Elyan grunts and flares his nostrils as he claps Merlin's shoulder, and the expression in Percy's eyes - it all makes a lump lodge into the manservant's throat, because it seems they never saw him as all that. Or only that.

"Here Merlin, let me help," Percival grins and hefts the saddlebags that he had stocked (for useless effect, sure; in the vain hope that somehow they can all meet up after the battle for Merlin to dress minor wounds and make a sumptuous meal) but still there, and appreciated by the crinkling round Percival's eyes as he settles the bags over his horse's haunches. "Here, mate," he checks on the other parcels of provisions, and Merlin shrugs at the sight of bread and cheese and apples that the knight holds up to him.

"I packed some for you and Gwaine," he says. "Actually packed extra for Gwaine's stomach," and he smiles in bright beaming fashion as Gwaine himself lets out a gasp and then grabs Merlin up, swinging him round in an exuberant hug.

"Pretty certain I've told you this before, but you're a lifesaver," the lilt of his growl goes soft and gentle "and still the best friend I've ever had." Clapping Merlin's shoulders and shaking back his own shiny dark hair, Gwaine looks in Merlin's eyes and says "I love you, Merl."

Merlin huffs an almost chuckle, his eyes prickling as he gulps in order not to sob. Even as he is pretty certain Gwaine's eyes have grown a trifle shiny too as he looks into them. "Cheers, Gwaine. Love you too," his tone is a breath as they embrace each other, clapping backs and eventually retreating enough for Percival to swoop in and take Merlin off his feet in a hug of his own.

"Oof, Percival, me ribs -" Merlin croaks, legs comically dangling. "That does hurt."

"Oh! Sorry Merlin," a flush on the long features precedes his sheepish smile. "... Still forget my strength sometimes."

"Remember it today, alright?" Merlin's voice is soft yet fierce as the other man puts him down. "You'll need strength." He swallows, opens his mouth to say more, but cannot make Morgana's name cross his lips. Not during these goodbyes.

Yet Percy appears to understand, the enormous knight is nodding. Elyan claps Merlin's shoulder then before Leon grips his arm as a glance is shared between them. Merlin knows the knight is saying of Arthur, standing to one side as he checks his sword and adjusts his belt: Look after him. And Merlin promises silently I will.

A tiny smile precedes the knights going to Arthur, and the king firmly grasps arms and leans into heads and does his best to smile back at them all in turn. "My men," he says. "More than friends, more than brothers. You... You all have done so much. For me, for Camelot; for the kingdom you have helped me build." As if unconsciously running his hand over the break in armour at his elbow where a token during a tourney would be tied, as the cloth he had used to wipe Merlin's tears seemingly an age ago is perhaps under his plate armour, perhaps elsewhere - Arthur blinks and moves his eyes to each one of his knights - and then to Merlin, who, as always, stands back behind. But Arthur jerks his chin this time, and Merlin's breath catches in his throat as he is ushered forward by Gwaine on one side, Leon nodding, Elyan seeming proud in silence as Percival's features split into a grin. Arthur's gaze is soft and fond before he lifts his chin, works his jaw and blinks a seeming sheen of moisture from his gaze. "I thank you, and I know ...in this battle today, as ever, with your duties you will do me and Camelot proud." Teeth baring then in an expression of intent, and joy, and quite possibly to squash any lingering bouts of unease, Arthur steps forward and extends his fist.

The knights follow suit, and Merlin, his eyes locking on Arthur's, adds his own hand last in time to hear the intake of air and from his king in a solid tone like a roar, of courage, strength, after which they all must disperse to do their duty. The knights take up his cheer:

"For the love of Camelot!"

***

The knights depart then; on their horses, the ones who will ride - Percival and Gwaine are riding on one steed and will leave off to go on-foot once they near Morgana's camp. Leon and Elyan wheel their horses with clicks and calls to all the soldiers and head with them down to the field, expanse of stone and grass beyond the woods.

And now it is only Arthur and Merlin together; standing beside the ashes of a fire, knowing what must be done and steeling themselves to do it. Merlin steps up to situate Arthur's armour for him, moving its edges upon his shoulders, fidgeting with the edges of the mail. He had noted the way Arthur clutched at his own arm whilst speaking, and raises his eyes to see the king looking at him.

"Nice speech," Merlin says, lips quirking. "Even though I didn't write it."

Arthur scoffs. "I can actually function without you writing an entire sheave of parchment for me to memorise, you know."

"Oh, really?" Merlin's eyebrow quirks up. "You're not a total turnip head, then, I suppose."

"You sound surprised," Arthur returns. "I am, in fact, your King. Are you ever going to respect me?"

"...There will never be another like you, Arthur," Merlin speaks firmly, and then with an easy manner adds "You're a great king, but somebody needs to stick 'round and tell you when you're being a clotpole."

Arthur's brows knit. "I still don't think that is an actual word," he intones slowly. "But - you may not be a complete idiot, as I previously thought." Clearing his throat, the monarch looks down as if unable to face the fact he'd just effectively complimented Merlin upon his intelligence. "And - for the way I've always treated you," Arthur blinks, gulps. He looks ashamed, a slight flush rising to his cheeks as his voice lowers. Yet still he speaks the words "I'm sorry."

Merlin ducks his face to look into Arthur's, feeling such an immense rush of affection that it is all he can do to attempt their typical banter. Tis as if something has changed between them; there is a new balance to their relationship. "Whoa, hang on, does this mean you'll give me a day off?"

Arthur's head snaps back up at that, and he watches Merlin press his lips together with eyes sparkling. "...Two," continues the King. "After this battle, of course." If we survive. The subsequent words hang between them even as Arthur does not speak aloud, and Merlin, catching a glance, closes both hands around Arthur's arm and then breathes out something like 'wait'.

"...Generous," Merlin breathes before reaching up to the back of his neck. He unties his neckerchief and opens the cloth with a sharp jerk. Arthur's eyes narrow as Merlin takes the edge of the cloth in his teeth and rips a length off. Tying the remainder back around his neck, the warlock wraps length around Arthur's bicep once, twice. "Here," he says, tying off the frayed edges of faded cloth in a secure knot.

Arthur's eyebrows twitch. "Merlin," he starts.

"Arthur," Merlin breathes, shaking his head. "Don't ask me what I'm doing, I just - I want you to have this." To have me. "To know I'll always be with you, and I'm staying by in the battle of course but I want you to have this cloth, this token, because -" his voice chokes off on every feeling he has and cannot voice, not here. Not now. I know it's hard for you to understand how I feel - Merlin had said to Arthur before, only to cut off his phrase at the quick. Now he lets all of his emotions fill his eyes, hoping his king recognises them as he adds "Because I believe in you."

Arthur hauls air through his nose and settles his shoulders. Seems as if he is about to call Merlin a girl, but then he softens. Reaches up and covers Merlin's hands, his fingers as they tug cloth tightly. Fluttering as the King presses down and nods. "Thank you," his voice is pitched low. "Merlin." Old friend. Truest partner I've ever had. He reaches out with his opposite hand and slaps Merlin's shoulder, smiling as the other masks a wince.

But Merlin smiles, lips together as he steps back a little and asks Arthur "Are you ready?"

Looking back into those bright, feeling blue eyes, Arthur settles his shoulders and nods. With you by my side "As I'll ever be."

Chapter Text

Merlin and Arthur come to a halt just out of the trees, Arthur having left the horses, convincing with "They'll only be taken down by a lance or archer, Merlin. This is not like Badon, it's much rockier terrain."

"I know," ducking his chin and whispering to illuminate his eyes with magic, the dark-haired man sees the path ahead, or what there is of it; rocks jutting out of dark land, obstructing any view that is not from above or enhanced by magic. His gaze clears and returns to find Arthur staring, as if he cannot look away. The intensity of his gaze makes Merlin's heartbeat flutter and he swallows, adding "You won't have much long-range visibility at all."

"You've done this before," Arthur's tone is measured but almost a growl. He doesn't seem angry, precisely, but something flickers in his eyes as Merlin nods. "Won't be a good place for crossbows then," the king steps around rocks and reaches a small knoll upon top of which he stops.

He doesn't look back at his manservant but Merlin nonetheless nods. "Right. We'll just - you're going to have to stick with close combat. And taking people by surprise. With, erm-- using swords." Merlin winces, imagining the bloodied armour of falling knights, of Arthur stooping to help one, of Mordred appearing - he is almost relieved when Arthur rolls his eyes and speaks, pulling him out of those thoughts.

"Oh you don't say, Merlin! I must've forgotten that I'm an experienced warrior. I've been -"

"- fighting and trained to kill since birth. Yes, you've said," Merlin interjects, heart hammering against his ribs. Wind seems to be rising, or mayhap it's his worries surrounding him, fighting by way of frigid air. But you cannot possibly predict everything, Arthur; he wants to say now. I'm here, I'll be here as I always am to protect you, and yet I know it is Mordred I must stop...

Merlin is fighting with the whirlwind of his thoughts as he holds his head, not realising he has grabbed at his hair, lips pursed, eyes wide.

But Arthur clears his throat and claps Merlin on the shoulder before striding forward and putting fingers to lips in a piercing whistle that alerts all the men, who now move from trees and over hillocks of their own, having come to the place of battle. Leon and Elyan are at the head of their own charges; Arthur moves to the largest company and Merlin snaps to attention as he hears the king call to the men around them; about fighting for themselves, their families, and the right to exist in peace on the very land they stand upon. It all hits ironically in Merlin's head, the fact they are fighting this battle for peace, but he knows that is what must happen because of Mordred and Morgana; he sees the sky darken and clouds threaten as much as the undulating howling that begins across and beyond the jagged stones.

Saxons, bulked and clad in oxhide and furs, their arms and armour more rough-hewn than Camelot's yet in no way are they less formidable for it, are the source of the howls. Lightning bisects the sky as Merlin sights a figure, emitting a screech of its own and gesticulating wildly, fists raised. He can almost see teeth baring and hair snapping in the wind, even without the use of his far-sighted magic. "Morgana." Merlin's heart lurches to see her, or more it lurches at how cold his extremities feel, because he knows deep within his heart, no matter how often he has denied it to himself or to other people, the only way to stop Morgana is to kill her.

Merlin does not realise the king has returned to his side. He does not know what a striking figure he looks, staring over the field, hair and kerchief snapping, blowing in the rising wind, his azure and carmine clothing bright. Not gleaming, but somehow warm in appearance. His is a comfortable presence, and a lump comes to Arthur's throat that he quickly coughs away.

He stands now next to Merlin, the chill wind crossing his face, snapping have a cape and the flags of some soldiers. Merlin looks to him as Arthur taps his side almost gently, proud slant and dip of his nose something of a comfort to Merlin, as is the brief flash of Arthur's crooked eyeteeth. "Is brooding typical of sorcerers, or just you? Because you get like this before every bloody battle, Merlin, only this time I think it's worse. You aren't even teasing me."

Merlin looks at him. Really looks - at the messy blond hair, the intent dark gaze like roiling water in the pools of the crystal caves. The strength in feature and in deed, every act, every attempt Arthur makes to do right by his kingdom, to do right by the land itself, of Albion - how his callous-roughened fingers clutch so tight to what he cares for, who he loves. His people, their lives, his kingdom, his land. He's grown to put so much before himself, and Merlin's heart aches at the thought; his breath catches in his throat and his eyes burn with tears unshed as he looks at Arthur. Who looks right back, who nods and curls his hand around Merlin's arm, gripping tight, and then shifting to hold his hand as a deafening roar precedes the thundering of feet.

"...I hope you just made some rousing battle speech," Merlin whispers, voice breaking as he tries for a smile of belated encouragement.

Arthur jerks his chin with a faux-aggrieved gasp, as despite his next words, he knows now that Merlin's penchant for daydreaming is likely pinwheeling thoughts. So his "I did! Weren't you listening? I'm insulted, Merlin!" Is tempered by the fond look in his eyes as he squeezes Merlin's forearm, fingertips sliding down to caress the back of his hand before withdrawing his hand and unsheathing his sword in ringing fashion. He mutters "Stay close to me."

Merlin cocks his head. "You're worried about me, aren't you?" he replies.

Arthur huffs, but does not attempt to deny it this time. He only rolls his eyes. "You're being ridiculous, Merlin."

Facing forward, then, and moving along with his men to which his cry sounds as a signal, the Once and Future King roars, charging into battle with his loyal manservant as always behind him:

"FOR THE LOVE OF CAMELOT!!!"

Chapter Text

Battle occurs first in scenes, then in flashes.

Merlin, watching Arthur roaring down the knoll upon which he stood as his knights respond from behind him and go, the heaviness of armour hindering some speed as Saxons howl and hack their way forward through the path strewn with rocks and uneven terrain, feels a swell of worry and of pride. He hears Morgana scream a spell and ducks even as with an outstretched hand he keeps a shelf of dirt and rock that breaks free from crushing Arthur. Who looks at him, eyes wide, and nods. Merlin nods back, and then his eyes burn as behind the king with axe raised to cleave him in half is -

"Arthur," even as Merlin's lips form his name, as he's gathering himself to cast another spell, Arthur dodges and whirls, sword angled upwards as he thrusts it into the abdomen of the enormous Saxon man before him, twisting the blade as his assailant roars, spittle flecking dark beard and furious eyes darkening in pain as his roar becomes a groan and his head wobbles, blood-tinged spit showing in his mouth as Arthur sends his sword-point in, up, tearing through muscles and sinew before he rips it out as the large man topples, side-stepping him.

It happens so quickly, yet time seems to slow as Arthur looks down for a moment, composing himself as pain flits across his face before twirling his sword and saying "Let's get on, Merlin," with a slap to his manservant's shoulder from one gloved hand.

And two more Saxons come upon them.

***

Arthur makes quick work of groups of men, more and more of them. They see knights fighting past them, Merlin hoping wildly for Gwaine and Percival to be two; that they gave up on the quest to get to Morgana and her camp - the battle is happening now, surely they don't need -

Merlin's concentration is broken, then; or rather forced into the sky as with a roar less human and louder than all the Saxon shouts combined with those of their own men, wings lighted opalescent in the glow of flames pouring from her maw, is the white dragon Aithusa. Arthur's voice cracks. "A DRAGON? Morgana has a DRAGON?! Merlin -!"

But Merlin is moving, preparing to haul himself up rocks and find the highest place. "Arthur, I'm sorry, I've got to go fix this -"

"Hang on, you aren't fighting a dragon!" Arthur's face, glazed with sweat and dirt and others' blood, is resolute as he lunges after Merlin, who has tilted his head as he reaches out to test the rocks. "I know you act stupid but even you must know that's - that's the stupidest idea of all," you'll die, supplies Arthur's brain. he'll be roasted to a crisp and I can't, won't be able to tell him anything, absolutely lunatic, this idea of - what is he thinking?! In desperate fury he shouts "MERLIN!"

Looking back at Arthur with a blink, forehead wrinkled in the way it gets when even he is shocked by Arthur saying something, the sorcerer says "I've got this, Arthur." His face softens into a grin, then - that smile that crinkles his eyes and brightens the whole of him. Merlin adds "Don't worry, I've still got some skills up my sleeves." And then, abruptly serious: "I'll be back. Stay alive till then." And it's an order, not a wish or question or anything; and Arthur does not roll his eyes or scoff at Merlin, for once. He doesn't call out "yes, Sire!" in a mocking manner. Not about this. Not now. He still does not fear death, but if Merlin orders him to stay alive he is going to do it.

So Arthur nods "Right." And then, because he cannot help it, even as the air around them is awash with flames and screams are of pain and terror now instead of intimidation "- but hurry up, will you?"

It's a trifle wobbly, Merlin's sardonic smile. But he bows and says "As you wish, Sire," before gripping the rocks tighter and saying "Boost me," in a commanding tone that Arthur will never admit sends a thrill through his whole body. He hastens to obey, hands closing around the sides of Merlin's waist to haul him up, and then shifting to his upper legs for an instant before Merlin has his footing atop the rocks and Arthur's face is red - from exertion, shall he say - but if he isn't mistaken there is a flush across Merlin's cheeks as well.

Before he can ponder or further contemplate that, however, Merlin is running across the rocks hollering at Aithusa in a strange tongue that rips and booms from his chest. And Arthur cannot look longer even if he wants, because another pack of Saxons have come upon him. Luckily a trio of knights have broken through the maze of stones and uneven ground behind, and are with him to battle this force of brutes.

***

Merlin feels himself moving, feels the tearing of his dragonlord tone from his chest, sees Aithusa stop destruction and orders her away - to leave the battle and to be safe. He hears Morgana's cry, sees a flash of her face as he moves towards the camp; and his heart plummets as with a little help from magic gaze, he witnesses what has become of Percival and Gwaine.

Gwaine is hanging, arms stretched out over his head, face bowed, hair lank and falling in his face as his bare torso bears the marks of whips and chains. Percival writhes and roars next to him, though not close enough; and Merlin sees ruins of the camp, of men left behind surely gutted or immobilised by them both, before their capture; and his heart swells even as it twinges painfully. He sends out a spell to hopefully loosen Percival's bonds, and prays the big knight will be able to do what he needs to.

And then his attention is caught by a source of power cutting through the fire. Crackling with a cold fury and fierceness that acts as a beacon to his own, even as it causes Merlin to shudder.

Mordred.

Chapter Text

Gwaine really truly ought to have stayed at home, he figures. Or honestly, on the floor of a tavern. Any tavern. He is (and had gotten) used to being the drunken lout of a failure son of a disgraced lord - or rather a knight who deserved what he was never given by a king.

His father, from what he knows, what he's always heard, deserved so much more.

He doesn't deserve more, for he's been given so much, mostly by a pasty boy with big ears and beautiful eyes who'd charmed him from the instant they met - in a tavern, no less - because of course, where else? Lad got in a fight using the most indiscreet bit of magic possible (bench and clay plates flying, really? Force like that from his slim hands and stick arms? Not on Gwaine's life) and he was so loyal. Brave. Wanted Gwaine to stick around once they met. Basically soon as. You livened the place up was all it took and he'd made it his mission thereafter to look after this specky lad, yet here and now HE is hanging by a thread, as his limbs do.

He feels as muzzy-headed as he does after a full night of drink, and his body aches all over. Cracking dry lips split and cool strips of sweet-tasting thick liquid drip into his mouth and down his chin as he blinks blurred eyes to hear distant roaring - and If that's some grouchy guard come to drag him out of the post beside Camelot's drawbridge -

But the roar gets close, and closer; and then a shock of enormous calloused hands, incongruously gentle for their roughness and size, cup his face and brush over his lips. He feels wetness, more liquid, figures it's spittle; he's likely come to in a stable or tavern yard with drool or else sticky on his face.

Yet he views light now, through haze, and hears roars lessening, forming a quiet voice. Sees the crust of mud, chopped and spattered, and red - deep wet red in drops and pools - and hears "Oh oi, wotcher Gwaine, c'mon mate, there now" that rumble, the strength of fingers leaving his face to grab at something constricting round his wrists - rough and twine like... he'd thought twas his crustiest shirt needing a good wash, but no, it's knots - and the voice, rough and full and gentle as it is (so familiar too) grows sharper an iota: "Never thought I'd say such a thing, but it'd really be a treat if you started talking."

Gwaine groans, all blood and dirt-caked locks with slitted eyes, open just enough for him to see who he speaks to, and whisper-croaks out "... Percival? Percy, 's that you?" Voice a slur.

Sir Percival could weep, and nearly does, but the clangs and crashing weapons, never mind the screams and other sounds of battle have him swallowing the tears. "Cor! You beautiful bastard," he beams instead, pushing back the other man's hair and unable to stop himself from catching hold of Gwaine's cheeks to press lips to his forehead. "Here now, I've gotcha." Swearing at the stout rope, he grabs hold of it and braces one leg and his arm, tugging the length taut, muscles straining -

Gwaine whistles weakly, shaking his head so his bedraggled hair flops and with a SNAP! the rope breaks in two. "Pity, I could watch that a good while," he cracks, cheeks ballooning as his mouth presses closed and he would fall

But Percival, flushing just a trifle - from exertion, certain sure - wraps his arm around the slighter and hauls Gwaine against him. "Come on, we've got to get on," and get you out of here, Gwaine; you're this close to expiring - that sentiment is in his face if not in words...

But an unearthly howling rises over them, and the scream of anguished fury that made everyone in Camelot freeze where they stood now rushes through and underneath this field, it seems. Gwaine and Percival stare at one another as the sound is met by another voice, one achingly familiar and as such providing Gwaine the terror-imbued strength to fly to his feet. His eyes are wild.

"Merlin!" A desperate shout upon the wind crashes into the thought of surely, be that not Morgana, and from what they have witnessed she is elsewhere upon the battlefield -

"Run, Percy, that's - Merlin's met with Mordred!"

Chapter Text

Merlin knows it is Mordred he must stop.

Arthur's bane, stalking like a ghost in the night. Those words pounding in his head have grown louder and louder since the start of this fight. He had called out to Aithusa and sent her from the field, and spun to put out at least some of her fire, seeing and hearing Morgana shriek at the sight of him, bringing to bear a whirling wind and witnessing the convergence of troops that he tenses all of his muscles in order to throw back -

And then an icy gust of power like wind seizes his back, shuddering through him, his gaze is drawn to a fount of fury piercing like the coldness of an icy star, the roiling mass of magic from Mordred, dark and terrible, and it suddenly is as if he is thrust into his dream again; Arthur, sweaty, covered in dirt and bloodied, kneeling to clasp the hand of a dying knight, armour rent in a expulsive gash out of his chest, as if he had been struck through by a fisted hand. Blood on cracked lips spurts and shines, and Arthur folds his hand over the other's, murmuring words certainly of praise and thanks, before smoothing back hair sweat-soaked, fire-burnt from a lividly pale forehead.

Merlin is running, already, as Arthur stands again, as if weighted; wipes at his face as if to blot sweat, or tears, which only he knew for sure. There is a roar of fury and of magic as thuds Merlin's heart when Arthur turning fully, puts his eyes on the frozen face of Mordred.

Such hate in the eyes of a child, he is still young, brands Merlin's mind and heart as much as his own distrust of Mordred, before there was reason, burns like the acid of bile in his throat. He sees Arthur, frozen, and screams as he flings, almost flies, the blast of his magic reaching so many men, even catching Morgana as well, but Mordred -

Mordred swings his sword at Arthur's head.

Chapter Text

It's as if time slows, to and past a crawl; as if all is standing frozen still - the ashes and coals from the crackling roaring fire held in midair, faces painted with sweat and dirt and blood and agony. Arthur shines in the warm light as the dragonbreath-forged sword carves a shining sharp and horrible path and then a cut into the side of his head, scalp down nearly to his ear, makes Time move again.

"ARTHUR!!!"

Merlin screams, roars with everything he has, hearing other roars, or maybe echoes, behind him. Arthur staggers, he sees that, and then always a fighter to the bitter end, he moves his arm, thrusts it forward and upward with his own weapon agleam. Even as he sways and falls to his knees, so does Mordred, crumpling backwards with that slightest of enigmatic smiles he sometimes wore. And Merlin is running, his lungs, throat, chest, heart all burning, aching; he slams into Arthur's back, arms wrapping around his torso even as the king grunts and falls.

"Arthur," his tone a thick whisper close to the other's ear begets a shifting twitch as the king tries to turn his head, whole side drenched red and pouring more, sticking hair together even as his skin hangs down. Whiteness beneath makes Merlin close his eyes and bury his face against the sticky warmth of Arthur's neck. No no no no no -

"Merlin," voice a gust as heavy hands reach up to the warlock's slightly slimmer arms, though he has gotten a bit more muscle in these last years, or at least months - patting clumsily at the cloth and skin beneath. "Shut up, please. I - and if you're going to say 'I told you so', I don't want... to hear it."

It's those words that snap Merlin into movement. "You bloody clotpole," he feels tears pouring down his cheeks as he speaks into Arthur's neck, lips ghosting over his skin "You absolutely stupid idiot, I was on my way back to you,"

"Well," Arthur cracks "that's what... I am, now, and you were ...too slow. Even with magic. Hah." His neck muscles spasm with a twitch as Merlin suddenly moves, tugging first at his neckerchief and then yanking at the length he'd ripped free and wrapped round Arthur's arm.

"We've got to stop your bleeding, hush," there is so much thickness clogging up his throat the warlock is unclear whether or not his king can hear his voice.

But Arthur moves, shifting his head sideways as Merlin shifts upon his knees to clutch at him, pressing the skin and murmuring what Arthur hopes is a spell to save him from this blasted headache. And whatever tricks his mind has just played, because despite the crackling orange-gold-red of flames around them, he feels cold. His eyes strive to catch Merlin's, flickering across that set pale face, reddening now as his eyes crinkle and fill, overflowing with tears that gleam in the firelight. Even as he had previously said to Merlin that no man is worth his tears, somehow he hopes with a painful lurch in the vicinity of his heart, as Merlin presses so fiercely, strongly to his head wound and leans his forehead against Arthur's, trembling violently even as he swallows and says "There. You're - you're going to be all right," voice wet and cracked and begging, it seems to be.... Arthur hopes that he, somehow, can be.

Arthur swallows. He sways into Merlin's space, hand flopping forward heavily from exertion, and claps as much as drags his palm and fingers across his manservant's chest. Unsure whether he speaks the words aloud or in his head, Arthur mumbles something Merlin is unsure he hears correctly. "Course, Merlin. 'M with you, an' hope... I'm worthy"

Chapter Text

Merlin's mind is whirling as he keeps holding Arthur close, as close as he possibly can; as if somehow that could keep his blood inside him and keep him alive and safe. Arms still both wrapped tightly around his sovereign's chest, feeling the cool sliding prickle of blood dripping, caking, and congealing, he hears footsteps even over the thundering of his own heartbeat, dragging and shuffling behind, and whirls around, dragging Arthur with him, every muscle tensed, arm raised up and eyes burning -

Only to gasp as bloodied, darkly shadowed and dangling forward as his head is, Gwaine's bright teeth and dark eyes gleam at him as the knight is hauled bodily by Sir Percival into their little clearing. "Gwaine," Merlin's voice cracks. He looks absolutely terrible, gouged flesh in both shoulders red and raw even as his wrists are bruised and bloody, and there is a sword cut seeping such bright red from his abdomen, hopefully only slicing through the outer layer of muscles and not into his stomach or any other area... Yet even as he's been stabbed, because of course he has, Merlin finds himself thinking in both fond and exasperated disgust. Again. Still he has his sense of humour intact.

"Oi, Merlin!" There is a beaming smile from Gwaine, a nod then to Arthur and a question spoken "Hello princess, you look a lil pasty there. Fight too much for ya?" that would make Merlin laugh any other time. Yet now he feels as if his heart is breaking as he looks from Arthur, who hardly makes a physical response, never mind verbal, to Percival, asking a question with his eyes.

"... We've got to move," the big knight says. "Some men 're still comin', don't look like anyone's yet called the fight off."

"Right." Kicking up his heels and turning into a standing position, Merlin reaches down to grab ahold of Arthur. "Up you get, Your Majesty."

Slapping Merlin's hand away and grimacing, Arthur twists his hand around the hilt of his sword and levers himself upright with it. He staggers with a grunt, and Merlin is there, catching him. "S' when did y' get to be ...less specky, Merlin?" Arthur blinks and slurs, head lolling.

And Merlin, hauling Arthur's arm up around his shoulders and wrapping the other tightly round his waist, retorts with as little a tremor in his voice as possible "Could've done it anytime, since you notice piss-all about me."

"Oh, shut it," Arthur grumbles. "I noticed - three days you weren' smiling. Think I'd... notice you getting in... actual fighting shape."

Though his face is pale, Merlin raises his eyebrows and presses his lips around the twitch of them upwards into a grin. "Oh, are you saying I've gotten fighting fit, Arthur?"

Arthur blinks, working his lips to press outwards in a dramatic and petulant pout as they begin walking, Percival gathering up Gwaine. "I - no! Not 't - now jus'.... Hang on," he protests.

Merlin shoots a look back. "D'you think that's what he's saying, Percival?"

Arthur, held close to Merlin, practically cuddled against his side, nevertheless still tries to raise head and offer a regal retort and scowl. "Percival don't you dare -"

But with teeth flashing in a smile subsequent to a snort "I think Merlin has a point, Sire," offers the knight.

"Hah!" Merlin whisper-barks a triumphant laugh, almost truly cheery.

Arthur really seems to wish to roll his eyes, but sags in to Merlin, who loses all vestiges of mirth immediately. If only Gaius was here. If he only had gotten to Arthur... called, or still he can call for aid, he must - from Kilgharrah.

But the great dragon surely cannot offer aid to both of them; glancing back to Gwaine with a sob rolling upwards in his throat, Merlin jerks his head out of the rocky burning field, towards the trees.

"We need to make cover," he nearly whispers to Percival as the other has halted beside him. Merlin adjusts his hold on Arthur, and Percival starts to kneel, easing Gwaine's body across one bare shoulder and holding both his arms as gently as he can. "Careful," Merlin adds, gaze flickering swiftly across Gwaine to assess his injuries before peering around the knights. "We may yet pass more Saxons. Or Morgana."

"Pray let it be the former," Shudders Sir Percival. "I'll take on any Saxon over her."

Merlin nods, his stomach lurching as he recalls his job today. "I understand." Crouching slightly, reaching down to the body of Mordred, face feeling washed by ice now rather than by flame, Merlin takes up his sword before scouring the land. He hears as much as sees soldiers in the distance. Perhaps they see him, perhaps not... "Percy, go!" He shoves at the other, hand reaching just above his waist and catching ribs. Percival expels a sharp noise, like startled laughter, but he goes as the cowls of men turn to face him. Merlin whispers a frantic spell before gripping even tighter on to Arthur. "Are you ready, Sire?" He grits out, speaking far softer. "We have to run, if there are enough of Morgana's men left to catch and capture you..." Very pointedly not considering whether that would be when deceased or alive, Merlin tries to swallow, to loosen the tenseness in his jaw as he clutches on to Arthur tighter and his eyes spear across the stones and dirt of still slightly burning battlefield.

A whistling sound precedes the slightest spring and thump and an arrow sprouts from the form, slumped half-sitting, that Arthur had previously knelt next to.

"That - was an arrow," Merlin flinches violently, and Arthur expells a grunt before waving phlegmatically at the air. He then narrows his eyes and whips his head, despite the blood, which nearly causes the warlock's heart to stop.

The king stares flatly before his tone, exasperated, barks out "Oh, really? I saw it, Merlin, go!"

Stepping with him carefully, though his tone harsher by far, Merlin braces Arthur's arm around his shoulder and follows the steps of Percival as he carries Gwaine towards the covering forest, praying that before getting charged and cornered by the Saxons they shall at least reach the trees.

Chapter Text

Sweat burning his eyes - and it is only sweat, not tears, in the least because surely Arthur will not let Merlin live those down, but also because he can surely take stock of things, now- of injury.

He can, he must assist.

The feathery edges of the trees, their leaves darker than the surrounding sky and land - only just, but it startles Merlin to recognize for the first time that they have done battle for all (or most of) the day. He hopes somehow they are entering the woods near to their fire of the night before, and whispers out a spell in order to be sure.

The rushing forward and crisp sight he gains by use of his magic sends Merlin's view amongst the trees and through the forest to reach - he knows their fire, or at the least the place it was is not at an enormous distance, but he isn't sighting it yet, and "Merlin!" His king's voice is urgent, the grip of his hand to Merlin's upper arm sudden.

And just as suddenly Merlin gasps as Arthur's body bears down on his and he becomes aware of another arrow that hits the armor just below Arthur's shoulder. He has swung himself, bloodied and sluggish as he is, to shield his manservant. The absolute clotpole, Merlin thinks, as he wraps his arms around Arthur and they both end up on the ground, Merlin first, face up as Arthur's is a breath or two distant.

"Arthur -" Merlin starts, even as

"You idiot," the king snaps, and

"Now's your chance to coppa feel, Perce," Gwaine's voice sounds incongruously cheerful as with a grunt of exertion, Percival whirls the both of them around a tree and narrowly manages to evade an arrow of his own.

Merlin catches Arthur's arms, but the heft and hardness of armor is something even with his bulk and magic still can cut into his skin, or at least hurt. He catches with the shriek of metal pieces against each other Arthur's arms and then his chest plate. And Arthur's face, his lips are in the vicinity of Merlin's. His breath is warm and his eyes are locked on Merlin's and maybe it's the fact his head is wrapped in a piece of Merlin's neckerchief, or that they are wrapped around each other, or that Arthur was trying to keep Merlin safe even though HE is currently the one bleeding from a wound created by a weapon forged with dragon's breath, and in danger not only because of that wound but due to the fact that none of them are sure where Morgana is, or if she will call off her Saxon soldiers. (Merlin knows, or is pretty much positive that he knows, which means she won't. She will not stop fighting until she is certain that Arthur is dead.)

So Merlin lifts his hand to Arthur's head, fingers brushing through sticky and bloody hair. Arthur's eyes briefly close even as he inhales sharply through his nose and he practically snarls "you can't just go all broody and distant when there are still people shooting at us!"

"I was using magic, trying to find the directions to where we had our fire and I would've found it if you hadn't distracted me," Merlin hisses.

Arthur's brows pinch and lower. "Oh well you may want to TELL me that next time, Merlin!"

"Um excuse me for not giving you a list of my plans while we were being shot at."

"That's exactly why you should have done it, we're being shot at and you don't have any protective gear-"

"Erm, lads -"

"Because that only works during a diversion!"

"Excuse me for not wanting to carry a wolf's weight on my back when we probably don't have enough -"

"I would have armor made, if you'd let, I should make it myself -"

"What?"

Merlin freezes and Arthur swallows, his head glistening with blood still from the light of the moon now peeking through trees

And abruptly Merlin is wrapping his arms around him and pulling Arthur down

"Ow! This isn't the time for bloody hugs, Merlin!"

"Aw they're bonding," Gwaine whispers to Percival loudly.

"I'm not - the moon is shining on your mail and the Saxons will see it, you clotpole!"

Sure enough Merlin is whispering and rolling with the assistance of magic, and Arthur in his arms, as the feathers of a volley of arrows all sprout from earth and tree trunk and thicket where they had just been.

Merlin hisses to Percival and the big knight is hauling himself and Gwaine forward into the forest, their bellies down and the swords they had grabbed dragging behind.

Arthur grumbles something about "...the only way we'll get away at this rate is if the remaining Saxons are deaf"

To which Merlin whispers a word that blankets them all in quiet.

Merlin looks around and carefully starts to stand, hauling Arthur to his feet. "We should have some time to get deeper in the forest now," he says. "I've silenced us."

"Oh it's that easy, eh?" Arthur growls.

"wow Merlin," Percival mouths

"Don't be so grouchy, princess," Gwaine tells Arthur as he stands, hand pressing against his side "'S is one 'f the perks of havin' a sorcerer-" Gwaine's words are slowing and slurring as he stumbles, and it's all Merlin can do to hold the silence spell as through limbs and underbrush his friend starts crashing.

"Merlin," Arthur starts now, and

"Hang on Gwaine,"

It's a long moment the manservant stands until Arthur grits his teeth and clamps his own hand against his head wound which is still seeping blood. "I'll be fine, just go and see to him."

"Arthur -"

"Merlin I am ordering you, as your king, to provide my knight with medical relief, or magic, or whatever you need to do for Gwaine." In spite of how pale his features are getting, in part perhaps because of the strong light of the moon - let it be because of the moon, Merlin thinks foolishly, he knows - Arthur's tone is still sharp and the look in his eyes is fierce. Percival moves, and Merlin reluctantly drops his hold on Arthur - who he realizes had been gripping onto his hand just now before letting go.

Deciding not to dwell on that for the moment, Merlin moves to kneel next to Gwaine and passes his hands across the side of the man's abdomen, poking at belly and checking the size of the wound. "Was this cut ...made by Mordred's sword?" He asks as a horrible sense of foreboding comes to him. If he endeavors to use his magic -

"It was Morgana's sword. Or at least, a sword she had," says Percival as he now helps Arthur. Merlin gathers his strength. His eyes begin to glow.

If it was Mordred's sword, prior to smiting Arthur, he knows his magic will be useless. And even if not, there is always the chance of strength having waned too much for healing.

With lips soundlessly moving and all of him begging in silence for this to work, Merlin speaks a healing spell and again passes his hands over Gwaine.