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Merlin. 

It seemed that the young wizard was far too acquainted with the floor. No amount of magic could change that. 

'One moment I'm braving the wilderness and risking my life for Arthur, and the next I'm tripping over air. Oh, Arthur. That dense, supercilious, annoying... lovable ass. I'd have far fewer bruises and holes in the knees of my trews if not for his royal highness. If not for Arthur's sheer incompetence, I'd be out of work. For all that he's high maintenance, he's worth it.' Even the nights he collapsed exhausted into bed after working himself to the bone for his prince, he could not want for any other life. Well... there were some moments he wished he could unlive; like tonight at supper. He stood at Arthur's back and to his left, to watch for the moment he needed a top-off on wine, or another roll of bread or something. 

'Beautiful,' he mentally sighed, as he watched the firelight glimmer atop Arthur's golden locks, making it appear as though he wore a gleaming crown. 'I just can't help it... he truly has all the appeal of a king and the beauty of a sunset.' It wasn't fair. He served on Arthur hand and foot, being ready to jump to his prince's every beck and call -and in fact had nearly died himself to give Arthur the best chance at life- and he was going to have to witness Arthur take a queen and have children, and... 'Not fair at all.' Even as he let his focus blur comfortably, he saw the movement of Arthur's hand, and stepped forward. All he had was wine on the silver platter, and all that stood between himself and the prince of Camelot was thin air. 

In the blink of an eye and yet an eternity all at once, his right boot caught on the left and he fell. As he fell forward the platter tipped, the wine toppled and glass was shattering on the edge of the wooden dining table. Air hitched in his chest and his racing heart leapt into his throat; he seemed to feel every beat. Why, he wondered, did he have the time to observe minuscule maroon droplets from the bottle? Why was he able to reach out and fumble the plate? Why did the room go black and then illuminate with green light in an instant? 

Suddenly he wasn't falling anymore. 

With a jolt he felt the solid stone floor beneath both feet. All breath left his lungs at once and saliva choked him on the inhale. It wasn't until the coughing fit passed that blue eyes flew open and panic set in. The flames in the sconces along the walls were emerald green. Shadows did not dance though the flames flickered wildly. Every crack in the masonry, every banner, every chair and pitcher cast a shadow... but why was it more still than the dead? Hair raised on the back of his thin neck and chills flared up over every trembling limb. The air was cold and damp, and was unnervingly stagnant. When finally he realized that not another soul was in the grand hall, and that Arthur, of all people, was gone from his sight, his knees gave out. 

The cold stone sapped the warmth from his slender body as he sat for a brief moment to catch his elusive breath. To his left the main entrance no longer existed, and in place of the doors was a fireplace; on his right the hallway had been replaced with a wall support. Eventually when his mind stopped reeling, he stood from the frigid floor and looked around the hall. He hadn't noticed that it was cold enough to freeze his breath in the air, until a sconce flared nearby and he cried out in surprise. Usually he felt more empowered, less intimidated. 

'Danger is no stranger to me.' The flare of cool fire forced him to stagger backward. 

For the second time in so many minutes he was toppling to the floor; this time, there was something to stumble over. The sound of a yelping dog wrenched another scream from quavering lips, and he scrambled away from the canine figure under his buckled knees. His reaction time had improved in the few moments pause, and he was able to identify this new presence as a wolf. Both arms rose defensively and he prepared to use magic to protect himself when a voice stopped the spell short. 

"At ease, Emrys." Merlin's given name always caught him off guard. He was not mistaken in perceiving the words from the direction of the wolf. As silly as it seemed to imagine that the wolf was speaking, when its mouth opened and more sound drifted out he actually blinked in shock. "I will not harm you." The heart-pounding fear lifted from his shoulders and alertness and wariness settled there in its stead. The creature shook its silver coat and sat on its haunches. 

'Am I mad for answering?'

"Where am I? Who are you?" As blatantly uneasy as the defensive warlock was, the wolf seemed nonplussed. 

"I have no name, but you may think of me as a conduit for fate. You've been summoned to a plane of magic to bear witness to a prophecy." Nonchalantly the creature spoke in an airy voice. How ironic was it that the light tone deliver such a heavy blow? Out of shock, Merlin's head shook back and forth. 

"What? No, no, no-" A breathless, frantic laugh cracked out of his parched throat. "My fate is to protect Arthur." Cold dread caused his stomach to sink. "Arthur. Where is he? He had better be safe or I swear, I'll-" An irritated chuff of steam left the wolf's nose. 

"The prince is perfectly fine, sitting exactly where you left him." His flighty pulse slowed immediately. "Your fate is not so simple, Emrys. Magic is going to be destroyed. Blood will stain the land of Albion and all life will come to an end, unless you stop it." Both hands flung upward in exasperation. 

"Oh, sure! Why not dump more onto Merlin's plate? It's not like he's keeping the foolish prince alive and working himself to the bone. Let's give him the world to carry on his shoulders, why don't we?" Pain lanced through his jaw as teeth gritted harshly, and he had to clamp the heels of both palms to his eye sockets. "Just tell me what I'm supposed to do! If I'm to save the world you can NOT be as vague as Kilgarrah." He was suddenly surprised at the chuffing, yipping sound that was unmistakably canine laughter. 

"Emrys... your will is astounding." When the wolf settled down once more, he sighed in defeat. Clearly, he had no more say in this matter than with the prophecy surrounding Arthur. "Every last grain of magick will be extinguished by a force beyond this realm, unless you stop the machinations behind its destruction. There is only one thing to stop it: death... your death." How could he be any more numb? If the cold hadn't sapped the heat from his poor body so effectively, he would have been sweating. With both feet planted firmly on the stone, he was frozen. "There is no enemy, but still an opposition like none you could imagine. The void of blackness will either feast upon the very fabric of magic that makes up all life in this world... or you will give your life to still the falling axe and save countless others." 

A sound like thunder rumbled from beyond the castle walls. Or was it in Merlin's head? Air seemed to whistle around the chamber, slowly growing stronger. Single pieces of hair draped over his brow rustled with the breeze. Something was coming, he could feel it. So could the wolf. Its thick, glimmering fur stood on end and it looked around the room. 

"You are in danger, Emrys. There are others who know that you are the only chance our kind have at survival, and they, too, seek to sacrifice your life for their own. One comes now. If you do not stop them here, they will follow you back into the mundane world beyond and your people- your prince will be threatened." Nothing else could have pulled Merlin from the swirling pool of shock but the thought of Arthur: h i s prince. 

"I will stop them here," he declared without any hesitation. "There is no use in my saving the world if I cannot save Arthur." He watched in anticipation as the flames in the sconces all leaned toward the north wall, but the wolf wasn't sticking around to see the scene unfold. As its corporeal form faded into mist, it whispered a final warning meant for Merlin's ears alone. 

"Be careful, Emrys. You are not invulnerable here." And as the final glimmer of light from the wolf disintegrated, a cloud of black billowed into the great hall from the north. Rolling thunder accompanied the rushing fog that moved at an alarming speed toward him, but it wasn't loud enough to hide the menacing war cry that preceded a human form. Only, it wasn't human anymore. He knew that much, at least. 

"EMRYS! FACE YOUR END!" Without enough time to even gain a defensive stance, the ghost swooped down from the high ceiling, straight for his head. In his outstretched hand was an ancient, gilded mace, and in the other was a torch with green flames ablaze. With no other option, he dove to the ground to duck beneath his advance. Once he felt the wind rush over his bowed head, Merlin scrambled to his feet and held a hand out at chest level. A spell sat at the tip of his tongue, ready to roll off and command the force of magick. 

"Who are you!?" The ghost's voice was gravelly and deep, and his laugh was reminiscent of a bear gargling marbles. His thick, black beard moved with the motions of his working jaw. 

"I am Henry, King of Creden, vanquisher of evil and now conqueror of magic-born! I am here to deliver your fate right here, Emrys! There is no escape!" He swung the mace in dizzying circles above his head. 

"Well, Henry, King of Creden, I hate to inform you that my fate is not yours to decree." The ghost was mostly transparent, but with every frantic beat of Merlin's heart it seemed to become more solid. This only served to scare him. King Henry charged and brought his mace down in a terrifying arc. Merlin had forced him back a few paces with a magickal wind, but it proved to be a futile attempt -for how could one blow away a part of a breeze? With a sickening crunch and blinding pain, the mace crashed down into Merlin's right shoulder. He almost allowed the shock to claim him. He almost wished it had. The butt of the mace thumped into his temple and he began to plummet. Still, he remained conscious enough to feel his collar grow tight. The ghost had wrapped the coarse linen around his hand and hoisted Merlin's toes an inch from the floor. The mace clattered to the stone, and a dirk immediately assumed its place in the ghost's grip. It raised with a glint of emerald light to the wizard's throat and began a steady slice into the flesh.

Without actively willing himself to command the magick, it acted swiftly to protect its corporeal host. A torrent of green flame circled and cloaked the King of Creden, and instantly burned him away into nothing more than ash. The scream lingered long after Merlin had been dropped like a sack of potatoes, echoing through the room and rattling his very bones. The pain washed over him so completely that he couldn't even raise a hand to cover the gash in his throat, or to wipe away the blood that trickled down his face. Mind in shreds, body in a heap, he couldn't possibly know that the blood had been stemmed by the magick that made up his body, or that the skin and bones were already knitting. He had learned some time before that only one weapon could end his immortal life, and it certainly was not the ornamental dagger of King Henry of Creden. In the mind-numbing moment of suffering, he couldn't help but fear that his story was about to end. The darkness that had been fraying the edges of his vision finally roiled over him and he was completely lost to the world around him. 

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His goblet was nearly empty when he set it down, and a minuscule motion of his finger ordered his manservant to fill it once more. Not that he even needed to, for Merlin was always watching, and waiting for the very instant he could serve his prince... because he was always watching, wasn't he. Staring. Not subtly, either. He hadn't known how to react in the beginning, to the soft blue eyes dissecting his every movement, to the thick lips tucked between pointed teeth- clearly in a gesture of interest, but he slowly grew to rely on it... to need it like air. The times when his clumsy, infuriatingly-stubborn manservant was unable to serve him, he felt... abandoned. Every night he fell asleep with the image of Merlin tucked firmly in mind. 

'My Merlin,' he thought. Warmth spread over his cheeks at the two ridiculous words that flitted through his head more often than was dignified. He was grateful for the wine, for he could easily play the blush off as a flush from the alcohol. In Arthur's peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of the blue neckerchief that he'd come to adore. A smirk settled on his lips when he remembered what was hidden in his lockbox: one of Merlin's blue neckerchiefs that he often used to... well. It wasn't his fault that Merlin riled him up so easily. 

'Still... I can't help but wish I didn't need to take a bride to bear an heir to the throne. Merlin would make a rather pretty queen.' His lips nearly drooped into a pout, but a guffaw from across the grand hall reminded him that he was in the presence of nobles, and that a frown was unbecoming of the crowned prince. If he was caught with a sour expression, he'd need to have a believable excuse ready to dissuade whoever inquired after his mood. So he fixed his mouth into a casual smile and looked to his left, where Merlin was approaching. His stomach lurched into his throat and he gasped at the sudden downward trajectory that Merlin took. He knew that his servant was clumsy, and they often just laughed off a fall, but not this time, for he fell... hard. And he didn't get up. 

"Merlin!" He stood so abruptly from the chair that it toppled backward with a crash that silenced the entire room at once. Within moments he was crouching at Merlin's side, shaking his shoulder. He'd seen the glass explode against the edge of the table, and heard the clatter of the plate on the floor, and he feared the worst. The sight of blood twisted his heart. 'Has he cut his head on the broken glass?' He heard a frantic, throat-rending shout for Gaius, then quickly realized he was the one yelling. Fear rattled his very bones, and only by clenching his jaw did he keep his teeth from chattering. Within a moment, Gaius was kneeling at Merlin's side. Even while Arthur stumbled out of the physician's way, he watched intently with his hands curled into tight fists. As Gaius rolled the limp boy to his side, he saw more blood... much more of it. Streaming down the side of his face, trickling from his lips and nose, and pouring from a slash in his throat... and rage filled his body entirely. 

"Gaius!" He could hardly control his quavering tone. "W-What happened to him?" The old man shook his head incredulously as he called for a stretcher. The entire court watched on in simultaneous horror and morbid curiosity. "Will he be alright?" Two servants helped to position Merlin carefully on the white linen. Gaius slipped his own robes off of his weary shoulders and draped it over Merlin's still form. After Gaius hauled himself to his feet (with the help of the prince's strong hand), the white-haired healer turned to face Arthur with thick brows knitted above his wide eyes. 

"You will want to come with me, sire. I can't explain here." The servants carrying the stretcher bustled off to Gaius' chambers and the old man followed quickly behind. Arthur started after them, but a hand pressed flat against his chest, starting him abruptly. 

"Son." Uther's voice was low and steady- a stark contrast from how Arthur was feeling. The prince's wild blue eyes rose from the floor and met the steely orbs of his father, the king. He knew exactly what Uther was going to say. He heard it in the exact tones of his voice, with the same inflection and firmness. Several moments passed between them -eyes delving deep into the souls of father and son- and when it became clear to Uther that Arthur's panic wasn't fading, he gave his son's shoulder a firm squeeze and nodded. "Do what you must." Arthur didn't hesitate to stride from the hall. His steps were measured until he rounded the corner, then his footfalls grew loud and fast, indicating that he had broken into a run. The dull murmur of courtiers fell into silence as the tall doors slammed behind him, and Uther sighed. He turned to his subjects and offered a placating smile. 

"Please," he called over the crowd, "do not fear for the manservant. He often finds himself taking a tumble, and my son and my capable court physician are perfectly confident in his recovery. Now, shall we break open another case of wine?" The people were pleased and the focus drifted back to gossip and the typical social climbing. Uther took his seat and drew a steadying breath. Though he couldn't show his son that he, too, was worried for the manservant, his body was trembling beneath the heavy cloak. 

'It's true, then. He really is in love with that boy. Why else would my son-- a prince, and a seasoned knight of Camelot-- fly into such alarm when he has surely been faced with far more frightening things?' He couldn't say that he was entirely pleased, for it simply meant there would be no heir from his son if they were to marry... but he wasn't entirely displeased, either. He, himself, had married for love. Of course he had. Ygraine was his everything. Seeing his children live happy lives full of love was his greatest wish. 'A kingdom is best led by one who can share in the joy of their subjects, is it not? The best king is one who has empathy... and oh, how I wish I'd learned that sooner.' As he raised his goblet of wine to his lips, he peered left to his ward, Morgana. Her own hand was trembling as she reached for the stem of her golden chalice. He knew that she was close friends with the boy, as well, and that she was likely just as worried. Still, there was a dinner obligation to fulfill, and Arthur had Merlin's care handled. In an act of comfort, he reached out and placed his hand on her forearm. 

"He will be alright, Morgana," he said softly. "After our engagement here, you may see him, as long as Gaius deems him in stable enough condition. Why don't you have Guinevere stay with you tonight?" Her pale fingers wrapped around his own and her deep blue irises settled on his. Her lips turned up in a thankful smile, and she nodded. 

'And my daughter, too. How could it be that both of my children are inclined toward the same sex? A decree from the gods, perhaps? Who knows. Oh, Ygraine... how I wish you were here to share their joy with me.' As the evening went on and the court began to dwindle, Uther declared the night's end and sent them all off with a gracious round of thanks and platitudes. Morgana stood off toward the door with her maidservant, Guinevere. Her eyes met the king's, and he answered her imploring expression with an assenting nod. It only took the pair of women a moment to disappear into the corridor. Uther settled into his tall throne with an exhausted sigh and a nagging feeling of dread looming over his head, like heavy grey clouds. He had seen the blood, and he hadn't missed the paling of Gaius' rosy cheeks. The boy would live... probably.

Chapter Text

Heart pounding, palms sweating, thoughts racing in circles, Arthur's legs propelled him down the long corridors toward the physician's (and by extension, Merlin's) chambers. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard voices shouting his name, but his focus was so completely on Merlin that he didn't hear anything beside the echoing clatter of the bottle that had shattered against the edge of the table, and the solid thud of Merlin's body against the hard floor. Just the recollection of it made him shudder. In his steadfast path, he'd tugged off his bracers and was wringing them between his clammy hands in a mindless nervous habit. The fabric of his finest wristguards would need replaced by the end of the evening, he was certain. 

The door of Gaius' quarters was straight ahead, mere strides away. 

"How is he?" As the door swung open at Arthur's shove, he called these words out into the tall room. Gaius was leaning over the manservant, cloth in hand and bucket of water at his side. When Gaius did not reply immediately, Arthur froze in his tracks. "Gaius. How is he?" He repeated himself, softer. Feeling seized the words in their course to his lips and he choked on the tension. 

"Stable," Gaius finally said. His tone was grim. Swallowing down the bile of fear, Arthur felt his shoulders slump from their tense position at his ears. He removed his cape and gingerly tiptoed toward the old man and his charge.  

"What happened?" As the prince sat down on the spare stool, his eyes became glued to the boy's pale face. The blood that had began to dry on his temple was deep red, but thinning with the attention of Gaius' gentle cleansing. Angry pink flesh was raised around the crimson wound on Merlin's throat. No matter how many times the prince had seen his friend on this cot, it never became any easier. 

Gaius' hand faltered in its gentle ministrations against Merlin's cheekbone, and Arthur watched his gaze flit over a vile across the room. He began to rise, but was torn between his boy and the tonic that would help him. Arthur felt his internal struggle as if Gaius spoke the words, and offered to take the rag, rather than grab the potion himself. He didn't dare rifle through glass bottles, or else they may just end up shattered on the floor. That was something a fine touch like Merlin's was good for- not the wild strength that his own hands possessed. A magician's hands, not those of a warrior with experience. The old man stood slowly and began to saunter solemnly toward the grey bottle. 

"I have a theory, but..." Though he heard the clinking of little vials somewhere in the back of his mind, his thoughts swirled around the words that Merlin spoke to him last. Before the feast, Merlin had helped him to dress and offered him advice. 

'The ladies of the court are particularly rowdy, sire. I'd keep your eyes off them, unless you'd like to mobbed after supper." Arthur snorted. "Unless you'd /like/ to be mobbed after supper," he said, words punctuated with playful suggestion. 

"No, I think not. Thank you, Merlin." He lifted his arms to allow Merlin to tug at the corset strings of his vest. 

"Don't worry, sire, I'll distract you. No chance to be locked into a conversation of eyes if they're on me!" It was perfect logic, honestly. He was always distracted by Merlin. He wondered now... how Merlin meant him to take that? Could he have been flirting? If only.

Gaius' voice drew him from the reverie. 

"I'll have to consult a tome in order to be certain. Help me get this down his throat, will you? Hold him up like this." They maneuvered Merlin's limp body, teeth gritting against the unease that came with such a lifeless body. 'How many times has Merlin ended up here, like this? Most often, it is because he goes out of his way in protecting his prince; his hero, and his beloved.' Though Gaius could never admit it aloud, when his child by proxy was lying supine, steps away from death, he would lie in his own bed and resent Arthur. Once Merlin was recovered and smiling brightly once more, guilt gnawed at his gut. 'How could I possibly feel that way about Arthur? It is entirely by choice that the boy puts himself in jeopardy, and blaming Arthur is simply not fair.' 

"Do you need help finding the tome, Gaius? I'll scour the shelves, if need be." White hair curtained his face as Gaius shook his head. 

"I know just the book. It's... well... I suspect Merlin may once again be the target of a magickal attack." He didn't even have to look up to know that Arthur's brows were furrowing, and his lips were tugged downward into a dramatic grimace.

"Why Merlin? Why not me, or father? It just doesn't make sense." Several slow heartbeats later, Gaius drew in a steadying breath and leaned forward on his elbows as he deflated wearily. Arthur didn't fail to notice the change in the physician's posture. "Gaius? What do you know?" He could only shake his head. How could his lips form such damning words? "Tell me. I command it." 

The sorrowful eyes beneath heavy white brows met Arthur's searchingly, and he found only concern there. Didn't Arthur deserve to know? Wasn't Merlin's secret safe with Arthur? Hadn't Uther been working to change his mind about magickal folk? 'Working, yes,' he thought, 'but not entirely convinced. Who knows how much danger the boy could be in if Uther felt his trust had been betrayed.' The hand not holding the wet towel reached out to steady Gaius' shoulder. 

"Majesty, this secret is not mine to tell." 

"Is he a sorcerer?" The old man, scared and tired, chewed his tongue silently. "I had always suspected... but there was never proof." 

"There still is none," Gaius pointed out, soberly. 

"Oh, please. If this magickal attack over seemingly nothing doesn't explain it, then nothing can." Wringing his wrinkled hands, Gaius sighed. 

"I will neither confirm nor deny, your highness. When he awakens... then you can speak with him, and he can decide whether or not he will divulge his true nature. I implore you," he continued, desperately gripping Arthur's strong wrist. "Do not tell Uther. Not now. In due time, the king may know, but..." 

"I understand." They fell silent. "What can I do to help him?" The sky beyond the thick windows had dimmed to black, but the twinkling light of stars danced off the glass. The physician had made an effort to remain sober at the feast in order to attend an appointment in the early morning, and now that night had fallen he felt the long day catching up to his body. Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, he began to mutter a reply. 

"Unfortunately I am in desperate need of sleep, for at dawn I must go to the young miss Dahlia in the lower town to help deliver her baby. When Merlin awakens, he will need tended to." Though neither of them need say the words, to ease Gaius' mind, he prodded Arthur to respond. "Can I count on you to stay at his side?"

"Of course," the prince said, almost indignantly. 'As if I could leave without ensuring he'd wake up.' Gaius stood and began to bustle about in preparation for the task awaiting him at dawn; he was packing a bag full of medical implements, laying out clothes and fabric, setting his tables to rights- all things that the prince had no business helping with... not that he would know the first thing about what Gaius needed to prepare, anyway.

"You can sleep, of course, highness. Just pull that cot on over." Without hesitation, Arthur did as he was told, and dragged the bed to touch Merlin's at the side. When he had settled onto his back on the bed, he took Merlin's hand gently, only to find that he didn't want to let it go. How else was he to know when Merlin awakened, he reasoned. Choosing not to see the pathetic display of Arthur holding his manservant's hand, Gaius stepped onto a stool and directed his gaze to the spines of tomes. "He'll be out at least a few more hours, if not all night, but as long as you are nearby you should be able to know exactly when he stirs." Arthur nodded... but couldn't pry his eyes off of Merlin's nimble fingers. The hands of a creator. So unlike his: those of a destroyer. Merlin graciously gave life into all around him, and Arthur used these same hands to take the lives of people like Merlin. He didn't feel worthy of touching Merlin. But... he couldn't stand the thought of letting go. 

"Is there anything that he needs when he awakens, Gaius?" The old man heaved a noisy sigh and looked around with a his familiar raised brow. 

"No, I should hope not. There is broth over the cooking pit, and if he is hungry, that is all he gets for now. Bread, as well, but make sure he soaks it first. That gash in his throat punctured his esophagus, meaning that anything too hard may break open the wound and complicate the healing process. Just reassure him that he is okay, and that I will be checking on him after Dahlia's child is safely delivered." The old man eventually settled on his bed and sat in contemplative silence. "And Arthur?" The prince watched him tug his footwear off, and shuck the light clothing from his back. "You should tell him that suspect his true nature... but don't accuse him. If he feels threatened by you, he may just break, and suffering that kind of sorrow would greatly hinder his healing. You mean everything to him. Having your support will be the only thing to truly aid him in his recovery." Gaius expertly extinguished the flame in the bedside lantern, and finally wriggled under his blankets with a wholly-satisfied sigh. After he had shifted for some time to find a comfortable position, the sound of rustling sheets fell silent. In the large room, all that could be heard for some time was the soft breathing of three sleeping souls. Arthur had begun to drift off when his ears perked up to hear what the old man murmured. "You must be more gentle with him, Arthur Pendragon. His heart is pure."

Arthur nodded, but in the dark, the gesture went unseen. 

'I will be gentle with him. I will. I've been a fool this whole time, taking his company for granted. An absolute clotpole. A cabbage head. I will never let harm befall him on my account again. Stupid Merlin... always protecting me when I'm the last person who deserves your loyalty. Stupid... and braver than anyone. No doubt. Stupid, brave Merlin. My Merlin.' Even as he began to drift into slumber with his hand draped over Merlin's own (so that he may feel the boy awaken, he told himself) the sound of light knocking on the heavy door rattled him awake. A loud snort from Gaius was followed by the continuous snoring rasp. Arthur drew a deep breath to rid himself of the tremble that had settled into his limbs as he rose to answer the door. 

He pulled on the handle until light formed a hand-width ray into the dark room. The worried faces of Morgana and Guen awaited his greeting. Even if they had been expecting to see Gaius, neither of them appeared surprised by the presence of the prince. So that they would not accidentally awaken Gaius or Merlin, Arthur stepped just outside the door and pulled it almost closed. He crossed his arms over his chest to fend off the chill of the night air... or was it to protect himself from the feeling of such helplessness? 'Likely both. Stupid, careless fool of a prince. More like a court jester.' 

"How is he?" Morgana's melodic soprano tone was raspy and low. She had become Merlin's friend before Arthur had, and even then Guen was the first in Camelot to accept him wholly and treat him like family. It had taken a long and awkward period of time for Arthur to treat Merlin as more than a servant... and even now he had to uphold pretenses to appear 'proper.' 

'Imagine what the court would say if they saw me sleeping at his side tonight.' It was none of their business, of course, but he would certainly enjoy the looks of shock on their smug faces when he walked down the corridor hand-in-hand with his manservant. Oh, and Lord Wistere, the most prude and judgmental of all; Arthur wished to caress Merlin and sweep him into a low dip, only to share a passionate kiss in front of the old bag. Arthur couldn't resist the smile that cracked across his face at the thought of the old goat retching and wailing his dismay.

"He's stable," he sighed. "His wounds aren't as serious as they looked, but the glass of that wine bottle nicked him good. We've got a potion of healing in him, and he's just resting now." The prince didn't miss the way that Guen lovingly squeezed Morgana's pale hand. 

"And you're staying with him tonight?" He nodded. "And Gaius?" 

"He'll be going to the lower town to aide in childbirth. He has left simple instructions for Merlin's awakening." The pair of ladies nodded and shared a relieved look. Arthur felt his shoulders slump as well. Though he hated to lie to them about the cause of Merlin's injuries, he admittedly felt far more comforted by the truth within the lie- that Merlin really was going to be alright. 

"Shall we come down around high noon to visit our sweet Merlin?" The prince looked back into the room, thinking. By noon, he should have all of his thoughts properly expressed in private. Besides, Merlin would enjoy the company of someone with more emotional depth than a chamberpot.

"That will be fine, I should think. I bet he'll love the attention. Bring flowers," he snorted. Though he meant this as a playful jab at his sensitive manservant's inclination toward things he found more feminine... it twisted his heart and he instantly felt remorse. "And... bring some lunch for me?" They shared a smile and farewells, and Arthur retreated into the dark. 

'How dare you, Arthur Pendragon. A girl's petticoat? A weepy princess? Merlin is... he's a sorcerer, apparently. And a sorcerer who is... hopefully as madly in love as I am.' 

Chapter Text

How many times had he awoken this confused? Head pounding, limbs weak, mouth dry, world completely turned upside-down. He remembered the first time he felt this horrid. It was when Nimueh poisoned Arthur's goblet, and Merlin had no choice but to take it himself. He remembered dying that night. He also remembered seeing Arthur in a dark cave. When he awoke, he wasn't nearly as confused as he was now, because when his eyes opened that time, Guen and Gaius were at his side, fearing the worst. This time... this time he was certain he'd actually died and this was some sort of paradise afterlife. 

The sun was beating warmly on his face, the sounds of life outside the walls of his shared quarters quiet enough not to disturb him, but lively enough to know that there was joy out there. And his fingers were laced with those of another. Bleary eyes cracked open to see first the hand of whomever was keeping him company. Their skin was golden-toned and littered with fine scars. It occurred to him that this was not the hand of Morgana, Guen, or Gaius. 'Then who-' His eyes raised to meet the worried visage of Arthur. 

"Oh." Surprise stole any semblance of intelligence from him and his jaw fell open. Arthur was awake... before he was. He was sitting upright in his casual tunic and trews, leaning forward with Merlin's hand in his. His brows were knitted together and his lips pursed into the familiar expression of focus. His eyes... those soulful, cheerful eyes, had darkened, and were watching Merlin raptly. Suddenly he felt exposed under the scrutiny of the prince- HIS prince. He began to tug his hand out of Arthur's so that he may sit upright, but he was urged to lie back down with a gentle nudge. 

"You should lie down. Gaius says no great feats of athleticism, and plenty of rest for you." He couldn't remember ever hearing Arthur's voice so soft. Did he treat anyone else like this when they were recovering? It felt too surreal, and he checked in with his body to ensure he hadn't floated off into a dream. The dull ache in his head and shoulder, and the burning of his throat helped to ground him, and as his focus moved down his body, he realized that still, his hand had not been released. Arthur was actually holding it- not just lazily resting his fingers there. Merlin felt the pressure of his fingers being squeezed softly, and wondered just how long they'd been like this- how long Arthur had been putting in an effort to touch him. 
He felt his cheeks burn. 

"What... what are you doing here? Where's Gaius?" An indignant snort parted Arthur's lips, and with a roll of his eyes a lazy smirk tugged one corner upward. Merlin simultaneously loved and hated that smirk. He wanted to punch him square in the mouth... with his own mouth. Yeah. Stupid, handome, stupidly handsome cabbagehead. 

"What, is my company not good enough for you?" 

"What? No, no- of course not! I mean-" He grew more flustered at the sight of Arthur watching him with amusement plainly painting his features. Once more he was the center of Arthur's attention and his heart raced at the sight of the prince staring so devoutly. "Your company is too good for me, sire. I just meant... I wouldn't anticipate you being here. Usually it's Guen or Gaius, or even Morgana. How long-" He stubbornly tried to push himself up on his elbows, and once more Arthur's strength overpowered him and he remained on his back. A frustrated huff. 

"What do you mean, too good for you? That's nonsense. What kind of prince doesn't take care of his servant?" A spluttering sound of shock and a bark of absurd laughter. He had to slap a hand over his mouth to hold back the quip at the tip of his tongue. If he said something sassy like that, he was certain he'd be pulled into a headlock and his scalp would be knuckled until bruised. It became clear that Arthur hadn't asked a rhetorical question, and that he was awaiting an answer.

"Err... What? Oh, w-well..." The prince leaned closer and his gaze grew more intense, as if he was prepared to see through whatever lie Merlin spat out.

"What kind, Merlin?" Merlin swallowed thickly and prepared himself for the horseplay or the smack to his head that was inevitably coming. He knew that tone. Arthur was challenging him to say something he'd regret, so that he may punish his glib manservant in whatever way he saw fit. With the vicious ache in his shoulder, he dreaded the pain of it. Still. Arthur was waiting for him to say something.

"Not a good one," he answered. "But you're a great prince, Arthur. The best-- really!" Blonde hair was brushed off of his strong brow and Arthur gave a satisifed hum. "But, I don't understand. You never seemed to care before." Arthur stiffened and his gaze began to dance away from Merlin's. He shrugged, sniffed indignantly, and pointedly looked around the room for several moments. 

"Yes, well. I've changed. People can change, you know." His gaze finally fell back down to Merlin and... if the wisened warlock wasn't mistaken, there was a heavy blush across his cheeks. "Are you hungry? Gaius has prescribed broth and bread for now." 

"Erm... yeah. I could eat." With a gentle pat on Merlin's chest, Arthur began to stand and withdraw his fingers from Merlin's own grip... and reflexively Merlin gripped tighter to avoid having to let go. Arthur hesitated and... was it just in his sleep-addled mind, or did Arthur squeeze tighter too? His pale cheeks flushed red-hot and he cleared his throat of the embarrassment that lodged itself there. He was the first to tug his hand away, awkwardly turning his head away from the radiant, infuriatingly-beautiful form of Arthur. 

He knew it wasn't in his head. He knew he felt Merlin's fingers tighten around his own. Sure, it could just have been that Merlin enjoyed the comfort. He secretly wished that there was something more. As he sauntered to the fireplace where the food was hanging in a hefty iron kettle, he cleared his throat and cast a single cursory glance over his shoulder to ensure the stubborn fool was still lying supine. 

"So... there's something that I've been meaning to ask you." He felt ashamed, partly. His tone was meek, which was unbecoming of a prince. 'But not unbecoming of Merlin's friend.' He did nothing to change it. "Gaius said that this was a magickal attack. Do you remember anything about it?" There was a pregnant pause before Merlin finally replied. His voice sounded weak, almost as if he feared to speak the words. 

"I was just serving your wine, sire. Then I fell unconscious. That's all." Arthur knew there was more. Merlin was terrible liar, after all, and the signs were all there. His inflection was all wrong; his tone was airy and his words articulated more than usual; he fidgeted when he lied, which was the clearest tell in this moment. 

"I see. And... he also observed that those wounds of yours are miraculously healed. There's only a scar now where the... bottle... cut your throat." 

"I've been hurt loads of times, sire. My body has learned to adapt. Besides, they weren't that bad." Arthur sighed and replaced the kettle's lid before grabbing a slice of bread and meandering back to the bed. 

"Seems like they were. We-- I feared that you wouldn't make it. You lost a lot of blood." Merlin scoffed jokingly. 

"Sire, head wounds bleed most profusely, and by extension, so does the neck. If they were that bad, I wouldn't be speaking with you right now, now would I?" Arthur assumed his place on the cot at Merlin's side and set the bowl on the side table that Gaius had made out of a slab of wood and a pile of books. With gentle, slow movements, he helped to prop Merlin up against several blankets and pillows until he was sitting securely. Arthur handed him the bowl and spoon, and set the bread on his covered lap. Merlin instantly began to tuck in, carefully cooling the soup before every spoonful.

"You don't have to pretend anymore, Merlin." His shaking hand faltered in its course to his lips. 

"S-Sire?" Arthur sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. He knew that this required delicate handling, and that he couldn't just slash his way through this sort of a conversation. 'Sword fighting is so much easier,' he mourned. 'Straight to the point... hehe... point... and no beating around the bush.' He knew that they would likely be conversing for some time about this, because he was rather dense and there was bound to be plenty he wouldn't understand. 

"I... merely mean that... you don't have to hide from me. I can see you for who you are... and what you are, Merlin." The bowl nearly toppled from the boy's feeble grasp. The telltale signs of fear colored him a vivid shade of white. His breaths became quick and shallow, his eyes darted away from Arthur, and he steadied his hands on his lap. 

"I... I'm not sure what you mean." How could Arthur possibly say what needed to be said? He wanted nothing more than to just walk off to the training ground and bash a target with a mace to vent this frustration... but that wasn't what Merlin needed right now. So he took several calming breaths and closed his eyes. His sweaty palms rested on his knees to hide the pathetic shaking.

"Merlin, I'm not accusing you of anything. Let's get that straight. I am merely trying to understand... and to get to know you. I know that you're..." The words caught in his throat and only by another deep inhale did he manage to force them out. "A sorcerer. I'm not mad. Quite the opposite, really. I'm fascinated. I want to know more. I want to know you. And I want to thank you." The bowl finally fell from Merlin's hands and spilled over the floor. He swore and began to struggle against his own weight. It was clear he was trying to get up and escape this confrontation, but his mortal flesh betrayed him. 

"You... You don't know what you're talking about. Did someone poison your drink when I passed out? Oh, gods, I must be dead. There's no way this is real. I just need to wake up. Yeah. Just got to-" He had managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and was attempting to stand. Arthur rounded the bed and stood before him, hands reaching to hold Merlin's shoulders. The man froze and stared up at his prince with tears glistening in his eyes. "Arthur, I- I'm sorry. I'll leave Camelot. I'll go somewhere you never have to think of about me again. Please, I can't stand the thought of-" His lips had begun to quiver. The hot tears spilled down his cheeks, and Merlin's head bowed in defeat. Arthur sunk to his knees. 

"Merlin, no. No! You're not hearing me. I want you to stay. I need you to stay. I want to see your magick. I want to know it- to know you Merlin, look at me." The boy with heaving shoulders shook his head dejectedly. 

"I... I can't." Softly, slowly, Arthur rubbed down the length of Merlin's arms.

"Why not?" Soft sobs cracked through Merlin's hoarse throat. 

"I'm afraid." Arthur urged him on with gentle touches to his shoulders, and the back of his neck. "I'm afraid that you'll hate me."

"I could never hate you, Merlin. Because I... Well, I... Oh, hellfires. I love you, Merlin. I've loved you for so long and I've been such a fool not to tell you, and I want to get to know all of you, and that includes your magick. I could never send you away, Merlin. Living without you would kill me. You're my everything, and... and I'm just the royal arse who was too stupid to say three stupid words... Please, Merlin, look at me."

The boy had frozen, and his weeping had fallen silent, but slowly his shoulders unhunched and his head lifted. Arthur's trembling fingers settled under Merlin's chin, and his gaze locked onto those beautiful blue eyes... wise eyes that spoke of lightning storms and wildfires, dragons' flight and magic light. In Merlin's voice was the melody of ancient songs, and Arthur finally had the ears to hear. His lips, soft-looking and lush, held great power of creation, transformation, and destruction. He had to taste them. He wondered if they tasted of the smoke of mage's fire, or wild herbs in fields of magick. 

Merlin caught the prince's gaze flitting to his lips, and he cautiously inched forward. Eyelids fluttering shut, breaths puffing warmly against each other's skin... slowly, tenderly, they closed the distance until Arthur's lips were on Merlin's and oh, they really did taste like smoke and power but also soup and tears. He held Merlin tight, kissing him as if his life depended on it, because certainly it did, and only a small gasp of air from Merlin's agape mouth reminded him to come up for air. He panted softly and bunted his forehead against Merlin's.

"Oh." Merlin was practically vibrating. With anxiety or excitement he couldn't tell. Regardless, he found it hard to keep focused. The taste of ale on Arthur's lips was complemented by the honey-flavored balm that Gaius had made, and the smell of vanilla and spice on the prince's hair was... "So it's not a dream. If it is, it's a dream I hope to never wake from." Arthur hummed into the inch between them and let his hand pull Merlin's neck until their lips met once more. Merlin could hardly believe how gentle and... good... Arthur was. He hadn't had that much experience, had he? He couldn't think of that now- not when Arthur's lips were leaving his and placing a delicate peck on the tip of his nose, and all along his cheekbones, to the temple with the purple bruise and between his eyebrows. He began to tear up all over again. 

"Oh, Arthur," he whispered, voice failing him in this moment of emotion. "You can't know how happy this makes me. You'll never know how much I... how much I love you too." The words felt... surreal. He'd imagined these words, but... in more morbid ways. Now, it... it was like his greatest fears were vanquished and his deepest desires were being fulfilled. His hands lifted to Arthur's neck, where two fingers searched for a pulse at his throat. "It's not a dream. I can't believe I'm not dreaming." When Arthur began to pull away, Merlin whined softly and tried to hold him fast. 

"Now, now, Merlin. Didn't Gaius say no great feats of athleticism? You need to sit back and eat some soup... and then we can have a nap. Alright?" He nodded vigorously. Of course he did, because Arthur just said "we can have a nap," meaning he wasn't going to leave. 

"Y-Yes, sire." With an endearing smile that gave away an absurd amount of smug satisfaction, Arthur rose from his kneeling position at the bedside, and turned to fetch more soup. He came back shortly and put the new bowl in Merlin's hands.

"When we've finished napping, I'll call in a maid to clean up this soup mess. Meanwhile, these are soaked. Do you have any extra trews I might borrow?" Merlin was grateful he hadn't yet sipped at the broth, for Arthur slipped out of his pants without warning. When he realized he was caught staring, he cleared his throat and pointed up the stairs to his private room. 

"Look in the wardrobe." Merlin called after his retreating back, "they may be snug!" Several moments passed before the prince stepped back out of the doorway with a pair of brown trousers hugging his thighs and hips nicely... and a thick book in hand. For a brief moment, complete and utter terror gripped Merlin's chest. Then he remembered, and the tightness in his shoulders loosed. How long would it take him to lose that wariness? Would he ever? He ate as Arthur descended and watched the prince rifle through the heavy pages in the tome. Mouth fixed in a neutral line, eyes scanning the pages raptly, this Arthur was a stunning change from the one that spat in disgust at magick users being executed for petty crimes. Though his gut sank at the memory, he stubbornly pushed away the discomfort. Uther had been making changes, had he not? Magick users were being fairly judged now, weren't they? Arthur had been most devoted in adapting to this change- likely more than any of the others. 'There's no reason not to trust him on this. There's no way he doesn't mean it... there's no way this isn't real. If it isn't and I'm being fooled,' he decided, 'I'll gladly die at his hands for a moment of bliss with him.' 

"That's the book Gaius gave me when I first arrived." Arthur nodded slowly and didn't take his eyes off the page. 

"How many times would you say you've used it?" Merlin shrugged. "Rough estimate." 

"Well... loads of times. I used it against Valiant, and when Nimueh poisoned the water, and when that sidhe princess and her father tried to sacrifice you..." At that, the prince's eyes went wide and he finally looked up in shock. 

"They did what?" He halfway hid behind his bowl. "Merlin, what do you mean?" 

"It's..." He realized that this story was a long explanation and that... that there were going to be many more tales like this. How could he disclose all of the many things he'd kept so firmly under wraps? If he would have shared them mere months ago before Uther's decrees on lenience for magick users, he would have faced the gallows... or worse. "It's a long story, Sire. And there are... more." Arthur shut the book carefully and set it aside on the long table to his right. 

"How many more?" He didn't sound... angry. More... distant? and pensive, like he felt remorse for not knowing already. 

"I lost count, honestly. It's been an eventful few years, sire." Arthur's brows knitted. 

"You're going to have to stop that." 

"Stop what?" He looked around himself, confused by what he had done to offend the prince. 

"Stop calling me sire." 

"What? OH, no, no, no. No, I don't dare, no-" He laughed incredulously and imagined how furious the king would be if Merlin forgot his place. Then his gut sank. "Sire... what about..."

"Father?" Several long moments passed them by, and suddenly Merlin realized he didn't have an appetite. He'd just experienced the most joyous thing in his entire life and now came the cool splash of harsh reality he knew he was going to have to face. Arthur leaned back on his elbows and heaved a heavy sigh. "I suspect he knows how I feel. He had stopped throwing princesses at me, after all. And... there was last night." Merlin set the bowl on the floor at his side and turned to press his knees to Arthur's. 

"What about last night?" The prince felt Merlin's legs against his and sat up straight to rest his warm hand there. 

"When Gaius had you hauled off, I was..." He cleared his throat, obviously trying to hide something embarrassing- something that was most certainly not befitting the future king. "I felt like it was my responsibility to make sure you were okay. Father stopped me and... he had this look on his face when he saw my eyes. It looked like... almost like knowing resignation. And he let me go. After Morgana told father of her feelings for Guen, he may be more inclined to..." He trailed off. 

"So... you think he's... alright with it? With... us?" The word almost felt blasphemous- like he'd be arrested and hung just for saying it. But it also felt right; empowering; like he and Arthur together could conquer the entire world. Arthur looked up and met Merlin's eyes, with the most curious expression. Merlin flushed. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't meant to assume-" Lips were suddenly pressing against his, effectively shutting him up and dismissing the insecurity that reared its ugly head. Arthur pulled away but only slightly. The warm air from Arthur's lips tickled Merlin's jaw.

"Us, Merlin. It is us. We are partners, Merlin. And it doesn't matter what father has to say about it. Now-" He leaned back and turned to give his pillow a punch to fluff it. "It's time for a nap, so stop those thoughts racing around your head." With the same strength that had astounded him before, Arthur easily maneuvered Merlin's body to lie supine on the bed, and he even put forth the effort to fluff his pillows and tuck them just where Merlin wanted them. The servant who'd become accustomed to sleeping in less-than-savory places had never felt more pampered; he'd never imagined that Arthur could be so attentive. And the shift from... from prince and servant to... to partners, it was easy. As if it was always there, buried beneath a façade.

"Merlin." Arthur's voice was muffled against the pillow. With dewy eyes, Merlin turned his head to stare longingly at the prince. his prince. his partner. "Stop thinking. It's too loud." The wizard laughed and finally rolled on his side. Sleep was quick enough to claim him once Arthur's hand wrapped around his own, and he rested better than ever before. 

Chapter Text

Everything seemed so normal. The atmosphere of the great dining hall was just as warm and simultaneously imposing as always, and nobody so much as gave Merlin a sidelong glance, even as Arthur gestured for him to sit at his side. The prince went so far as to pull a chair to the table, himself -and that did garner some looks of awe, but not a single comment on the absurdity of it. Merlin found himself falling into the habit easily enough, though it wasn't without reservations. Sitting at the prince's side, and not standing at his back, was unusual no matter how open-minded the kingdom and its king. As long as he'd lived in Camelot, his station afforded him about as much respect as Arthur's left boot; that is to say, very little- if any at all. Some nobles saw Merlin as a liability, and often implored Uther to replace him with a younger, more impressionable servant. He often wondered why Uther hadn't done it. A single smirk and averted glance from the King over his royal goblet told Merlin that maybe he had suspected this was coming and that... that perhaps he could accept it. Still, even when Arthur commanded him to be seated at his side in a tall-backed chair before the royal table, he was prepared for the worst. 

"Will you relax?" A hand beneath the table rested on his thigh and gave a fond squeeze. He nearly jumped out his skin at the touch, but his senses returned to him quickly and he turned to face his prince with a smile and the arch of a single brow. 

"Sire?" Arthur gave one of those exaggerated sighs that signified his royal impatience. 

"You look as though someone is holding a dagger at your back, Merlin. At least /pretend/ you're having a good time." The wizard laughed and let his shoulders slump. 

"Oh. Right. Sorry, Sire. Just habit." He expected a chuckle or even a smirk and a snarky quip, but all that Arthur gave him was a concerned knitting of his brows and a frown. "What?" 

"Not now. We'll discuss this after supper." Then his hand raised to gesture over the young servant to pour more wine. The working boy also topped off Merlin's cup without prompting. "For now, just try to feel at ease. I've got your back. Nothing is going to happen to you." Even as he lifted his metal cup, he muttered a response. 

"I'm not worried about myself, Sire. You are, will be, and always have been, my biggest concern. The greatest honor I could possibly achieve is to give my life to save yours. It doesn't matter what happens to me, really, as long as Camelot has her future king, and it's my destiny to ensure that." The goblet en route to Arthur's lips paused midair and the wine sloshed over the rim. 

The faltering of Arthur's steady arm drew the attention of Uther, though he kept his observation stealthy. He tuned out the many pointless conversations around him, and focused solely on overhearing that of his son and his manservant.

"I beg your pardon? It doesn't matter what happens to you? Did you just say that to me? Seriously?" 

"Well, I just meant-"

"Don't you dare argue your worth, Merlin. If it wasn't for you and your magick, I wouldn't be here, /idiot./ You're more important to me than any handful of our people, and I will not have you berating yourself for any reason. Do you hear me? If I hear those words come from your stupid, delicious mouth again, so help me-" The rest of the sentence was muttered beneath a low breath and Uther missed it entirely. He was far too consumed by shock and contemplation to attempt to listen any further. 

'If it wasn't for you and your magick- your magick.' The boy was a sorcerer. A warlock. A wizard. He was practicing magick in HIS kingdom- right under his nose. Such a treasonous and threatening- 'If it wasn't for you and your magick, I wouldn't be here.' Uther sighed and blinked rapidly. 'Idiot.' No doubt, he was an idiot. What was he thinking? The boy had risked torture and execution to save Arthur with magick and... and he had seriously contemplated trying the boy for treason? for witchcraft? In a kingdom where he was working with his subjects to change the laws on magick, and consequently change the minds of those who hated and feared it? And if he did? What would Ygraine say? It was her idea to finally accept all magick users. It was her persistence in the dreams of Uther, his children and his subjects that convinced the stubborn old fool to welcome a change of heart. His conscience could not afford to betray the wishes of his late wife, no matter how unsure he felt. 'I must imply trust in the instinct of Ygraine, and in my own intuition. What kind of king -what kind of father and husband- would I be if I went against what I'd promised- if I reverted to my old ways?' Taking the silver cup in his hand and looking at his refection in its fine polish, he sighed. 'They'll have to tell me eventually, but there's no need to rush them. I'll just wait for them to come to me. It will all straighten itself out, in due time.' He swirled the wine in his goblet before taking a sip. 

"Why don't you let me prove it to you, then? Tonight." His eyes went wide and he choked, spraying wine over the table before him, spluttering and coughing, wiping the burgundy from his lips. A heavy hand carefully patted his back and eventually the coughing did subside. Only after thanking Gaius and dragging the kerchief down his face did he turn his attention to the rest of the court. Their eyes were just now drifting down to their meals and away from the spectacle that was King Uther Pendragon. 

"Everything alright, Sire?" Arthur leaned toward his father and searched his features carefully. Uther could see the concern in his sons face, and knew that... it was going to be okay. Everything concerning the manservant and Arthur's relationship with him- his magick and their conspiring to keep it a secret... it was all going to work out. Uther clapped his son on the shoulder and smiled. 

"Yes, it is." 

Chapter Text

"Ah-haahh, right there, Merlin- don't stop-" Keening and soft groans filled the prince's room, until a combined sigh of relief ended the lewd chorus. Arthur flopped bonelessly back onto the bed, eyes closed and mouth hanging open lazily. 

"That," Arthur began, pressing sleepy kisses to Merlin's bare hand that rested beside his head on the plush mattress. "Was amazing." The wizard giggled- really, truly giggled. 

"I've been told that I give the best massages in Camelot, but I didn't know it was fit for royalty! If I'd have known it'd get me into your bed, I'd have worked those knots out of your shoulders sooner!" Arthur pulled Merlin's elbow back, removing the support holding him upright. As Merlin toppled backward, Arthur wrapped him in a tight hug, and rolled over to trap the poor lad between his own bulk and the mattress. Laughter filled the air in a way that those four walls had never heard before, and it didn't die out quickly. They found new things every moment to giggle about, and just when they thought their glee was exhausted, they'd erupt into cackles and guffaws once more. 

"O-Ow! Ahhaahaha, stop it- you're too ahahaaa- too much!" Merlin shoved Arthur away from him as he rolled off the bed to land on his feet. He doubled over to brace himself against the beam of the bed, and panted. "Honestly, you have to stop being so funny, sire! Who knew you had a sense of humor?" Arthur chucked a pillow, which quickly ricocheted off of an invisible forcefield and flung back at the prince. He squealed (a quite manly sound, indeed) and caught the pillow, then melodramatically rolled off the other side of the bed, as if the force of it had thrown him. The flying pillow didn't have nearly enough force, of course, but the act had Merlin collapsing to the stone floor in a heap of laughter. 

"And who knew your magick was good for such harmless things! Honestly, Merlin, you could put the court jester out of a job!" Eventually the sounds of wheezing and chortling faded and the pair of overgrown children slumped onto the bed. They lie in silence, resting shoulder-to-shoulder, catching their breath. While Arthur reclined with his elbow over his eyes, Merlin took the chance to admire the half-naked prince. Hungry eyes raking over the bare chest of his beloved, yet hands well-behaved and refraining from touching the golden skin, he stared on for much longer than he should. 

"Enjoying yourself?" His gaze snapped up to meet that of Arthur's. He was different, right then. Voice deeper, eyes darker, jaw set expectantly... this was the side of Arthur Merlin had only seen in his dreams. "Oh, by all means, don't stop on my account." What was he to do? Surely Arthur didn't want... he wasn't implying... they weren't even properly courting, how could... "You've got to stop thinking so loud," the prince sighed, as he gathered Merlin in his arms and pulled him close. "Doooon't fight it." Merlin hadn't realized he was struggling against the embrace until the prince mentioned it, and immediately all thoughts of escape fled him and he melted. 

"Sorry." A tender kiss pressed to his crown. 

"For what?" Soft, steady breaths, warmth puffing against his hair, strong arms around him... sleep was so tantalizing. Its lithe fingers reached for him, beckoning him into the stillness. 

"Used to being hurt. This is new." 

"Oh." So many heartbeats passed that Merlin began to drift again. "Am I... your first?" 

"My first love?" A low affirming hum. "Well... I've had other interests. You remember Will from the village?" He felt he prince's arms tense minutely. "But... yes. You're the first and... likely my last." 

"Oh?" The muscles in Arthur's chest and shoulders relaxed notably, and Merlin realized then that it was jealousy. Some part of him was smug... and he would remember to let that part out to play occasionally. For now, he stifled it and nestled into Arthur's smooth flesh, nose nuzzling into the firm pectorals. "Why is that?" 

"Well... you did say that you'd found your queen... and unless you were joking... I just expected to be... forever." He'd been half prepared for Arthur to shove him away and to order him away- to send him down to his own room in shame. He was expecting to face the repulsion that Arthur was bound to feel... but instead he was drawn closer to Arthur's chest... and he could feel it working harder to draw in air. The slight quaking of his shoulders, the sniffling, and the desperate attempts to keep his breathing steady all told Merlin that he was holding back tears. 

"Oh... Oh, Merlin." Hearing his prince so... vulnerable... almost pushed him over the edge of tears, himself. "Usually I know just what to say. I am rarely at a loss for words, and yet now I find myself completely speechless." Again, that shield of humor put itself between Merlin and his feelings. 

"Doesn't sound like it to me," he snorted. Arthur didn't rise to the challenge. He tried again. "But honestly, don't try too hard. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself." Finally the push that he'd anticipated. Though he'd known it was coming, it didn't hurt his heart any less to feel Arthur's hands on his shoulders, distancing himself from the wizard. His smile faltered and he cleared his throat before rolling over to crawl off the bed. He was yanked back to face Arthur, whose cheeks were streaked with tears. He looked furious. or wounded. or ill. Something that Merlin dreaded to see. "Sire? Are you alri-" His lips were captured and taken control of, and he was wrestled to the bed and straddled. The way Arthur maneuvered him so easily had him weak-willed and boneless, eager for whatever was next. 

"Stop doubting yourself." The words were whispered into his agape mouth. "You're everything to me. So just... stop." Merlin nodded obediently and searched Arthur's eyes. They held no answers, only stormclouds and building lightning. "You're to be my queen, Merlin. Forever." Another kiss spun his mind in circles until he was dizzy and gripping to Arthur in order to stay grounded. "What are you thinking right now," Arthur asked when he finally allowed Merlin to breathe again. It took several long moments to string together an intelligent series of words; Arthur's hand was toying with Merlin's messy fringe as he waited patiently for a response. 

"You seem so sure of yourself, and I wish I had your confidence." 

"Hmm... well, it's no fault of your own that I'm an arrogant cabbagehead," he started, earning a playful, gentle slap on the shoulder. "And it's also not your fault that your true nature had to be suppressed for so long. I can't imagine how that made you feel, to have your truest, most sincere self, persecuted due to the irrational fear of others." Arthur had never thought of it like that... until he learned that Merlin was a wizard. Somehow the problem seemed so distant and unreal before, and only by being exposed to the suffering of one whom he'd come to love... he suddenly felt sick. He needed a distraction. "Show me some magick." When Merlin's body palpably stiffened beneath him, Arthur bunted their foreheads together and frowned. "What's wrong?" 

"I'm... worried." Merlin's gaze was flicking around the room again, giving a clear indication that he was looking for an escape from the inevitable danger. "If you don't like it..." Once Athur's weight was removed from his body, he felt his breaths coming faster and faster, and the panic began to seep into his every thought. He sat up and eyed the door. Surely this was a trap. Arthur was just working to get his guard down so that he can be caught exercising magick, and then he'd be taken to the dungeons, shackled in those awful manacles that bound magick, and then burned at the pyre, but he wouldn't die, because he couldn't, and-

"Merlin," the prince cooed, "it's alright. You don't have to show me right now." A hand, warm and strong, rubbed down the length of his spine. "Just... when you're ready. I'll wait. Alright? I'll wait." The gentle touches persisted. "Breathe... Merlin, love... you're safe." When words finally stopped rattling in his skull, and the weight of that single word 'love,' sank in, all tension flooded from his being and he leaned into Arthur's welcoming embrace.

"I... I'm so-"

"Stop it." 

"But, really-"

"Nope." 

"I'm trying to-"

"Yes, I know what you're trying to do, and I won't let you. No apologizing for moments of weakness, Merlin. Not now. You've succeeded at being strong for a long time and you're bound to suffer for that. I won't have my queen beating himself at every turn. Understood?" He could only manage a jerking nod. "Good. Now, why don't we get ready to sleep? You're supposed to be in recovery, taking it easy- or don't you remember?" With a final sigh to root himself in the moment, Merlin offered a smile of defeat. 

"Alright. At least let me pull out your nightclothes, sire. I know that you don't want me doing my job -which is quite odd, since I could have sworn you were always complaining for me to do it indeed- but this isn't me working. This is me... taking care of my prince... my love." Arthur reclined on his elbows with a nod of permission, and even as Merlin turned his back on the beautiful spectacle that was half-bare, sleepy, content Arthur, he could feel those blue eyes on him, practically undressing him. Watching, eagerly. He moved slowly toward the wardrobe... contemplating. He turned to face Arthur. 

Without a word, but only a mere flash of gold in Merlin's eyes, the drawer of Arthur's wardrobe slid open and a pair of sleeping breeches, still neatly folded, floated up and out, hovering midair for several moments before slowly drifting toward the bed where Arthur had buckled fully upright. His eyes were locked on the flying trews, mouth slightly agape and brows lifted- all features giving him the appearance of a child filled with wonder. The soft cotton pants reached him, and stilled at eye-level, waiting for him to take them. Merlin's golden eyes watched for Arthur to do something, but before reaching out, Arthur met Merlin's gaze imploringly, as if asking for permission to grasp them. Even as Merlin nodded his affirmation, Arthur noticed the warm glow illuminating Merlin's high cheekbones, and he couldn't look away. 

His mouth opened and closed, any words seeming perfectly inadequate in this serendipitous moment. Instead, his lip quirked into a half-smile and he chuffed in amazement while taking the pants in hand. With the spell released, Arthur stared back up at Merlin. The expression on the warlock's face was nearly indiscernible... but sure enough there was a hint of a smirk there. To Arthur... it was the most enchanting and strangely-arousing thing he'd ever experienced. His throat grew parched, very suddenly. 

"M-More." Merlin simply couldn't turn down an order like that- not when Arthur's voice was raspy and his tone had deepened marginally. The way red flushed over the prince's regal cheekbones didn't go unnoticed. 

"Fromum feohgiftum on faeder bearme. Fromum feohgiftum." A blue ball of light conjured in Merlin's outstretched palm, between him and his beloved. It glowed just as brightly as a distant star, and glimmered like those celestial bodies in the vast sky above, dancing... twinkling. Arthur's mouth fell wide open and he was enthralled with this new thing -like he'd been mesmerised by a sorcerer... and in fact he had. 

"I recognize this," he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder, he'd ruin it. He was, by nature, a destroyer, and what Merlin was doing was creation, in its purest form. He couldn't possibly hope to deserve this wizard. 

"The caves," Merlin replied, just as softly. "With Nimueh." Daring, but not carelessness, beckoned Arthur closer, to stand from the bed and inch toward the light dancing on Merlin's fingertips. 

"I never knew... I never would have guessed." The light flickered dangerously when Merlin looked to the floor, meekly. "But it's beautiful." At that, it flared brighter, and his eyes raised to meet those of his lover. 

"I didn't know I was doing it, at the time- didn't even know that I knew how to do this. Completely dazed out of my mind, I was, and was certain you were never going to return." Arthur smirked. 

"Oh, come now. Have you no confidence in me?" Merlin laughed, and the glow pulsed. 

"Of course, sire! Just... sometimes a sword won't work where a sorcerer's touch is required." Arthur laughed at this even though as soon as the words had fallen from Merlin's tongue he began to sweat. The blue light sputtered out, and Arthur felt mild disappointment in his chest, but awe was rekindled when a small ball of flames replaced it. 

"Forbearnan." The flash of gold in Merlin's eyes was... mystifying. He couldn't stop staring, even after the flicker in his irises disappeared. 

"I see the sun and stars in your eyes." The flames extinguished. Very suddenly, Arthur was tackled backward by a flying wizard and his ravenous mouth, and in a tangle of limbs, they fell to the bed. Merlin mewled into Arthur's mouth, reveling in the way that Arthur's hands wrapped so nicely around his hips. He struggled to stay astride the prince, who was fighting for dominance. With a single nonverbal command, Arthur's wrists were harmlessly pinned above his head by magick. Arthur growled -a primal and desperate sound- and Merlin couldn't contain himself. 

"I want you," he blurted out. Arthur rolled his hips upward to meet Merlin's, and the wizard found himself melting. 

"Let me out of this and I'll show you just how much I need you too." 

'Need. He needs me,' Merlin thought with fleeting glee. 'Not just want, but need, oh gods.' Lust, hot and heavy, was overtaking every other thought, and very quickly he found himself giving in and releasing Arthur from the magickal hold. With a yelp, Merlin was manhandled to the mattress and his own thin wrists were clamped in a single strong hand above his head. Arthur smirked savagely down at his lover and pressed a long, passionate kiss to his hungry mouth. Flames roiled in Merlin's gut, out of control and bound to consume him entirely. 

"I'm going to show you love like you've never felt before. Tonight and forever, Merlin, you belong to me."

Chapter Text

A comfortable and warm haze had settled over the lovers in their post-climax daze. Lazy grazes over Merlin's arm and feathering touches to Arthur's chest were the most they planned to move for the rest of the evening. They both drifted in and out of the pre-sleep realm of stillness, and would occasionally wake to the sound of one another drawing a deep breath or shifting on the bed. Finally, when it was apparent that sleep was descending upon them, Arthur sighed contentedly. 

"Merlin," he mumbled. "Could you put out the fires?" Reflexively, Merlin began to move. "Where do you think you're going?"

"The fire?" 

"C'mon, Merlin. Not that way," he urged. "Use your magick so I can watch the sun shine through your eyes again." Though Merlin blushed under the intense stare of his prince, lover and protector, he did as he was asked and extinguished all of the fires in the room. "Good boy," Arthur whispered. "Night, Merlin. Sweet dreams." 

"I love you." The words fell out on their own accord, and he nearly kicked himself for letting them loose. Arthur drew him closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead before sighing and whispering back. 

"And I love you." 

A scream jolted Arthur awake and through the haze of bloodlust and terror, he scanned the room for the threat. Beside him on the bed, Merlin was writhing. Panic spurred him into motion. He lit the candle at his bedside and saw his beloved struggling. Skin as white as snow, with the faintest green hue to it; sweat covering his whole body like morning dew, Merlin looked simply ghastly. The screams that tore through his poor throat were horrified and pained, and though he wasn't forming words, Arthur could practically hear the pleas for mercy. 

"Merlin! Merlin, wake up! Please, wake up! Merlin-" The boy began to still; his skin flushed as cold as the grave. "Merlin!? Merlin! Guards! Guards, help!" The door swung open and there in the doorway stood two armed guards. One of which was Gwaine, his trusted friend. "Gwaine! My god, get Gaius now! Something is wrong with Merlin!" Gwaine instructed the guard to make haste to the physician's quarters whilst he dropped his sword and darted to Merlin's side. Being Merlin's best friend, Gwaine was mortified by what he saw. 

"Arthur! What the hell happened!" The prince gasped for air around the dismayed cries that had erupted from him and winded him. 

"He just-" A gut-wrenching cough rattled him, due to the abuse to his throat. "He just woke up screaming! It's like the other day at dinner-" Loud, uncontrollable sobbing wracked him like he'd never experienced before. Never had he felt this scared or distraught. "Oh gods, oh gods-" 

Gwaine snaked his arms around Merlin's shoulders and shook him carefully, trying to wake him from this state. The boy was still breathing, at least, but the pallid, clammy skin and flighty pulse were enough to set his teeth on edge. He pressed his ear to Merlin's chest to listen for a heartbeat, and -gods be praised- there it was. Pounding like thundering hooves of racing horses, it was faithfully working. Arthur's cries had barely dimmed. 

"Arthur. Arthur! Calm down! Come on, princess, take a breath. With me, now. Come on. A breath in- yes, like that. Again. A breath in, and out. Slower. You're going to faint if you keep it up like that, highness, then you'll be no good to Merlin." This, at least, seemed to get through to him. "He's breathing, sire. His heart is beating and he's breathing, so he's alive. It's likely a night terror, is all! Sometimes soldiers deal with this kind of thing, where not even a dragon attack could wake them. He'll be okay. Gaius will be here any moment and-" On cue, the white-haired physician bustled into the room, nightrobes fluttering behind him as he rushed to Merlin's side. 

"What happened, sire?" Arthur, still shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, croaked out the clearest explanation he could manage. Brows knitted in concentration and hands moving deftly over certain vital points, Gaius did his best to assess Merlin's condition. "Oh-" He averted his eyes rather quickly when lifting the sheet and finding Merlin entirely nude, and only then did Arthur realize that he was also stark naked. Gwaine noticed the prince's panic and fetched a clean-looking pair of trousers from the floor, then quickly pressed them into Arthur's hands. 

"Hurry, put these on. I heard the king's voice coming closer." Arthur couldn't have moved faster if he was aided by magick. He was dressed in trews when his father, in his nightclothes but also in a cloak to hide his 'indecency,' entered the room. To anyone who didn't know the king as well as Arthur did, they might see confused annoyance, but his son saw what truly lie beneath the façade. He was as scared as he could let on, for the screams that he heard coming from his only son were heart-breaking, and the last time he heard pain that profound... it was coming from himself, right at the moment of Ygraine's death. He knew how it felt to bear grief so intense, and would never let his son experience it alone. 

"Arthur." He strode across the room to Arthur's side, and gripped his child's shoulders to steady him. "You look near death. What happened?" 

"It's another magickal attack against Merlin," he said. Through the rasp of a rent throat, Uther heard the vulnerability that he'd refused to display to anyone but Gaius during his time of mourning. He knew what pain Arthur must feel. "They say he's alright this time, but-" A shoulder-quaking sigh. "Gods, father, I was so terrified. Have you ever felt so helpless?" Arthur's baby-blue eyes met Uther's for a mere moment, but he lowered his gaze and bowed hi head. "I-I'm sorry, sire. I didn't mean-" He was pulled into a tight hug, and before he could stop himself the weeping began all over again. 

"I haven't always been there for you, but I won't let you suffer alone, son. I'll try to understand." 

"Sire." Gaius' voice cut through the diminishing sobs and sniffles of the prince, and when he had the attention of all in the room, he cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "Sires. He is still under attack, but from whom I cannot possibly know. My theory is that he is battling it out in a separate dimension than this... and he is winning." Arthur rushed to the bed and collapsed to his knees at Merlin's side. The other's pallor was warming once again and the furrow of his brows was relaxing. His lips were moving silently, and Arthur feared that he may use a spell at any time... but then the motions of his mouth ceased, and nothing happened. He carefully laced his fingers through Merlin's hair and heaved a relieved, shuddering sigh. 

"You're going to be okay, Merlin. I'll be here when you awaken. I love you, Merlin. I love you. Come back to me." Uther, Gaius and Gwaine averted their eyes, but none of them missed those intimate words whispered over the sleeping form. No one said a word about it. 

"He's going to be alright, sire. I believe he is out of danger. Just in case, I would like to sleep in the quarters next door." Uther gave an assenting nod and moved to kneel beside his son. To Arthur's utter surprise, Uther raised an ungloved hand and gently tousled Merlin's hair. 

"Strange boy. You'll be just fine." He squeezed Arthur's shoulders and sighed. "When you're both feeling up to it... I'd love a private supper, just me, you, and Merlin, and perhaps Morgana and Guen." Arthur nodded, and without another word, Uther stood and left the room. Gwaine had left with Gaius' bag in hand to the vacant room, and it was just Arthur and his beloved. With one last kiss to Merlin's forehead, Arthur crawled into the bed. Candle still burning, he closed his eyes and muttered a silent prayer. 

Chapter Text

Home had a few meanings to him; the first home he ever knew was in Hunith's arms. The second he'd come to think of as 'home' was in Gaius' quarters... and yet it seemed so unfamiliar and cold now, for home was truly in Arthur's presence. Touching him, talking with him- even just standing demure behind him in wait, was where he knew he belonged. He was drawn to that strong-shouldered silhouette like a moth to a flame, and no matter what obstacles stood between them, he would always be just behind Arthur... but, no. Not behind him, any longer, like a slinking shadow. Now they were partners. He was meant to stand at Arthur's side, and to act as his equal: just as fate demanded. That, he knew, was his one true home: Arthur. 

Wherever he was now was most certainly not anything like home. Last he remembered, the sky was blue, and the clouds remained mostly stationary. Around him, the air was still and stagnant, like the murky atmosphere of Camelot's dungeons, but the clouds swirled overhead in an ominous circle... and everything was green. There was no sun, from what he could tell, but then the shadows that cloaked every inch of sky were thick as mud; it was a wonder there was any illumination at all. As his body finally made itself known to his sluggish mind, he managed to turn in a circle. Beneath his bare feet was stone, cold and rough-cut; massive rugged slabs were thrown together in a vague semblance of flooring, though there was no way to gracefully walk upon this without falling over and potentially breaking a leg. Columns cut from the same dull grey slate jutted out of the ground intermittently, seemingly random in their placement- as if they grew from the earth on their own accord. Some of them had toppled, leaving shards of shale and mounds of dust in their wake. The strangest thing to notice is what set his teeth on edge: these formations had no shadows. Nothing did. 

Though there was certainly a source of light overhead, glittering through the dense plumes of smoke-like clouds, nothing in the entire field of rock debris cast a dark reflection against the ground. Even as tumultuous as the terrain could be, there should have been shade cast by the pillars. He raised his hand -a hand that seemed to appear at the end of his arm spontaneously- and to his bewilderment, a flicker of movement on the stone beneath his feet displayed... a shadow. 

"So, I have a shadow, but nothing else does? What does that mean?" After taking a few precarious steps in no particular direction, he stumbled. As expected, a jagged edge met his shin and he yelped. He lifted the hem of his sleep trews and saw a blooming bruise with a light scrape. "Who in the world put together this arena of torture, anyway?" 

"That would be me." Aborted motions to stand had him stumbling over more tortuous ground, and when he fell it was his elbows and lower back to take the brunt of the impact. More scrapes and bruises, inevitably, but nothing worse... yet. Dread pooling in his gut told him that was all bound to change presently.

"Who are you?" From the direction of the voice, there was no form (so to speak), but there was a shadow. It couldn't be coincidence. The lack of wind, sound and shadow could only mean that time had stopped, and that the only beings to progress in the apparently-linear course of time were Merlin... and this shadow. 

"You do not know me. My name is Agonil, Father of Nightmares and Prophecy." As Merlin rose to his feet (more carefully this time) he looked for the source of the silhouette. 

"And what do you want with me?" 

"I suspect you know the answer already, Emrys." He heaved an agitated, groaning sigh. 

"For once, can someone give me a clear answer!? What do I look like- a book of riddles with the answers in the back index?" The sound of laughter was not what he expected, nor was it welcome. It warped and warbled, distorting in and out of hearing as it wound its way through the windless air toward him, and wrapped around him like a constricting serpent. Eventually, it slithered away, but wisps of the haunting melody flitted through the air, like ashen fragments of burning parchment falling from the sky.

"You are here so that I may kill you, of course." Arthur was brave. The knights were brave. He thought that he was brave, too. Not this time. With a gasp, and a jolt of nausea that sent cold sweat pouring down his spine, he turned on his heel and ran. He stumbled and staggered, jutting crags threatening to level him. A spell that he didn't recall learning fell from his lips, and his bloodied feet suddenly hovered inches above the rocks, and he was running on air. Even with this advantage, he somehow knew that Agonil was just at his heels. He looked back. Why did he look back?

Nothing was coming after him that he could see... but he felt its force approaching. So he continued to sprint until a stitch stabbed his side and his lungs begged for rest. Slowing to a hobbling jog, Merlin used this time to spin on his heel and cast forth an offensive spell. 

"Forbearnan!" Fire conjured from seemingly nowhere began as a single bolt flung from his palm; it exploded against the ground several meters away, between himself and Agonil's shadow, and spread left and right. Within a matter of moments, the flames were roaring taller than Camelot's battlements. Now he could catch his breath. Now he could shake the tingling from his feet and- his breath hitched in his throat at the sight before him. 

The flames didn't diminsh, they didn't even part or falter, but Agonil stepped through them. He was no longer a shadow. Standing at least ten -twenty- feet tall and cloaked in hungry flames that licked at him, the monster took one step closer... then another. Merlin's breath came in frantic pants. 

"Oh, Emrys. You didn't think you could run for long, did you? This is my realm." Yet another spell enacted its power without him thinking it, which was fortunate because he didn't have the capacity to possibly think up another incantation. 

"Cume thoden." Wind whipped about Agonil, birthed from the stagnant air, and as it caught flame in its grasp, Agonil was surrounded by a torrent of deadly heat. Even through the tempest, Agonil took another slow and dramatic step forward. The intensity of the winds doubled, but still, he was unbothered. Merlin began to tremble. 

"Emrys," the nightmare of a man shouted over the gail. "Stop this madness and accept your fate. You're only hurting yourself." Not knowing what else to do, he turned and began to run again. Something rolled over him like a wave of billowing smoke... but it was very much not smoke. 

A scream wrenched from his throat before his mind registered what was happening. Something invisible, intangible, yet powerful and unwavering washed over him from head to toe, knocking him flat on his face. The spell allowing him to levitate broke, and when he fell he buckled forward over a particularly sharp rock. Ribs cracked and something inside his abdomen popped. Stars flared before his eyes. Even then, it wasn't the worst part. Lightning, hot and cold and sharp and stinging, shattered beneath his skin. He heard the sizzling of his flesh, felt shock incapacitate his body, and knew this was it. He prepared to see Agonil staring down at him. 

"You could have made this so much easier on yourself." Somewhere in Merlin's mind he noted that Agonil could have stopped him short when he first ran, but chose not to. That only served to chill Merlin to the bone. How could one be so cruel as to let him think he had even a remote chance? "Prepare to meet your gods, Emrys." Desperation caused him to claw out at Agonil's approaching form with a bolt of lightning. It did nothing. Another jolt of agony rumbled through his mortal coil, and another throat-rending scream rattled his very bones. 

The sight of a giant lumbering over him with hand outstretched, lightning dancing in his palm nearly was too much to bear, and everything grew dim. He'd never fainted from fear before... but this seemed as good a time as any. Through the encroaching darkness he witnessed the lightning take the form of a sword, and knew that soon it would be over. Everything would end. He would cease to exist... and Arthur would be gone. Arthur would be lost to him forever. His prince, his love... his everything. Alone. Unprotected. 

"Akwele!" Fuelled by rage and stubbornness, lightning like that held in Agonil's hand before, burst forth from Merlin's eyes -something that had never happened before, and knocked his head back into stone- and flung Agonil back several horselengths to land heavily on the jagged rocks himself. Weak and winded, and temporarily blinded, Merlin let his body slump in the unnatural angle the rocks dictated. He couldn't possibly move to fight back again... but then, at the sight of Agonil lying somewhat supine, unmoving, he felt he didn't have to. 

"Merlin!" Echoing around him, Arthur's voice cut through the near-unconsciousness and Merlin's frantic gaze reeled in an attempt to locate his beloved. He wasn't mistaken in thinking that Arthur sounded terrorized, and this simply was unacceptable. 

"Ar...thur..." His attempts to rise form the ground were fruitless. His body was exhausted, all muscles spent of their strength, and his thoughts were murky with pain. He didn't know he'd blacked out until a cold hand on his chest startled him awake. Buckling upright instantly, gasping for air, Merlin frantically searched for Arthur. There was no point: the room was pitch black. 

"Hey, hey! Calm down! Come on, Merlin, snap out of it! Just settle down." An unfamiliar voice at his right had him scrabbling backward across the bed... and promptly fallling off the other side onto a wooden floor. "Oi! You're going to rebreak those ribs I just healed! Stop floundering and let me help you!" The stranger sounded impatient, but not mad, and Merlin was able to sort out her words through the jumble of confused memories that plagued him. 

"Wasn't a dream," he gasped. "It was real." A pair of soft hands hoisted him under the arms, and helped him to fall gracelessly onto the bed. 

"Yes, it was, and now you need to really sit down." Though Merlin did indeed cooperatively slump onto the mattress (which was notably more ragged than Arthur's) he craned his neck and squinted his eyes in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his caretaker. 

"Who are you? And why is it so damn dark in here? Forbearnan." 

"Wait-" Hand held out a few inches in front of himself, he muttered a spell that would ignite a small, controlled flame in his palm. When the room did not instantly illuminate with light, he frowned and cast it again. "Forbearnan." 

"Merlin, please-" Even though he knew where it should appear, he still did not see it. Anger knitted his brows and he said it louder and more firm. There was no way he was going to let the magick get the best of him. "Forbearnan!" This time, he felt the wave of heat, but... there was no brightness to accompany it. 

"Hey, watch it! You're going to burn this whole place down! It's wood, not stone, my foolish cousin!" Dread balled in his gut, and he dismissed the flames into nothingness. Cool air flooded into the place where there was a vague warmth. 

"You mean... I did make fire?" The voice replied in a casual manner. 

"You did. In your hand, the first time. As I was trying to tell you... you're blind. For now. Your vision will come back, I assure you." He was too shocked to fully soak in the words 'for now.' All he could think of is that he wouldn't be able to see Arthur. The last image of his prince dimly glowed in his mind's eye, and he was grateful that he could at least visualize Arthur's blonde hair fanned out over the down pillow. "Come now, Merlin. It's not permanent. When you return to your body, your vision will come back with you."

"My what?" Dainty fingers carded through his hair.  

"I know this may come as a shock to you, dear Merlin, but you were taken from your body in your sleep, by Agonil. He fully intended to kill you to fulfill the prophecy, but by some miracle you managed to lay him out, and he couldn't get to you before I did. You're safe here, but your spirit will need to return to your flesh soon, or else your companions may lose hope." 

"He's not dead." Merlin slumped. The blankets beneath him rustled and the mattress dipped. "So he'll likely come back to finish me off?" 

"I'm afraid that's the short of it, cousin." Merlin sighed resignedly and turned his head to look to the stranger, then felt dejected by the lack of sight. Still, he could hear, smell, taste and feel, and he took advantage of this. The air around him was warm, comfortable, and somehow still fresh like it had a breeze blowing through it. The scent of medicinal herbs (chamomile, yarrow and mugwort most notably) was hanging on the air, and it reminded him of Gaius.  

"Why do you keep calling me cousin?"

"I'm a being of magick, just as you are. Moreover, we're related by a common thread of blood: your mother, Hunith. I'm the child of her sister."

"What's your name?" The woman hummed softly. 

"I was born as Fifoldara, but you can call me Dara." Merlin gave a breathless chuckle. 

"Butterfly? How beautiful." A hand rested upon his, which were mindlessly fidgeting with the hem of the linen shirt he'd been put in. 

"Thanks. Now, there's a lot we need to cover before I can send you back. Pay close attention, and ask questions where they arise. Forewarned is forearmed, afterall." 

"Wait." Merlin shook his head to clear away cobwebs of fatigue and residual pain. "First tell me where we are. I know that I'll likely never see this place for myself, but... please. Indulge me this curiosity."

"When I was passing through the worlds of the mundane and of magick, I had the chance to diverge and create a realm for myself."

"Passing through?"

"I'm dead, Merlin. Dead as a doornail. But my soul still lives."

"Oh," he said, non-too-eloquently. "Sorry."

"Eh, don't be. Anyway. Consider the world you know as home to be a cloak. Now, the world of Agonil is like an outer pocket on this cloak. In theory, anybody could access this realm. My realm, which I've fondly named the Burh Stoc, is more like a pocket inside one's robes, made discreetly. Nobody could get into this place, and even the one who wears the cloak would have a hard time finding the pouch. This place has access to all of the magicks you are familiar with, and more. That's how I was able to heal you, inside and out."

"I won't be able to visit in this lifetime, will I?" 

"In this lifetime?" 

"I mean, as I am Merlin. Once I die, will I be able to do the same?" There was a long silence, and Merlin could practically hear Dara thinking. Her jaw clenched, which caused her teeth to grit. Her fingertips rubbed over the coarse fabric of her skirts in what was likely a nervous habit. 

"Merlin... you might find this hard to bear, but it's truth you should be aware of." Her hand rested on his forearm. "You're not mortal, Merlin... Emrys. You cannot die. You will not die. You can age, of course, and you can lose your body to external circumstances, but your soul is made up of magick, and it is not possible to destroy magick... only to displace it. Your soul will be on Earth for the rest of time- and when Earth ceases to exist, your magick will branch out into all reaches of the universe, and you will continue on." He shook his head vigorously. 

"I... I'm not sure that I understand. So... Arthur will die, and I'll have to live on without him... forever?" 

"You mean the 'Once and Future King?' What do you think?" Merlin opened his mouth to speak. His mouth clamped shut. There was no way he could think of this now; trying to imagine what life would be like without his one true love was painful beyond bearing. 

"Nevermind. I don't want to think about that." He shuddered from head to toe. "Tell me. Tell me what you were going to before. I'm ready." A hand patted his back gently, then he felt the bed shift as Dara rose. She began to pace, bare feet padding softly against the wood boards of the floor. 

"There's a prophecy that came to be, thanks to Agonil. The sod never could leave well enough alone. When he learned that you were made up entirely of the Magicks of Avalon, he felt that just had to have your magick to himself. But of course as soon as he blabbed about this idea of his, nobody else could possibly pass up the chance to take your power for themselves. So, he made small tweaks to his plan. By killing you, the magicks of Avalon would be free for every other magick user, and that no matter who kills you, everyone will get a piece of the power. They don't understand that, it doesn't work like that. Even if they do manage to sever your spirit from your body, you ARE the magick of Avalon and there is no way to determine where Avalon ends and where Emrys begins." 

"Why have they only attacked me in a realm separate from my own?" 

"Your mortal body, Merlin, is mostly invincible. Almost any wound inflicted can be healed indefinitely. The only thing able to really slay you is another creature of Avalon's magick... and luckily for you, the only creature with power that pure is Kilgarrah. Not even beheading you would separate your soul from your body. These fools all believe that if they catch your spirit out-of-body, they can cut that connection. It's simply not possible. You're the most powerful being in existence, and nothing can change that." He was left breathless. All this time thinking he was a clumsy oaf who got lucky with some magick tricks, and he was fit to overpower everything and everyone... not that he would. He didn't have the heart to inflict pain. Thinking on it in that way, he knew it was a great thing to be such a peaceful and loving person. Anyone without empathy in a position like his could inflict misery beyond imagination. But... that meant that he had been pulling punches, for what? He thought it was important for him not to kill others, and that was true. But not for the reason he initially believed. He was so much more capable of protecting Arthur than he thought. 

"You are, indeed, a wonder. There's no telling what you'll be able to achieve, now that you know."

"Even with all of the power in the world, I can't stop these people from coming after me?" 

"That's yet to be seen, cousin. You may just figure something out." His jaw set stubbornly and his fist clenched. 

"Will they endanger Arthur?" She didn't reply instantly. Maybe she just didn't know... or maybe she didn't want to tell. "Dara. Will they bring harm to my prince?" 

"It's impossible for me to know for sure, but... if they can do this to you, there's no denying the possibility that they could." He felt like he'd been socked straight in the gut. "Now, don't lose hope, cousin. I have a plan." She crouched close. "Pay attention. This is important to remember clearly, and I must send you back very soon." After several minutes, and several reiterations of her plan, the pair fell silent. 

"Okay, Dara... I got it. This will work. It will. You can send me back now." Her hair rustled, alerting Merlin to her assenting nod. She crossed the room to Merlin's left and lifted a clay vessel from a wooden countertop. As she drew near, he could smell the mugwort growing stronger. 

"I need you to drink this quickly. It will put you to sleep, and once you're asleep, your soul will return to your body." Without hesitating, Merlin took the cup and downed the bitter tea inside. He lie down and closed his eyes, and felt himself drifting soon after. 

"I'll see you soon, cousin," Merlin mumbled... then sleep rocked him into deep darkness. 

Chapter Text

His flesh was tender to the touch. The sunlight caressing his sleeping face was painfully bright... and yet he couldn't bring himself to care. Being in his body was too much of a relief to even complain. When finally he blinked away sleep, and turned his head to escape the brightness, he saw that he was in Arthur's bed, just where he had been before the whole nightmare began. The shift of weight to his left and the sound of frantic barefoot scrabbling across stone alerted him to his prince's presence. 

"Merlin!" Arthur gave a whispered shout from the foot of the bed and a gentle pat to his foot. "I'm going to go tell Gaius you're awake. I'll be right back! Don't. Move." Though usually he might object to being ordered to do something, he certainly wouldn't refuse Arthur telling him to stay in bed. In fact, that's all he wanted to do for the rest of his days. His... innumerable days. But, alas, he knew it was impossible. So he resigned himself to these blissful moments of rest that were bound to be few and far between -especially once Arthur inherited the throne and the countless responsibilities of King were thrust upon his shoulders. His... strong, smooth, tan shoulders... shoulders that undoubtedly had angry red scratches on them now. The mere thought had him smirking.

"Merlin?" Gaius' voice broke through his daydreaming, and he began to sit up on his elbow. Old, weathered hands pressed at his bare chest and forced him back down. He sighed away his frustration and then gave a warm smile to his mentor and trusted friend. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine as can be." Gaius, as expected, gave his trademark eyebrow raise, and the slightest quirk of his lips to indicate that he did not believe Merlin. "Really! My skin is a little sore to the touch and my eyes are sensitive to the light, but I'm fine, considering-" His words ended abruptly and his mouth clamped shut.

"Considering what?" This time Merlin succeeded at hoisting himself up to lean against the polished headboard. "What happened?" Dread balled in his throat, and he could hardly swallow- not helped by his mouth going bone dry very suddenly. A gentle hand rested on the back of his neck, and he looked up to see Arthur perched on the bed at his side. 

"Merlin, will you tell us what's happened? We need to know."

"Why?" He became defensive, and for what reason? His shoulders drooped as soon as he realized he was acting immature. 

"So we can help you, dollophead." 

"Oh. Alright." It was so strange, to have allies. He wasn't used to sharing the intimate details of his forays with magick, it being outlawed and whatnot. Sure, Lancelot and Gaius knew the vaguities and they tried to understand, but they weren't exactly the strongest nor most influential of friends, were they? Having Arthur in his corner -the bloody prince of Camelot!- was nothing to scoff at. Who in their right mind would fight a powerful sorcerer aligned with the entirety of Avalon and her allies? 'These damned spirits, apparently.'

"So, what happened, Merlin?" The sorcerer, strong and wise, drew his legs to his chest and rested his chin on one knee. He felt like a child who had yet to learn to speak, for he couldn't think of words appropriate for this occasion. 

"It started at the court feast," he muttered. "I was serving your wine, and then I wasn't. Some force that I really can't even name just plucked me out of my body and dropped me in a realm that I have no explanation for. Some avatar of magick came to me to share a message." He began to gnaw at his fingernail. "It told me that there's a new prophecy that surrounds me, and that-" His voice caught in his throat and he croaked around it. "I'm now the target of magickal opponents." 

"What does this prophecy entail?" 

"I'm a creature of magick, and they figure that they'll all have more power if I'm... eliminated." Arthur's heart skipped a beat. 

"Well? Is that true?" Merlin shook his head vigorously, despite the fresh headache pounding between his temples. 

"No, of course not. The magick of Avalon belongs to none but itself, and even if they do manage to kill me, its forces will not simply bend to the will of some amateur magician. They'll flood back into the land and be just as inaccessible to them as they are now." 

"Can't someone explain that to them?" His eyes began to throb and burn, and he opted to close them against the sunlight. Whatever the magick had done in flooding outward from them, it ached and he wasn't sure if there was anything he could do to help it besides wait out the pain. 

"Yeah, right. Most of these creatures are long-dead beings of magick with no conscience or concept of change."

"Have you seen them?" A chill caused him to draw his limbs in tighter and shudder involuntarily. "Merlin?" That warm hand rested upon his shoulder once more, then rose to caress his cheek. He nuzzled into the contact, and when Arthur didn't make to move away, leaned into him like a comfortable chair. 

"I've seen two: the ones who have attacked me. The first, at dinner, was the ghost of a king from some faraway, obsolete land that has probably changed names a dozen times and completely forgotten him. He was certain that if he killed me, he'd absorb my power. Got me with his mace, he did. Lucky shot, of course. I was knocked out but my magick defended me, and he was, presumably, destroyed." And while that was all the truth... how could he possibly begin to describe Agonil? A nightmare? The most terrifying foe he'd faced? No words could capture the essence of such a formidable being. 

"You said there were two. What about the second?" 

"Not sure. It didn't really have a form. But he was able to get through my spells with no difficulty, and he used a terrible spell to paralyze me... it felt like... like lightning. Under my skin and in my blood, it felt like it was ripping me apart. I'm certain he would have permanently removed me from my mortal flesh if not for the magicks in me reacting the way they did. It exploded right out of my eyes. and he was incapacitated... temporarily. He's still alive, somewhere." There was a moment of silence, heavy and thick, before Arthur spoke up in a low and serious tone. 

"Is he a threat to Camelot?" He considered Arthur's question carefully for several long minutes. 

"No." Arthur didn't get the chance to sigh in relief, for Merlin grabbed his hand and added, "but he is a threat to you." He stiffened. "He will know that the only way to get to me is through you, and if anything happened to you..." Arthur heard the rasp creep into his lover's voice, and saw his Adam's apple bobbing dangerously as he gulped down tension. 

"Nothing will happen, Merlin. We'll figure this out." Finally gaining some semblance of control over the intense emotion that knotted his gut, Merlin shook his head. 

"I have a plan. When I was attacked by... Agonil, was his name, I was rescued. A deceased relative of mine saved me and we have a plan." Hope filled his eyes, and Arthur took this moment to stare unabashedly. Merlin -his Merlin- was so beautiful in his own way, and every unique feature was something he'd spent years memorizing, and he would spend the next many years doing exactly so. 

"What's this plan, then?" 

Chapter Text

Autumn was creeping over the land with all the patience of a practiced hunter, stalking its prey slowly before the moment it would pounce. Seemingly overnight, the leaves would change and drift to the ground, the birds would fly to warmer skies, and the harvest would be upon them. The warm, bold sun still hung in the sky for many hours before handing its spot center-stage to its lovely, elegant sister, but soon the time above the line of the horizon would shorten and they'd be left in cold darkness for several long months. All hands not toiling took to enjoy the waning warmth, and that included the royal family of Camelot. Princess Morgana had been spending much more time in the fields outside the walls, lounging in flower fields. On a couple of occasions, they were joined by Merlin and Arthur. The prince had become more sensitive in the past weeks, thanks to the kindness and radiating joy of his lover. 

'Merlin just has that effect on people,' Arthur noted one morning as they were mounting up to ride through the sunlit forest. On this particular morning, Arthur had risen early to prepare a special surprise for Merlin. It was... uncharacteristic, he knew, to go out of his way to do something kind for someone besides himself, but thanks to the still, sleeping figure at his side, he grew into empathy and selflessness that was unusual for the old prince. But he was determined to become the sort of person Merlin wanted to be with forever- for truly, he did want Merlin at his side forever and always. His palms sweat merely thinking about it. Merlin had two glasses of wine the evening before, and he was out cold. He likely wouldn't even wake until Arthur had managed his affairs and returned to the bed chambers. Even so, he walked briskly down the hall so not to waste a single flighty heartbeat. 

"Arthur, you made it. Come in, son." Uther had been expecting him. They'd spoken in the early evening prior, and Arthur asked for a few minutes of his father's time. The king hadn't always been emotionally available, and he knew that he'd regret it forever unless he changed his ways. For his children, for his people, he'd be there. He'd listen and hear them, and feel their feelings- or die trying. After all, leading a kingdom was full of sacrifices, and he'd made plenty of sacrifices on others' behalf... it was time to make them, himself. As Arthur strode into the king's luxurious quarters, he was wringing his hands in that same old habit he'd come to adopt long ago. Uther had known it, but never made an attempt to learn it. 'No better time than the present,' he thought. "What's bothering you, Arthur? You're going to rub the flesh from your hands if you don't take a breath." 

"Yes... sorry." It took an obvious amount of effort to drop his hands to his sides. This is not what Uther had intended- he merely wished to help Arthur relax... but perhaps it was that he hadn't earned that level of trust and calm from his only son yet. So he settled for patting Arthur's shoulder, and directing him to the cushioned chairs set on a lavish rug before the low morning fire. 

"Please, sit. I know you wish to discuss something with me." Uther sat first, followed by Arthur. It was apparent that the amount of pent-up anxiety in the young man's body was nearly enough to explode him. His left leg bounced rapidly, and his hands began to wring again. This time, Uther did not comment, but merely poured two goblets half-full of red wine and handed one to his son. With any luck, the alcohol would help to ease some of the tension. "You have my full attention, Arthur. Go on." He sat back in his tall chair and swirled the liquid in his goblet. At the temples, Arthur was sweating, and his blonde hair darkened where it stuck to his flesh. His eyes darted side to side, presumably not actually focusing on anything, but simply avoiding making eye contact with the king. Years ago, Uther might have degraded him and insisted he meet his gaze. He knew this wouldn't inspire any sort of confidence, and that he would likely not share his secrets at all. So he waited, patiently.

"I suspect you know about... or you've guessed... about Merlin and I." He didn't say a word, but only nodded. Arthur didn't look up at all. "And you're okay with it?" Sitting up only a bit, Uther cleared his throat and smiled. 

"If I wasn't, son, you'd know. I'm perfectly alright with it." And he was alright with the magick, too. At first, he was shocked and mad; betrayed and anxious. After long nights of lying awake, thinking deeply, he came to accept it. He came to appreciate the brave sorcerer. After all, he'd saved Arthur. Wasn't that enough to earn him clemency?

"Oh... right." Arthur nodded slowly. And just when it looked like he was about to relax, his shoulders tensed and his leg bounced faster. "And... if I said that... I wanted... that is... if he was..." 

"Arthur?" The prince was chewing the inside of his cheek, clearly anticipating the worst. "Are you asking me for my blessing to wed him?" Arthur jolted upright from the chair and began to shift his weight from one foot to the other. His arms were crossed defensively over his broad chest. "You are." 

"I am." Uther's smile did not fade as he set the goblet down on the table at his elbow, and leaned his elbows on his knees. He drew a long breath and sighed softly. 

"You have it." 

"But father, this isn't fair! Merlin has been nothing but a loyal servant and trusted friend! He loves me!" Uther's brows furrowed. 

"Yes, I know-"

"And I've come to love him! Nobody else makes me as happy as he does, and I couldn't imagine myself wed to another!"

"Yes, son, I-"

"Was it not you who told me to marry for love? And what does it matter that we can't conceive an heir! That can be worked around-"

"Arthur, I said yes!" 

"You- what?" Uther finally stood and approached his son, gripping his shoulders tight enough to steady him. Arthur's mouth fell open as if to argue, but only a stupid, choked sound escaped, leaving him looking like a gaping fish. Uther laughed. Arthur breathlessly laughed with him. 

"I'd love to have a private dinner with you and your... erm... fiance-to-be. How about tonight?" 

"Tonight." 

"See you then, son. Congratulations." 

Upon returning to his room, he found that Merlin was awake and tugging on his casual trews. He'd clearly tried to smooth out his rumpled hair, with little success, and was going through the motions of preparing for the day. Once he turned to see Arthur entering, and gave one of those sunshiney smiles that so completely melted hearts, Arthur crossed the floor to embrace him. 

"Good morning, my love," he mumbled into Merlin's red neckerchief. "How was your rest?"

"Very fine, once you let me sleep," Merlin teased. He couldn't help but draw a breath of Arthur, and sigh at the scent of vanilla and spice. Somehow, even after their very exciting night, he was squeaky clean, polished and put-together. A low chuckle rumbled Arthur's chest and Merlin, all-powerful sorcerer, melted into it. "You were up early. Up to no good, eh?" 

"You have no idea." They shared a comfortable few moments in silence before parting. "How'd you feel about a ride through the forest?" 

"That sounds wonderful. Should we invite Gwen and Morgana?" Arthur's gut twisted and he shook his head maybe a little too quickly, for Merlin gave him a quizzical, suspicious glance. 

"No! Err, she can't." Placing one hand on his hip in that way that said he knew Arthur was hiding something, Merlin asked, 

"Why not?" Arthur thought hard. 'Quick. A clever lie. Come on, Arthur.' He crossed his arms over his chest. 

"Morgana has to... err... uncurl her hair." Merlin snorted and rolled his eyes. 

"Alright, I get it. You don't have to always spend time with your sister." Relief caused him to relax. 

"I'm glad you understand. So, shall we send for some food? Or would you rather visit a tavern for breakfast?" Straightening the waistband of his trousers, Merlin appeared to give the options much deliberation, though it was all for show. Having been expected to prepare food so often, he reveled in the days he could have someone else do the work instead.

"We can save time by eating at a tavern, yeah? Thinking of the Bear's Den. I've heard they have good meat pies." He was used to Arthur making decisions on behalf of both of them, and in these moments when he got the last word, he rarely knew what to do with himself. 

"That sounds perfect to me." Immediately they bustled around the room, preparing for a day-long ride. Canteens, dried meat in case of a delay in returning home, blankets, and while Merlin wasn't looking, Arthur sneaked a small velvet pouch into the knapsack. "Here-" He took it from Merlin before he could pull the straps over his shoulders, and shrugged its weight onto is own back instead. "I got it." 

"Huh." In an expression of suspicion, one brow jumped to nearly meet his hairline. 

"What?" Merlin took lead down the hallway, and they strolled at a comfortable pace toward the courtyard. 

"You're being odd today." Arthur's palms immediately began to sweat, and he gripped the cuffs of his sleeves in an attempt to dry them. 

"Me? No I'm not. You're odd." Merlin didn't respond aloud, but shrugged and smirked. One of the many things he found endearing about his Arthur was his pride, and how pink his ears got when he was mildly embarrassed. Of course he wasn't going to point it out, but he would never stop admiring it and silently smiling. "Ahem. So, where is this tavern, anyway?" 

Chapter Text

The ambience was friendly and warm, but there was far less cacophany than in their usual haunts. No mugs being thrown, no ale being flung, no unconscious bodies strung across tables- and though that may also have been because it was only lunch time, there was a distinctly clean feeling in this new tavern. Comparatively, this was the sort of pub that Merlin preferred. While the sight of rowdy, drunk men and women wasn't inherently bad, the healer in Merlin certainly preferred not having to move drunkards into the rescue position so that they wouldn't drown in their own sick. Behind the tall, wooden counter stood a man with lithe arms and golden-red hair, holding one thick cotton towel and a metal tankard. 

"Mornin' sires. Have ye a seat and I'll send o'er a server." The pair shared a glance that spoke of pleasant surprise, and took a small square table beside a tall, thick window. 

"This is quite high-end, isn't it, Merlin? How'd you hear about this place?" The ravenette shrugged and lifted his brows conspiratorially. 

"I have my sources." 

"Gwaine, eh?" 

"The one and only," he laughed. 

"Oi, ye know Gwaine? Our favorite troublemaker?" It was the tavern keeper who approached them, rag tucked into a belt at his waist. 

"Merlin here goes to taverns with him practically every night, the scoundrel." Arthur couldn't quite name the expression on Merlin's face as he diverted his gaze away from the stranger, but it made him feel... 'jealous? me? no way. not a chance.' He cleared his throat noisily. 

"Oh, really? I've never seen ye 'round here but ye do look the type... and I thought Gwaine's partner was named Percival? Eh, no matter. What can I serve ye, m'lords?" Arthur was absolutely dumbfounded. He hardly even registered that he'd been asked a question, but thankfully Merlin was there. 

"We'll take two glasses of wine, a whole loaf of bread, two bowls of stew and two traveler's pies, please. And thanks." 

"Not a problem for a beauty like you. Nor you," the man said to Arthur. "Looking so kingly like that... you are good for business, so come 'round more often, hear?" It was only when the redheaded man walked away that Arthur realized he was in shock. A hand on his own shook him from the surprised silence, and his eyes searched for Merlin's. The sorcerer was wearing an apologetic smile, but it was clear to Arthur that he wasn't sorry for anything. 

"So..." Finally, he had the sense to close his mouth, which had fallen agape, and lean forward in his chair. "Gwaine, huh? And Percival?" Merlin rested his chin in one hand, and simply smiled. 

"And you and me. And them." He nodded discreetly. "And those two over there." Arthur's gaze followed the direction of Merlin's nod, and sure enough there were two fellows. Holding hands. Smiling. And the other pair in the corner, kissing. He was slightly jarred, and had to blink to ensure he wasn't dreaming. No, they were here. It was all real. And why shouldn't it be? In this place that they'd made their own, why not? Why not in Camelot- Camelot that was allegedly changing and becoming more open-minded. Still... here, in Camelot, where not even a decade ago people were executed for suspected use of magick- burned or flogged or hung, or all three if it turned out to be true... just because they weren't normal... and Merlin could very well have been one of them. 

He shook. Taking Merlin's hands in his own, he kissed each finger. Inside his wrist, he left a kiss longer than the rest, and let his lips linger there. Tears pricked at his eyes, begging to be released along with the guilt that fuelled them, but he stubbornly blinked them back. 

His smile had faded at seeing Arthur's shoulders slump. His eyes softened and his jaw clenched, and with the telltale tremble of his usually level hands, Merlin knew that he wasn't okay. He couldn't even ask what was wrong, because the feeling of Arthur's lips on his hands was... wow. A dream come true. How many times had he imagined them in a place like this? With the golden sun illuminating Arthur's hair and making him look even more ethereal than usual, the friendly murmur of strangers, and the oh-so intimate caress that he was now enjoying... in public. Voice barely a whisper, he asked, 

"Are you alright?" He expected Arthur's head to snap up, for him to pretend he had never been doing anything in the first place, and to be indignant. But he merely shook his head. "What's the matter?" There was a silence that he wanted so badly to fill with a quip or a laugh. He couldn't. 

"You could have been killed, Merlin. You could have been tortured and executed in front of all of Camelot." His thumb brushed back and forth over the back of Arthur's hand.

"But I wasn't-"

"But it was close." He squeezed Merlin's hands tight- so tight that it almost hurt. His knuckles went white. 

"Arthur... I know."

"You must have been so scared." His voice sounded truly wretched and small. He couldn't respond. His own throat was tight with sorrow, but not just for the years of trauma he endured... also for those he watched die, for no greater crime than helping their crops grow in order to survive winter, or heating the water so their livestock could drink. It made him sick. Wanting nothing more than to pretend this hadn't been happened, Merlin shrugged and forced a smile. 

"I was. But I'm not anymore. Now that I know you've got my back, I feel that I could face anything." 

"Erm... m'lords?" Almost furious that they'd been interrupted, Arthur's eyes narrowed, but he knew that the man was merely doing his job and that casting him a glare would be unkind. So he settled for glaring at the table and keeping his head low. "I come bearing your food. Shall I set it down here?" Merlin gestured the man to continue, and soon enough plates of steaming food were lined up neatly before them. Without another word, the redhead backed away to tend to other customers. 

"This looks delicious," Merlin said with a hint of the eagerness on his face evident in his voice even without Arthur seeing the stupidly-wide grin on his lips. "If you don't tuck in, sire, I might just have to enjoy yours for you." With an indignant snort, Arthur finally released his vicelike grip on Merlin's thin fingers and took up a soup spoon instead. 

"Oh, my." Merlin's voice was delighted and yet deep in a lustful sort of way... and Arthur wondered if it could really be that good. "Try it, sire," Merlin moaned. "It will change your life." With a toss of his royal hair and a roll of his princely eyes, Arthur raised the soup to his lips and... 

"Oh." They sat in still disbelief for several moments, until the man with fire for hair returned to their table. 

"That bad?" To Merlin's surprise, it was Arthur to respond first. 

"No! Most definitely not! This is the best stew I've ever had in my life!" The man scoffed and turned back toward his other clientelle.

"No need to spare my feelings, m'lord, and besides, I'm spoken for, so flattery won't get ye far. Nice try, though." After their bowls were licked clean of every last drop, the bread and traveler's pies were wrapped neatly in a cloth, and their cups were stacked at the edge of their table, the pair waved down the server one last time. 

"How much for the meal," Merlin asked while pulling out his coin pouch. The ginger-haired man smiled and held his palm out. 

"Three gold pieces and we'll call it square," he said. It sounded perfectly reasonable to Arthur, but Merlin frowned. 

"Three? Why only three?" The man shrugged. 

"Look around ye. Iff'n I charged an arm and leg, my clientele would be null, ye get? They don' get paid what them other type do. Of course, I won't say no to a little tip for service, see. It all helps." 

"Here, I'll cover it, Merlin," Arthur murmured while pulling out his own money. His own coinpurse was much fatter, and the man arched a brow curiously. 

"Oi! Ten? I can't take that!" The prince waved his hand dismissively. 

"Ten is nothing, mind. That stew was worth at least twice as much. It's far better than the swill I get served at the castle... you might have just earned a return visitor." The couple stood and began to make for the door, and did not pause at the man's bewildered questions. 

"The castle? You sound like the bloody prince! Wait... Merlin? As in manservant to Prince Arthur? And... so you MUST be Prince Arthur! Wait, ye can't just give me yer gold! Come back- sires!" Laughing, interlocked hands swinging in between themselves, they pushed on down the cobbled road toward the gates of Camelot. 

The day had warmed at the sun's zenith, and even despite clouds that threatened the horizon, it was clear that everyone who could be spared was out and about, enjoying the last desperate breath of summer. The road that opened wide after the tall gates was littered in the occasional child, young adult and senior citizen, and every one that passed seemed to let their gaze linger on Merlin and Arthur longer than was polite. Still, neither of them were about to allow their day to be ruined by naysayers. Once they'd left the bottleneck of the city entrance, they mounted the horses they'd walked thus far, and soon they were loping comfortably through the field of aged flowers and golden grass. 

This was something Arthur had enjoyed for as long as he could remember. Riding a horse without a particular end-goal, closing his eyes and relaxing into the saddle, leaning comfortably against the strong neck of such a beast... this is the way he always wanted to live. Alas, being prince place far too many restraints on his time -and being king would make it even more impossible to enjoy leisurely rides like this. Still... just seeing Merlin's carefree face was worth any price he could be asked to pay. His hair was let down, his posture was as relaxed as it could be on the back of a horse, and he seemed truly happy. There were no pretenses here, in this moment. And that's when Arthur knew it was the perfect time. He waved Merlin over, and reined his horse to a slow walk. 

"Thanks for taking me out, sire. I needed this." 

"As did I. These past few weeks have been exceptionally stressful." 

"You're not joking," Merlin chuffed. "I began to think nothing would ever be normal again." 

"What would you say is normal?"

"For Camelot? Attacks, conflicts, magickal mishaps... y'know, the usual." Arthur couldn't help but laugh. It may not have been funny before, but in this time of change and peace, it was a relief to not have enemies at their doorstep every other fortnight. And now, Merlin was at his side, and that felt right. 

"You know what feels normal to me, Merlin? Spending every night with you in my bed; living every day with you; seeing your face every time I turn to find you, and feeling safe- but also more vulnerable than I've ever been before. I'd very much like to feel this way for the rest of my life, Merlin." For a few beats, there was no other sound besides the steady footfalls of the horses' heavy hooves, and the chuffing from large noses. Birds were distantly tittering in the forest canopy, and wind was casually whispering through the knee-high brush. Arthur couldn't bring himself to look away from the field ahead of him even when he felt Merlin's stare burning into the side of his head. 

"What are you saying?" After gulping down a lump of nervous anticipation, Arthur finally looked to Merlin. 

"Merlin, I think we should bring the horses to a stop for a moment... and err... go rest under that particular tree." Without a word, Merlin did as his prince requested, and hopped down from the horse. 

"Alright..." Merlin's heart was pounding in his ears. He could hardly control the shaking of his entire body. Feeling rather like a leaf trembling in a windstorm, he wrapped his arms around himself and marched toward the tree that Arthur was leading the horses to. Arthur's chin was lifted high and his shoulders were set... and that was usual. The one minuscule detail that Merlin picked up on that any other person would have missed, is that his Adam's Apple was bobbing more fiercely than usual, indicating that he, too, was trying to swallow down anxiety. Merlin wondered if he didn't know what was going to happen next. Nevertheless, he pretended that nothing was off to help embolden his prince. 

"Here you are, Mag. Silver." releasing their reins so that they may graze freely, Arthur gave gentle pats and scritches to each of the large beasts' shoulder. And once they were meandering leisurely around the field, Arthur pointedly laid out the blanket and gestured for Merlin to take a seat. So he did. And Arthur paced, 

"Arthur? Is everything alright? You're making me nervous." The prince released a loud, barking laugh. 

"You're nervous? You have no idea how you make me feel, Merlin. I can hardly eat, sleep, think, because you occupy every last modicum of sense I have. It is simply cruel for you to be so..." Visibly struggling with a word, hands mimicking the action of molding something, Merlin helpfully suggested,

"Perfect? Handsome? Talented?" Though he was jesting, Arthur's deadpan expression and brief nod disarmed him.

"Yes. All of that. And... well... I just can't imagine my life without you." He turned his back to Merlin, who curiously attempted to peek around his wide shoulders to see what he was fidgeting with... that is, until his body went stiff and his mind exploded with pain. 

"The first time I met you, Merlin, I was certain you were some idiot who wanted nothing more than to ruin my reputation with the knights. Then you saved me, and I knew I was wrong. Only a good man would save the person who'd threw him in a cell. And ever since then, I've watched you. But not just watching; admiring, remembering, fantasizing. Sometimes, I find it hard to think of anything else besides you. And then when you fell at dinner, I felt fear like nothing else I've ever experienced. The thought of you not being okay brought to light my feelings, and now I simply can't deny them any longer." His eyes were squinted shut and he was still turned away from Merlin for he knew if he saw those deep blue eyes, he'd lose all resolve and the words wouldn't come out. He fidgeted with the ring, rolling it around each finger in turn. "Merlin, I know this may seem sudden since we've only been courting for a few weeks now, but we've been together far longer than that. I want... I need... I mean... Would you..." He gulped hard. "Merlin, will you marry me?" He turned around and knelt, and finally opened his eyes... to find Merlin lying wide-eyed, completely still on the blanket beneath the tree. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach and the ring dropped to the blanket. Time moved in flashes. 

He was certain he yelled, but he heard nothing but the ringing in his ears. He tried to rise to his feet, but the fabric around his knees tripped him up. Scrabbling frantically toward Merlin on all fours, he felt his heart pounding like a war drum. His mouth went bone dry and all he tasted was fear, raw, strong and acrid. His hands wrapped around Merlin's shoulders and when shaking him did nothing, he gathered him into his arms. Arthur couldn't even cry, for shock had a firm hold on his emotions, and kept him in stunned silence. Rocking erratically back and forth, hand buried deep in Merlin's hair and holding his heavy head against his chest, Arthur felt like it was all slipping away. Bright white light began to cloud his vision, and he was certain he was dying -of a broken heart, no doubt- and he was seeing the face of a god he'd never held much faith in.

"Arthur." God happens to be female, he noted. "Arthur, listen to me. I am Fifoldara, cousin of Merlin and protector from beyond. Our plan is now in motion, and we must act quickly to ensure Merlin survives this encounter." Relaxing infinitesimally, but still holding Merlin defensively against his own body, Arthur murmured aloud. 

"Tell me what to do." 

"Protect his body. There is nothing else that you can do now. It is all happening right now in the realm of spirit, and he is doing fine. I will be with him there."

"Why can't I? I could help him fight!" The familial resemblance of this woman to that of Merlin's mother was strong, especially when she smiled softly and shook her head. 

"If you were to be killed here, in this magickal realm, there is nothing either of us could do to save your life, and that would simply kill Merlin. You are the only motivation he has to live, Arthur. For him, you must stay safe, and guard his body so that his soul has a place to return."

"How will I know if... if he was unsuccessful?" 

"I will find you again, and tell you. He has told me that he does not wish to be buried, but sent out on the sea. But he will succeed, there is no doubt of it. Understand?" 

"I understand." And just like that, she was gone. The white clouds edging his vision disappeared and the day returned to full clarity. Sweat was soaking his tunic, and at first he thought it was due to his own panic, but realized he was mistaken upon seeing Merlin's entire body drenched. He felt more calm and collected, but still immensely unnerved at the sight of Merlin's eyes wide open, and his pupils dilated mildly. Arthur had seen plenty of dead bodies, and this was not unlike those instances. Body limp, chest still, heartbeat so faint that he couldn't feel it until he dug his fingers deep into the side of his throat, skin cold... colder than winter. Finally the tears he'd kept at bay pricked at his eyes and rolled down his face. 

Chest seizing, shoulders heaving with each sob and sniffle, vision blurring with burning tears, hands trembling, Arthur moved Merlin to lie in the shade of the tree, out of the sun. The idea that he'd never have his Merlin again... that was something he'd never even faced in his worst nightmares. It was far too terrifying to even entertain as a possibility. But here it was. Staring him in the face. Gently, as if touching a newborn child, his fingertips grazed over Merlin's eyelids to close them. Slowly, cautiously, he lowered his ear to Merlin's chest. Holding his own breath so that Merlin's faint sighs could break the agonizing silence that surrounded him like a cocoon, he listened for the weak beating of Merlin's heart, felt beneath his nose for the soft puffs of air- any signs that Merlin was still alive. They were there... hovering just on the edge of that bottomless chasm of death, and he held out hope like an extended hand, keeping his love from descending too far to reach. Moving quickly, he retrieved the second blanket that was attached to the saddle on his own horse, and he draped it over Merlin and himself. With his palm flattened over Merlin's heart, and his ear near enough to Merlin's nose to hear each labored breath, Arthur lie still and silent. Not even sparing a thought for what could possibly go wrong, he waited vigilantly. 

Chapter Text

Lightning crashed down from the spinning, swirling clouds of green, and pierced from his skull all the way to his toes to meet the stone below. He screamed, but thunder completely drowned out his cry. All he heard outside of the ringing in his head was the booming laughter of Agonil. The giant shadowy figure was approaching slowly... and Merlin knew what this meant. What this all was. It was time. With strength he didn't know he possessed, he rose to his feet and began to run. This place was different. The stones were not shattered and obtrusive, but neatly lain into a marvelous (and smooth) floor. It was platform that hung midair, though what lie beneath was a mystery to him. Columns of chiseled grey stone -the columns that he'd once seen as destroyed rubble- were built into beautiful arches that surrounded the edges of the circular arena. Wide platforms like stairsteps ascended from every direction for several yards. Merlin was certain that if he climbed them he could look over the edge of this show stage of terror. But, no. He would not. Running was pointless. He'd learned that last time, hadn't he. Painfully. So he stopped in his tracks and turned to face Agonil. 

The giant was hovering over the abyss below, as if he had no feet to walk. Why should he? He wasn't made of flesh and blood, but of magick, just as Merlin was. There was only one thing that could kill a beast like Agonil. Him. Power sparked around him, rippling over his skin like flowing water, but tingling like electricity. From his fingertips, his toes, his eyes, his hair- from every inch of his physical being, magick poured out of him and around him. He began to hover. The wind picked up and toyed with the edges of his clothing, and at the sight of Agonil's heavy, massive robes fluttering, he knew... he knew that Agonil wasn't untouchable. He COULD do it. He had to. 

"You've returned, Emrys." The voice as deep as the sea and just as foreboding, rumbled around Merlin and vibrated his very bones. "Are you ready to face your inevitable end?"

"Agonil. Is it you who must face your doom." Merlin's lips formed the words, but his was not the only mouth to speak them. A million voices swirled around them. A million eyes appeared in the sky. Agonil stopped in his charge and looked around. At least, Merlin assumed that's what he was doing, as he had no face to look out of, so to speak- just a dark void beneath a hood. 

"You mean to intimidate me, Emrys? You, a mere human? Do not make me laugh." 

"You're not laughing." 

"Aren't I?" The sound of thunder boomed overhead again, and that's when Merlin noticed its cadence. Agonil was laughing, indeed. But he would not be for long. 

"Do not be mistaken. It is I who will have the last." The voices grew louder, more shrill. They wailed in agony, screamed their distress, cheered in triumph, and laughed and jeered. Agonil faced Merlin once more and began to approach, finally crossing the treshhold of the stone battlefield. Merlin did not hold back. 

Wind and fire circled him until it was so complete and palpable that nothing could penetrate such a shield. Lightning rained down around him, shattering the stone where it struck. and the fragments joined in the dance of the wind and fire. Light blinded them both, but Merlin had no need to see. He was acutely certain, completely prepared. The carefully-lain stone beneath them began to crack until it loudly exploded. Agonil had no choice but to retreat several meters, but was stopped in his backpedalling by a wall- solid and entirely real. He looked left, right, and up. He was perfectly trapped. The invulnerability he'd been wearing like a suit of armor dissolved, and he became astutely alert. Emrys knew that he wasn't indestructible, it seemed, and now was very much capable of ending his undead existence. He couldn't let it happen.

"Emrys. You are only prolonging your own agony," the larger-than-life spirit boomed. Emrys did not move- did not even acknowledge him. There was no escape. It was now a kill or be killed fight, and Agonil was certain he'd have Emrys... but now wasn't so sure. The fire and shards of rock that circled Emrys were spinning faster and faster around the sorcerer's body, effectively guarding him from any melee attack. Luckily, Agonil held several ranged methods of attack a secret. In one swift motion, he hurled a spell -ball lightning- at Emrys. Upon impact with the wall of swift air, flame and stone, it exploded. When the blinding light dimmed, he saw that the mage was still completely encased in his secure orb of elements. Not a single rock had been displaced. 

"Is that all you have to offer, Agonil?" The voices shrieked their delighted amusement. It may have been a trick of his mind, but Agonil -the brave, undefeated vanquisher- swore he saw ghastly hands dip through the mist above and point clawed fingers at him. Anger roiled inside of him, and without hesitation he launched a volley of magickal blows in Emrys' direction. The wizard did not even flinch as each impact struck his defense. Instead, he launched his own retaliation in the form of several massive boulders. Flying toward the twenty-foot-tall Agonil with no sign of slowing, they were bound to crush him. They would have, too, if he hadn't ran and ducked to evade their path. Merlin accounted for this and sent several more giant rocks hurtling. Finally, one clipped Agonil's right shoulder and he met the uneven floor with a spectacular thud. The shadowy spirit wasn't finished, however. Rage flooded in where unease had lingered before, and using very little effort, he summoned lightning to obliterate his foe. Against any other opponent, the blast would have turned them to dust. Not Emrys. Many bits of earth scattered from his defensive dome, but he simply regathered them.

More shrapnel joined in the weaving motions around his vulnerable body. And then it hit Agonil like a boulder: his body. Emrys was made of flesh and bone, and his mortal coil had to be hiding somewhere, unguarded, and while Agonil hadn't the slightest clue where it might be... Emrys didn't know that. He just had to feign a spell so that Emrys may lower his defenses. It was genius!

"Now you're finished, Emrys," Agonil cried in mock triumph. "Say good bye to your body and that lad you hold so dear! The magick of Avalon will be mine!" White light flared from Agonil's hand, and then faded just as quickly. The wind whipping around Emrys faltered and the stones he'd been holding under his control fell to the ground. In that split second of vulnerability, Agonil let loose a single piercing arrow of pure energy, and with a satisfactory thud, it struck home in Emrys' heart. He clutched at his chest and in surprised delight, Agonil watched as blood blossomed over Emrys' heart, staining his white tunic a morbid shade of crimson. Emrys fell. Several beats passed... he was still. 

Merlin was... mildly disappointed. There was no fanfare, no dramatic pause in time, no flashing of his life before his eyes... and here he'd thought dying was supposed to be some theatric spectacle. There was no pain in his chest, no thundering of his heart in his ears... only the continuous drone of wind and the crunching of rubble beneath Agonil's approaching footsteps. He'd been expecting Agonil to make some profound speech announcing his victory, but as of yet the ancient wizard hadn't said a word. There was still time for him to boast, he figured, but was grateful he'd be spared the long-suffering of a villainous peroration of the reign of Emrys. Even as those heavy footfalls drew near his head, he feigned death. His eyes were closed and his chest was still. He didn't dare twitch a single muscle. 

'Not yet, Merlin. Hold for one moment.' He obeyed, though his lungs begged for a new breath. 'One more.' His chest ached. 'And...'

It was the strangest sensation, being pulled from his body. Though, this wasn't really his body. His body was in a field outside of the city of Camelot. This was a mere façade- a poppet that he was inhabiting temporarily. Agonil was welcome to kill this one, for nothing would be lost. Still... it was a feeling he never wanted to experience again. Like peeling wet clothes from one's skin, but the clothes were one's skin-- like slipping out of a cold lake directly into a warm bath. Like wearing one shoe on the wrong foot, or like a phantom limb. His head reeled, and nothing helped to ease the severe vertigo or the feeling of weightlessness. The cold was permeating. The only relief in the moment was the absence of darkness. He feared that he would be trapped in some dark purgatory, but this was minutely better. He was hovering outside of his ethereal body... and how confusing it was... like a shade lingering in desecrated ruins, or a shadow kissing the ground but with no weight behind its silhouette. 

Agonil wasn't nearly as large as Merlin had thought him to be, and wondered if it wasn't some glamour spell that was designed to fool a foe into seeing what Agonil wanted them to see. Now that Merlin was invulnerable to such things, he saw right through all pretenses. Agonil was simply a weathered old man in black mage robes, face masked in black cloth. It was all mind-games... and Merlin was furious. 

"You thought you could capture the power of Avalon." The many voices whirled around the swirling sky... and Agonil visibly jumped. "We are not under the control of one mere man. We are one, and we are all. We command the tides, create life, bring death, and unravel time itself. We will enlighten or we will destroy. Those who oppose us... must die." 

"N-No! I didn't mean to try and command the magick of Avalon! I simply wished to set it free so that it may be seen and felt by all!" The ground trembled violently. Beneath Merlin's prone form, the earth dissolved and his flesh sifted into it. Then it began to shift and slide around Agonil's feet. He roared his outrage. "I command you to stop! Stop this! I am worthy, I am!" His leg, up to the knee, was engulfed. He still struggled fruitlessly. 

"Not you, nor any of your comrades will ever attempt to touch Avalon again, through Emrys or through any one of her avatars." His words became indiscernible and garbled as he screamed in agony. The rock around his limb was crushing, grinding, turning his leg to nothing more than bloody sludge. It detached from his thigh and finally he could run -no, crawl- away, blood pooling behind him. "We will not give you a chance." And the earth opened up to swallow him whole. Only the sound of one last, aborted cry could be heard around the thunderous sound of moving stone. Everything stilled. Everything fell silent. It was over. Agonil was gone. The others to follow in his lead would surely know of his demise when his remains resurfaced. Finally, the fear was assuaged and Merlin was free. Free, like a bird. 

'Merlin. It is over. I will return you to your body, but this will be unpleasant. Are you ready?' 

"Will I ever see you again?' Fifoldara, the cousin (and real hero) appeared briefly in his mind's eye, smiling. 

'Perhaps some day... though it is unlikely. Do not mourn, cousin. Simply enjoy the life that you have to live, and think of me from time to time. Farewell, Merlin.'

'Farewell, Dara.' 

Chapter Text

A gasping breath filled Merlin's lungs all at once and hs chest heaved, burned from the lack of air. His throat was dry, dry as Gaius' sense of humor, and just as painful. His eyes were burning, tears pouring from the outer corners as he blinked rapidly to adjust to the blinding daylight. He could see nothing beyond the stars and black clouds that rolled over him, but somehow he sensed that he was safe. Safe, and very much not alone. An arm snaked under his shoulders and carefully lifted him up to halfway sit, and immediately he knew it was Arthur. The fingers that wrapped around his bicep, digging just deep enough to show concern, but not nearly hard enough to hurt. A second palm sat light on his cheek, cupping his jaw; Arthurs thumb grazed over Merlin's sharp cheekbone, trembling in its path back and forth. There was a soft quivering breath against Merlin's hair, and even without seeing his prince's face Merlin knew he weeping. It was a rare even that Arthur's breath changed cadence from the steady, deep, confident rhythm, and this uneven, shallow, tremulous pattern was unique. Merlin tried to comfort Arthur, by raising a hand to rest upon his own. 

His arm was heavy and his fingers were stiff, but still he fought against the seized joints to press his cold fingertips to the back of Arthur's hand. He heard the hitch and broken sob, and felt himself be tugged tighter into a desperate embrace. He was being dragged away from the edge of a steep drop into nothingness; he knew it, and he knew that Arthur knew it too. Perhaps that's why the larger-than-life-prince and once-and-future-king was broken, sobbing over a mere servant. How could one be closer to the void of nonexistence than one who was vacant from their own body- a vessel of flesh and blood that contained one's own soul like a flowerpot. What could be more helpless than feeling as if the tether was broken, and one's entire spirit was floating away, pulled further and further away from a safe haven? It became impossible to determine where Merlin, Emrys, the human, the sorcerer, the mortal and immortal, ended... and where the vast entirety of the world began.

"Merlin," Arthur choked. There were no more spoken words, but mere whispers of intent. 'I need you,' and 'please come back to me,' and 'I love you' were implied through that one broken word. "Oh, Merlin." Arthur rocked him slowly. 'You're alright,' and 'wake up, please,' and 'don't you dare leave me or I'll resurrect you just to kill you myself,' were all practically shouted at him. Merlin's maw fell agape, and he gulped down air that had so completely evaded him for so long. Clarity was coming to him in waves that crashed down upon him then slowly pulled back- like the tide of the ocean slowly toying with the bank of sand. 

In one breath in, he could smell the lavender and chamomile, the damp soil, the salty sweat and metallic blood that clung to their bodies. In the next, he was drifting. One blink of his blinded eyes and he could see the shimmering leaves in the canopy above him, the wispy strands of Arthur's golden hair, the blue afternoon sky. And once more, his sight was cloaked in everlasting night. He could taste the blood on his tongue just as clearly as he'd taste a honeyed ale or roast chicken, but to have a tongue was foreign in those moments of numbness. He nearly drowned in the flavor alone, let alone the thickness of bile in the back of his throat. Through it all, his ties to the bone and sinew he'd inhabited for two decades were faltering, weak and loose, and he feared that if he closed his eyes he'd float away. His body would be empty- hollow and useless; left to rot in the arms of his beloved. He wondered if Arthur would leave him to decay, to become one with the dirt, bugs and fungi; if he'd carry him away and bury him at sea, live with his memory until his aged, mortal mind forced him to forget and move on; or if he'd stay there, holding Merlin's stony corpse until they both turned to dust. 

The first real sensation was of water, rolling, seeping, soaking, drying. Tears, is what it was. Down his cheeks, cascading like babbling brooks down a sharp mountainside, pooling in his ear. It was uncomfortable, heavy, thunderous. Then it eventually dried, evaporated like snow-melt ponds in the spring. His hand, moving as slowly as a branch growing upward -in pursuit of the sun- rose to wipe them away. He found that it was too heavy, and it flopped to the blanket, unceremoniously. If a branch fell in the midst of an empty forest, did it make a sound? Indeed, it did. A vague 'thud,' in fact, with no fanfare or panick. His senses began to sharpen with that single motion, and the many crevasses of his mortal coil made themselves known. Canyons, tunnels, hills, crags and meadows- he was just as vast as the earth; his soul couldn't possibly begin to fill this immense void. But then all too quickly, it did. He felt every last appendage -every fingertip, every toe, every hair, nail, tastebud and cell- awakening and welcoming his return. Every joint was stiff and every bone heavy. His flesh could hardly remember how to convey silent orders from the brain. 

Yet, somehow, he managed it. His fingers twitched. Then curled into a fist, and stretched out straight. Creaking like ancient, aged wood, this puppet that the world had come to know as Merlin began to lubricate every last hinge and fitting. His breaths were no longer strained, like a storm blustering through a forest, but calm like an ocean breeze. He swallowed hard, and it was vaguely reminiscent of eating sand and clay. A cough parted his lips, chapped and painful. 

"Easy," a voice murmured. "Be still, love." A popping sound reminded him of firewood... the late nights with Arthur before the warm glow in a stone hearth, of easy conversations of everything and nothing, of drunken flirtations that went unmentioned... of magick. Magick that set cottages and campfires alike ablaze. He could remember the glow in Arthur's eyes as the prince watched, distantly.  He wondered if the golden sunlight that Arthur had mentioned before was even remotely similar. Somehow, he knew it wasn't. The reflection in Arthur's eyes was on the surface, refracting from the dancing flame; even in complete darkness, Merlin's eyes held a sort of luminescence that was inhuman. And by some miracle, Arthur was not frightened by it, but rather intrigued. 

"Here, sip at this. Slowly, now. Slowly." A certain amount of stoicism had seeped into Arthur's bold, emotive voice, and Merlin could feel every bit of it. Though deep and stony, like emotionless caves -completely devoid of life- it wasn't lifeless. Sadness and strength hid behind the solemn words, forging a shield to protect their speaker. Arthur wasn't good at suppressing emotion... which meant he had need to pretend. Merlin hated to see his beloved like this. Arthur was meant for joy: for roaming the fields and forests of Earth without a care in the world; for loving deeply and freely, with no fear of persecution. He wasn't meant to feel such pain. Merlin couldn't stand to let his prince experience such sorrow any longer. 

"Ar... thur..." Rough and grating like boulders grinding together in a landslide... unnatural and jarring like a foreign tongue from faraway, his own voice rasped from his dry throat. It hurt to speak. 

"Hush." A warm hand settled carefully on his own, wrapping loosely around Merlin's five... five? yes, five digits. "You've been through an awful ordeal, love. You've been out for a week. Your throat is dry and healing, so please do not speak unless you absolutely must." 

"Arthur... where?" 

"I'm here, darling. Right here. We're in my quarters, in my bed. You must relax or you'll hurt yourself." Merlin, still treading bottomless waters of consciousness, gripped Arthur's hand as tightly as he could. 

"Who... am I?" 

"You're Merlin, powerful sorcerer, manservant and fiancé to the king." That wasn't right. 

"No." Arthur's baby-soft fingertips feathered over the inside of his wrist, holding him back into the present. The present... in his mortal form. The form which had a mind- had limbs and various senses; sight, sound, touch, taste and smell... and all of them were working, albeit weakly. Though he had opened his eyes in an attempt to see his prince, to imprint the sight of his beloved in his mind, Merlin could see nothing... and everything. The wonders of Earth -all of them- all at once, bombarding his senses. With intense concentration and an agonizing amount of willpower, he focused on the chiseled masonry of the ceiling. 

"Yes. You are Merlin. You are my lover, my best friend. You're a healer, a wizard, and a menace to polite society." That was a joke, he knew. A jest, a jab, in an attempt to gain a coherent response. 

"That... is you," he offered. Sound began to fade out once more. Silence was loud, he'd come to realize. It gave center-stage to the many voices he'd given to various thoughts in his own mind. If they were not speaking in tones of soil and water, flame and wind, animal and mineral, they were assuming the tones of memory. They had names, he knew. Gaius, the skilled: a white-haired human with an uncanny ability to understand. Morgana, the gracious: a gem with gleaming, glinting edges; a feather falling with grace and fragility. Guenivere, the kind: the embodiment of warmth and love, of humor and wit. Uther, the strong: a pillar of stone and blood, a flame and a shadow; a pheonix rising from heavy ashes of flesh and bone- full of life and love, but plagued by fear and pain. More prevalent, more audible, more intelligible, there was Arthur. Arthur: prince, king; child, father; glowing hero, fading memory; golden sun, guiding star. Arthur took on many roles in this theatric dance within the vague, vast void... and all of them were Merlin's favorite. The one who loved without bounds, who fought for what was just, who guarded against danger, who encouraged to live boldly, who healed of hurts, who gave immense strength; who lived... who died many, many times. He heard this voice many, many times. Countless times. Time was an illusion, anyhow. He'd witnessed eternity several times over, and he'd seen the beginning and the end. No part of it was new to him. No part of it left him alone without Arthur. 

Arthur, the past, present and future. He'd been dust once... hovering, without thought, without time. Then time found him and directed dances of him, guided him through eternity. He'd been a creature of the deep, dark waters, living without thought. The light shimmered above, and he followed it. He'd been a child, alone... scared and cold. Warm sunlight coaxed him out of night and into day... and human was born. He'd been a tree, tall and strong, timeless and beloved. His branches felt the caress of claws, the flutter of wings... and he was reborn a hundred- a thousand- a million times more. 

Arthur. He was the missing part to Merlin all that time. Their unity meant progress- meant success. And through the failures, they learned and moved on through the vast, endless current of time together. Somehow, some way, by some strange miracle, they were here. In Camelot. Right now, this was where they were meant to be. 

Chapter Text

"It's been a month, Gaius. Isn't there anything you can do?" 

"I'm afraid not, my boy. He's fighting his own battles now and there is nothing we can do to see him through."

"Do you mean to tell me he may never awaken?" 

"I mean to say that we may never again see him in this lifetime." 

"I cannot accept that."

"You may have no choice." 

"I will not let him lie in silence! For all we know, he is begging to be released from the prison of his mind. I will not leave his side!"

"Arthur-" Gaius held out his hands defensively.

"You may forget him, but I will not."

"Arthur," Merlin groaned.

A silence as profound as outer space permeated the tall room around them. Not even a breath interrupted the introspection that was volleyed between them. 

"He speaks again, Gaius. This is why I cannot give up hope. I know that he's there." A very unique sigh, with the patience of a million trees and yet the haste of a fieldmouse... it could only be Gaius. 

"He's in a coma, Arthur. He may still be alive, but there is no telling that these moments of consciousness mean that he's present. The mind is a strange, fragile thing. He had been through... so much." 

"I know that." 

"Arthur." Merlin's voice was rough. Strange. Unfamiliar. 

"If you do not leave this room eventually, highness, the people may believe Uther is hiding something. They may believe you're dead." Arthur growled. 

"I don't care-"

"Arthur... Gaius." 

"That's new." The prince was sitting close. Very close. Gaius was across the room at first... but Merlin heard his trademark shuffling grow near. "I've never heard him speak my name- only yours." Merlin murmured. Arthur carded his fingers through thick locks of black hair that had grown much longer during his long rest. "He's saying something. Can you make it out." 

"Merlin? Can you hear me? I'm here, still here. I'm listening." The sorcerer, powerful, mighty, immortal... he remembered that he had a mouth. He remembered many things- namely that a vessel of flesh had needs. 

"Mmm... need... to..." 

"What do you need, Merlin?" Gaius joined Arthur at the boy's bedside. 

"Need t' pee." Gaius chuffed, Arthur barked out a breathless laugh, and arms snaked between his torso and the mattress to carefully lift him. Arthur's strong hand laced into the thick hair at the back of Merlin's head, and he was held intimately close to Arthur's chest. Every pounding beat of Arthur's heart was thunderous against his ear. That familiar, beloved, intoxicating smell that always clung to Arthur -the spice and vanilla- flooded his scent and for a while, it was all that he could sense. Reluctantly, Arthur loosened his hold on Merlin's frail body and sat up far enough for his face to be seen. The shadows that danced a slow duet with the firelight, softened Arthur's features, though by the steep edge down his cheeks and jaw, brows and nose, it was clear that he'd grown gaunt in the month of uncertainty and dread that surrounded Merlin's fate. He still smiled just as sweetly, and those eyes were ever so full of passion, but there was a quivering beneath his lip that wasn't there before. 

"You're awake." His disbelief was evident in every minute motion. "Please... please don't go back to sleep." Gaius' hand, pale and aged, rested lightly on Arthur's shoulder. It was clear that he didn't trust Arthur to hold its weight. True, he looked more feeble- more like a ghost of what he'd been... and if Arthur, the glowing, radiant, energetic young warrior, looked like a ghost, then Merlin suspected he looked akin to a ghoul. Merlin heard the whispers at the door, and turned to see the newcomers. Morgana, Gwaine and Guen stood just outside the room, watching expectantly. "Gaius?" 

"Yes, sire?" He stepped closer, effectively blocking the view of the guests. 

"You should look him over, make sure he's alright." 

"Still need to pee," Merlin croaked, arm moving painstakingly slow to push himself upright. A second pair of hands pawed at his back and helped him to sit up completely. "I got it-" He most certainly did not have it, but he'd be damned if Gwaine and Arthur helped him piss in a chamberpot, in the presence of Gaius, Guenivere, and Morgana. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath -chest aching at the stretch, praising the new air- and reached for the magicks. Tentatively, he called for their strength, drawing it into himself as carefully as he possibly could. It glimmered in the air, everywhere, all the time moving and changing like shifting sand and falling snow, twinkling like stars. It was faint to him now -mere background static compared to how blinding and dazzling it was when he was born. When he beckoned it, it briefly flared with excitement for his touch, then kissed the tips of his fingers. He felt its warm, soft presence and eased it slowly, carefully up his arm. Strength filled his fingers, wrists, forearm. It crept over his shoulders and clung to his neck, sunk down his chest and seeped into his gut. From his navel to his groin and thighs, it flowed through his flesh and for a moment he was drenched in its golden luminescence, but it meekly tumbled in wisps and ribbons down his shins to his feet. A halo of sunlight flowed like fine smoke from his feet, over the floor, leaving drops of heaven on the stone. Wildflowers, clover and mushrooms erupted enthusiastically from the spill, lighting up across the room in a rainbow of new life. 

"Merlin? Was that you?" Gwaine's voice was soft and sweet, and completely awestruck. Arthur was breathless. The wizard nodded, and cautiously shrugged off their hands. Through the power he'd garnered from the ancient touch, his atrophied flesh grew strong and he felt almost normal. Well, as normal as he could, after experiencing the vast infinity of the worlds around him, not held back by a body. He felt all too large for this form, like he was a foot shoved into a shoe much too small, too constricting, too suffocating, closing, closing in but... it was getting better. 

"Could you..." He gestured blankly for the door. 

"Yeah... Okay." Gwaine was doubtful but Arthur was sure. They retreated into the hall and left the door cracked behind their backs. Merlin, disliking the prospect of his friends overhearing, cast forth a wind to shut it entirely. 

Morgana looked between them hopefully, eyes ringed with faint darkness. She was tired, so tired. Her every bone ached with exhaustion, but she needed to be here. Needed to know about Merlin. He wasn't in her dreams anymore- in fact, he wasn't anywhere anymore. His soul was nowhere near, but yet she sensed him everywhere. She needed to know that his soul was really there, really just inside Merlin and not surrounding her anymore because even now she felt his shadow. She felt him in the air, in the earth, in water and flame... she saw it in the eyes of every magickal person she knew. She saw it engulfing Merlin and Arthur, Gaius and herself, but not Guen or Gwaine. She knew that he was in every last current of the magick in the world around her... and he was so mighty, so beautiful, and so... terrifying. 

"He's awake. For sure." Arthur's throat was tight from choking back tears. He knew they all felt the same, and was sure they could see his poorly-formed mask of indifference. It wasn't just for their sakes. It was for Merlin, and for himself. He breathed though the lump in his chest, and wrung his hands. "He just called up some magick from the earth and he's... well." There it was. In the air. Merlin used magick; Merlin is a sorcerer. There was silence as brief as a heartbeat, then Gaius spoke up. 

"He appears to be recovered." Gaius glanced between their anxious eyes. "Let us refrain from treating him like he's in need of coddling. It will only delay a full recovery, and make him feel even worse. He's the same Merlin we've always known." Wordlessly unanimous, they turned toward the door as it creaked open. As Arthur stepped back inside, He saw Merlin lying beneath the blankets once more. 

"Come in," he called. His voice sounded stronger, more alert. 

"Merlin," Guen cooed as she swept over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She hugged him tightly, though was careful not to jar him. He did look healthy, strong and just as gorgeous as ever, but she still didn't want to bowl him over. He smiled into her hair that smelled of honey, and pulled her closer. 

"Guenivere," he sighed. She looked just as beautiful and radiant as ever, and was a face he'd cherished in his absence. She laughed breathlessly and pawed at her tearful eyes. 

"I'm so glad you're alright. We missed you." She withdrew, met his beautiful eyes, and kissed his lips. Not passionately, not sensually... in a motherly, nurturing, 'I genuinely love you' sort of way that caused him to melt. He was relieved when she backed up and gave way for Morgana to get her own hug. She was just as soft as the clouds he'd drifted along with, but more warm, more deep. She squeezed him, rubbed her hands down his back, fingers tracing every rib she could reach, dancing over the vertebrae up his spine until lacing into his hair. She felt his soul, felt the very essence of him, and it was here. Merlin was whole, contained with the body she'd come to know. When she pulled away to join her loved ones a couple paces back, Merlin's body nearly reacted to pull her back in. He held this desires firmly in check, but... it was overwhelming him. A pull at his heart and gut became insurmountably tense and the moment he met Arthur's eyes, he knew what it was he needed. 

"I'm fine, thanks. I appreciate you all being with me... erm... but I'd very much like to... be alone... right now. Please." They only paused for a moment, exchanging confused glances, then quickly backed out of the room. "Arthur. Stay." The prince turned around and met Merlin's eyes. He saw it, in the way his irises flickered gold, and he felt the lightning tingle in their gaze, as if Merlin was striking him to one spot. His body was suddenly electrified and he froze. He froze because the lust in Merlin's eyes was palpable, literally, and his own gut coiled tight. Heat welled in his groin and he couldn't move his legs. 

Chapter Text

"Merlin." His short tone commanded Merlin, who used magick to shut the door and lock it. It was only two paces before Arthur's lips crashed against Merlin's, and they tumbled backward onto the wide bed. Hands were all over him, groping at every scrap of fabric and tugging desperately. Small whimpers punctuated the chorus of heavy, loud breaths. Energy thrummed in Merlin's body, and as he radiated pure need, Arthur responded to each and every nonverbal plea. He wanted Arthur's hands on him, wanted his lips, his teeth and tongue. He wanted Arthur in all the right places, all the wrong places. He moaned at the mere thought. Arthur echoed his declarations of need, enthusiastically. 

"Arthur," he moaned. The prince's lips were at his neck, kissing and nipping, sucking and licking, and he felt like he was melting. Running like water down the mountainside, but hot as lava. He couldn't stop his descent into this carnal place. Arthur shuddered as Merlin's warm hand pressed completely flat to his shoulderblade, then winced and arced away at the sensation of nails biting into the flesh. This brief spark of pain served to amplify that burning need, and he let his entire weight sink on top of Merlin. The ravenette sighed, eyes squinted shut, mouth hanging wide open. He was perfectly responding to each and every ministration from the masterful prince, body hypnotized into writhing. 

"You're so, so beautiful," he whispered into Merlin's collarbone. "Gods, I've wanted your body for so long. It's been hard to keep myself occupied when you're so distracting." Arthur's fingertips, shaking with restraint, kneaded at Merlin's protruding hips and snaked into the fabric of his trews. Merlin keened and threw his arms wide. 

"Don't. Don't hold back." His lust-blown pupils wandered for a minute before sobering and settling on Arthur's, who were also dilated- devouring him. He bared his teeth, challenging him- demanding that he pounce. 

"I won't. But if you need me to stop, you stop me. Understand?" He inched the blue nightshirt up until he could see the bottom pair of ribs, and feathered grazes up and down Merlin's bare sides. "It was tantalizing, the thought of touching you while you were sleeping. I wondered. I dream of it. The suspense has had me in knots." A gasp hitched in Merlin's throat, and his hips bucked against Arthur's. The prince smirked. "Were you just as helpless as I was, Merlin?" The wizard nodded. 

"I saw you. I saw many of your lives before this, and I remember loving every single one of them." His voice wavered with the strain of containing such raw desire, and as he opened his mouth in an attempt to taste, Arthur saw the glimmer on his lips as his tongue passed over them. He wanted to use Merlin's mouth, to thrust into it, to feel every bit of its warm, wet, tightness, and to spill over into it- to leave his seed on Merlin's tongue, to see him lap at it like a kitten. He began to pull at Merlin's tunic and with the help of his shimmying, he was able to toss it across the room hastily. The feeling of chill-razed skin beneath his hot hands only invited him to roam those vast moon-kissed planes. Merlin could hardly breathe, for every time Arthur's nails grazed him, he felt nearer to unraveling. 

"I want you so bad, Merlin," Arthur choked. "I want your hands... your mouth... all of you. Your body is mine, hear me? All mine." Merlin laughed lowly, nails dragging roughly down Arthur's sides. 

"Prove it." Merlin found himself being manhandled, and felt cold air hit his very-bare groin. He was trembling in anticipation, vibrating with excitement. He began to pant. He felt his hips gripped and then hoisted up onto a bunched up blanket. Arthur's teeth nipped at the inner flesh, just above his knee, and Merlin yelped. Kisses, firm and passionate and measured, littered his milk-white thighs. He gripped the blankets, twisted them, wrung them ruthlessly in hopes of anchoring himself, for he feared flying away. Arthur's tongue flitted over the sensitive skin of Merlin's hipbone, then he was met with the startling burn of breaking skin. Blood, just a little, trickled down and Arthur licked that up too. "Oh, fuck," he whimpered. 

"I'll show you all the ways I missed you. I'll show you all the pleasure there is to know. We do have forever, after all." Hot breath toyed with the short, coarse hairs that surrounded the base of Merlin's penis. He held his breath, for if he breathed he'd surely drown. Arthur teased him, cruelly breathed upon his shaft and it twitched. He wanted that mouth around him, sucking the very life from him. But he knew that he couldn't handle that. It was still a tempting thought, to be milked by Arthur until he fell into the daze of unconsciosness all over again. 

Velvety smooth and hot, Arthur let his tongue wet the head of Merlin's cock. Mewling, hips pressing deeper into the bed, Merlin jolted away. Arthur held him still so that he couldn't escape, and took the head in his mouth, wrapping his lips around it completely. Pleasure rolled over his body like an ocean tide. A deep moan rumbled from his chest. His fingers released the blankets in search of something more savory, and after juttering motions forced his groping hands south, he found the silky locks of Arthur's hair. It had grown longer. He knew, because before, he could hardly get a firm grasp, but now when he laced his digits into it and tugged, Arthur's head jerked ever-so-slightly at his motion. Arthur moaned, and the low vibrations tingled through his entire body. 

"P-Please," Merlin mewled, "please don't tease me this time. I can't stand it. I've waited thousands, millions of years for this, Arthur. Let me have it. Please." Held behind his airy words was a quaver of repressed sobs. Arthur knew. He wanted to pleasure Merlin, wanted to savor this moment and touch him in so many ways, all night long. It seemed that Merlin couldn't wait any longer. His breath was shallow and his body coiled as tight as a spring. It only took a gentle graze to undo him entirely. Arthur pulled away abruptly, and Merlin whined loudly. "AAArthuuuur."

Arthur's hand was floundering for the handle of the bedside drawer, and when he finally gripped it and pulled it open, Merlin's mouth clamped shut. He couldn't possibly argue when Arthur was already reaching for the intimate oils. He didn't dare object to the heinous act of being left untouched when he saw Arthur strip himself entirely. He frantically followed suit and pushed his attire off as fast as he possibly could. Sure, he could have ripped them off via magick, but that would simply be a waste of good clothes. Besides, it looked like Arthur was enjoying the sight of his wriggling. 

"I usually wouldn't give into your haste, Merlin, but this is a special occasion. I'll give you whatever you want." Then his palm was covered in the oil, and he slathered it over his firm cock. Slowly, sensually, Arthur twisted his hand, moved it up and down, stopping to tease the slit or base, all the while staring deeply into Merlin's eyes. He saw the flame in Merlin's eyes -could practically the taste the lust dripping from him- and didn't hesitate the close the distance between them. He met Merlin's open mouth with his lips, then snaked his tongue inside to clash with Merlin's own. Pressing, writhing, finally dominating Merlin's, he heard a submissive mewl and felt his beloved relax between his own body. It was clear that Merlin had wanted to be dominated, and no matter the reason, he was more than willing to oblige. His hips rutted against Merlin's own, and despite the lack of stimulation, they were both rock-hard and dripping precum. 

"Arthur," Merlin whispered. "Hurry, I can't wait." He didn't dare disobey... not with the way he saw gold swirling in Merlin's irises, barely held captive by the remaining baby blue. His hands slid over Merlin's thighs, fingers pressing into the taught muscle and tendon, gripping tightly at the junction between thigh and hip. Merlin gasped. He suspected there would bruises in that place where he ruthlessly dug his nails, but he didn't care. In fact, he wanted them there, to admire them later. When Merlin's rump was lifted inches from the bed, Arthur used his left hand to stroke himself and then carefully position his erect manhood against Merlin's puckered hole. "Oh, gods," Merlin moaned. Arthur concurred. 

As he pushed in, hairs-breadth at a time, lewd moans spilled from his mouth. He could hardly meet Merlin's eyes for all that his own tried to roll back into his head. Merlin was always so... so sultry. So hot and wet and... welcoming. He had to catch his breath several times before he could push any deeper than the bell-shaped head. When he paused a fourth time, Merlin groaned impatiently. "Give it to me already," he growled. "You're so cruel." 

"Me?" Arthur laughed, but was so breathless that it sounded more like a wheeze. "You're the problem, here. Insatiable, wanton thing, you. You're too much. If I'm not careful, I'll be spent before I ever get to fuck you into the mattress." Just the spoken promise had Merlin writhing. His elbow flung over his eyes and he drew deep, steadying breaths. "I can't believe how beautiful you are. Lying here for so long, motionless... you looked so serene. And now, having you in this position-"

"Fucking me, you mean," he snorted. 

"Fucking you," Arthur agreed, and pushed in more. Merlin cried out. "It makes me wonder just how filthy you can be. I cannot wait to see the different pleasures we'll experience." Short moans, grunts, deep breaths, and finally Arthur was buried to the hilt. He leaned forward so that he may rest on his elbows, but Merlin jolted, rocked his hips up to achieve more friction, and Arthur's head tossed back. He panted. "You... little... shit." Steeling himself, knowing that he wouldn't be able to hang on for very long, Arthur gave a sharp thrust into Merlin's own hips... and the two of them practically sobbed. 

"M-Magick. Let me." Merlin's body was filling with warmth, warmth that began to burn. His skin tingling, glistening with sweat, he tried to hold it back as long as he could. It was far too strong, and he couldn't refrain any longer. Arthur gave him a nod, and a silent affirmation with those burning blue eyes. It practically exploded out of him. From every inch of skin, sunlight flared blindingly bright. It was like... like life in its purest for rejuvenated them, refreshed their spirits, and suddenly Arthur felt like he could go on forever, railing Merlin until he finally begged for mercy. Merlin's magick was free, and flowing wildly in an echo of their own passion. It felt like he could finally breathe. 

"So beautiful," Arthur whispered as he pressed hot kisses against Merlin's neck. "Just like you." And then he didn't let Merlin say another word. He flexed, and cooperatively, his hips pistoned into Merlin's, pushing him deep. Merlin keened and gripped the pillows. Measured, slowly (at first), Arthur's thrusts penetrated and carefully stretched inside until he could glide in and out easily. Then, he forgot all thoughts of mercy. His pace quickened, his strength doubled. Hands holding Merlin's hipbones in a vicelike grip, he fucked him. Long, fast strokes, each aiming for that one delectable spot that would make Merlin-

"AH! Oh, Arthur!" Pinched falsetto cries filled the room. Merlin's back arced sinfully from the mattress while his knuckles turned white from the death grip. Shorter, more brisk motions of his hips had Merlin's breath hitching in his beautiful, exposed throat, and his eyes began to roll. "Y-Yes! Just like that-" Fast -faster than usual- Arthur fucked him, but he leaned forward to achieve a better angle for railing his lover. Deeper, harder, more precise. Arthur's gut was winding tight and he felt a telltale heat in his groin. At this rate, he'd- "Come for me," Merlin breathed. "Come for me over and over. Keep fucking me all night." And with a guttural moan, he did just that. He filled Merlin entirely with hot seed, but Merlin didn't indicate that he wanted Arthur to stop: in fact, Arthur felt the waves of pleasure wrack his mind and body, but almost instantly felt resfreshed and ready to continue. 

It wasn't long before Merlin's body was jolting, his toes were curling, and he was screaming Arthur's name. He, too, came, but impatiently rolled his hips into Arthur's. 

"Don't you dare stop." Magick poured into them both. Arthur pulled out, and Merlin's brief disappointment turned into newfound glee when he was manhandled onto his knees; Arthur's arms wrapped possessively around Merlin's chest. Arthur's hot cock pressed into him again, and he was being fucked fast- expertly. Each new position was different. Like this, on his knees before Arthur, pulled upright and back pressed against Arthur's heaving chest, he felt like he may expire. Pushed forward onto his hands, fucked so hard that his breath left him with every powerful drive forward, he was left wailing. Arthur pulled away, and Merlin didn't have the chance to whine his dissent. Arthur's hand found his throat and wrapped neatly... gripped just tight enough to have him begging for more air. When Arthur forced Merlin's back to the sheets, he pressed down and his weight held his lithe lover fast to the bed, and with the added high of choking... he saw stars when his prostate was struck and he sprayed seed over his own chest -for a third time. 

"It's my turn," Arthur growled. "I can't let you have all the fun." Merlin was flat on his back, reeling from the previous orgasm, when he felt wetness engulf his cock. There was Arthur, pouring spearmint oil onto his perfectly-erect member. He sighed into the feeling of Arthur stroking him... then choked around a strangled moan when Arthur sunk down onto him. As far as Merlin knew, Arthur was a virgin in this regard... and at the rate he was dropping his hips... he knew the prince would be feeling pain later. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to stop. He bucked upward into Arthur and the a sob tore through the prince's throat. He threw his head back and groaned. His legs trembled, and Merlin found that all the more arousing. His own lithe digits gripping the meat of Arthur's outer thigh, he held his prnce as steadily as he could (and asked the magicks for assistance) and he drilled into Arthur from beneath, hips moving fast and erratically, and Arthur's entire body shook. He mewled in ways that Merlin had never heard before- had never imagined in his filthiest fantasies. It was a broken sound, soft and sumissive, and everything that Arthur absolutely wasn't. He loved this. 

Without warning, without worry, Merlin gripped Arthur's neck and pushed him until he was on his back. Pulling his legs until they hung off the edge of the bed, positioning himself just before Arthur's needy hole, he held those quivering thighs tightly while he fucked into Arthur -the strong, the brave, the mighty... the bottom. He couldn't hold back, even knowing that Arthur may feel some soreness later. This was something he'd never be able to resist. Arthur's body as entirely limp and he cried out with every single thrust in that rocked him on the plush mattress. Merlin found that one delightful, special spot inside, and as he struck it repeatedly, hard, fast, rhythmically, Arthur's jaw feathered, his eyes rolled back and his legs locked up. His cock twitched with every spray of white over his abdomen... but Merlin didn't stop. He knew he could do better. Arthur began to scream, but still, he forced himself down, further impaling himself on Merlin. He felt lightning. He felt wind and rain, he felt the sun. He felt the magick... he felt Merlin. Crashing over him, lingering on his skin like a scent... he ascended into a whole new level of pleasure. 

"OH GOD- OH MERLIN- DON'T STOP-" His breath entirely caught in his throat. His body was paralyzed. All he knew was pleasure. All he was, was pain. And finally, he burst. Like rainclouds, like mushroom spores, like the crack of a smile or the bloom of a flower, he felt his release paint his body. Merlin, with sinful, passionate moans, came inside of him. Hot and wet, he felt it all. He took it. He wanted nothing more than to live this for the rest of his life. It wasn't until he heard a voice whispering in his ear that he opened his eyes and gasped for air. 

"You're so beautiful, my love," Merlin muttered. "You did so well. So good, Arthur." And he was aroused all over again. After the film of white faded froms ight, he shifted his hips... and they began again. Writhing together, creating unbelievable friction, declaring praise over one another, they spent the entire day and night. When the moon rose, and finally Merlin released them from magick's hold, they lie together, panting, soaked from head to toe in sweat and semen and probably several other fluids. Arthur's chest was heaving, but Merlin was calm. He carded his fingers through Arthur's hair. 

"That was... perfect," Merlin sighed. Arthur nuzzled his nose into Merlin's neck, breathing in every bit of him that he could. 

"I saw it. I saw exactly what you are. I saw the magick. You're so beautiful." Merlin blinked back tears. 

"You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that." More kisses pressed up his neck and along his jaw. 

"Please, never trap it again. It deserves to be free. You deserve to be free." Emotion punched him in the gut, and all breath left him. "I know it might be strange... maybe even scary for a time. Camelot is changing, thanks to you. Those who know you, those who don't... they'll all get used to it. They'll see how beautiful it is, and they'll come to love it as I do." 

Chapter Text

"A-Arthur..." Merlin's voice was thin, trapped. "Marry me." It was Arthur's turn to feel breathless, but a laugh burst from his throat.

"No way," he laughed. "I was going to ask you- to don't get to ask me-" And he moved quickly to scrabble from the bed, pad across the floor to the table, grab a small pouch, then practically stomp to Merlin's bedside. "Merlin, this is what I was trying to do when you were attacked. I planned it for weeks." His pinched brows, crooked smile and indignant tone had Merlin laughing heartily. 

"Alright, alright! Go on, then!" 

With a sigh of long-suffering, Arthur shook the hair from his eyes and dropped to one knee. The pouch in his hand tipped out a gold ring with inlaid rubies, small and dazzling. Merlin's smile stretched wide enough that his cheeks ached, and he could hardly contain himself.

"I will!" Arthur rolled his eyes and chuffed, and dropped his arms to his sides. 

"MERlin-" Fingertips pressed to his lips, but shoulders shaking with laughter, Merlin gestured for him to go on. "ThANK you." He then cleared his throat, drew an ill-disguised, trembling breath before meeting Merlins' gaze and speaking.

"The first time I met you, Merlin, I was certain you were some idiot who wanted nothing more than to ruin my life. Then you saved me, and I knew I was wrong. Only a good man would save the person who'd threw him in a cell. And ever since then, I've watched you. But not just watching; admiring, remembering, fantasizing. Sometimes, I find it hard to think of anything else besides you. I've come to trust you more than anyone else, to rely on you for joy and wisdom... and I found that I'd come to love you. It rocked my whole world. I was sure that I'd never be able to live without you... but that soon I was going to have to.  And then when you fell at dinner, I felt fear like nothing else I've ever experienced. The thought of you not being okay made the pull stronger, made the feelings in my soul louder, and now I simply can't deny them any longer." 

Arthur stared at Merlin, studied every inch of him. His gaze was suddenly caught by a glimmering of gold to his left, It was rising from the floor like evening fog, flowing and moving and dancing like water. It draped itself over each and every thing in their room, like a veil of gossamer. It mesmerised him into still silence, and even as he heard Merlin's breath coming from his chest, he felt it in the air all around him. It was light, and fresh, and as he breathed it in, he felt refreshed, grounded, loved. This was pure earth magick, brought out from hiding, living at it was meant to- not cage beneath the soil, never to be touched. This was how the earth was supposed to feel. He wasn't sure how he knew it, he just knew it to be true. And it was all because of Merlin. It was because this being of such pure magick, such delight and wonder, had beckoned it forth- commanding it to be free. 

"Oh, Merlin." The wizard looked perfectly pleased and expectant of praise. Arthur's heart throbbed. "It's beautiful. So are you. Merlin, will you marry me? Say you will." Merlin drew in a deep breath, released it, and with the air he expelled, patches of vivid flowers and mushrooms, clover and moss bloomed across the floor. His eyes gleamed with stars and shone with sunlight. He extended his hand, Arthur slipped the ring onto his finger, and he handed Merlin a bigger, exact copy. Arthur's own fingers straightened, and Merlin obliged. They both stared at their interlaced fingers for a few moments before Merlin answered, voice light with amazement.

"I will. I will marry you." They both laughed and cried as they embraced, and after what felt like hours and yet only moments, they crawled into bed and fell into sleep as gracefully as drifting feathers. 

They awoke to a persistent knocking on the door. Merlin was the first to awaken, and he remembered very acutely what happened the night before. He looked down at the floor and saw the plant life... and his chest tightened with dread. 

"Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no..." His fingers tugged at his hair anxiously. Arthur shifted sleepily onto his back and met Merlin's wide eyes with his own sleepy ones. He sensed the panick and clumsily buckled upright. 

"What's wrong?" Merlin pointed at the floor. "Oh. Yeah." He cleared his throat and wrapped his arms around Merlin's shoulders, tugging him to lie back down. "Don't worry, my love. We're going to face this together, and nobody is going to harm you-"

"Or the plants?" His voice was tight. 

"Or the plants. I'll see to it. For now, let's just..."

The knocking came again, accompanied by a voice. 

"Arthur? Are you awake? We should probably talk about this new... erm... garden." It was Uther. Merlin's heart began to pound. 

"I'm awake! Just need a minute-" Now Arthur's gut was twisted uncomfortably, and he stood to pace to the basin to clean up. 

"Arthur-" As he turned to Merlin, he saw the flash of gold in his eyes, and he was suddenly washed clean. He was soaked and dried, and his flesh was clear of evidence of their... forays. He watched at Merlin stood and did the same thing. Merlin paced to Arthur and fixed his hair. Arthur did the same, and then moved to find clothes. As he spun around, they were there, floating just before him. Blinking away surprise, he took them and dressed quickly, though with growing awe. Merlin's magick darted around the room, tidying up in movements faster than the twitching of rabbits. By the time Merlin was dressed in his usual red tunic, the room was spotless. 

"Coming!" Arthur reached for the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open to see Uther. He expected rage. He expected a cold glare. He expected he'd have to fight for Merlin. What he saw instead was a faint smile and knowing eyes. 

"Good morning, Arthur. Merlin. Can I come in?" As Arthur, speechless, stepped out of Uther's way, the king entered and stood by the fire. "I see that Arthur finally proposed. And I see that you said yes. Congratulations, to both of you. I looked forward to the wedding ceremony." The pair of lovers exchanged bewildered glances while Uther's gaze was turned to the mantle. "I was going to wait for one of you to bring up Merlin's magick before I told you that I know about it... but I suppose this works too. Should we be expecting any more surprises? You see, it's not that I mind having an apple tree in my bedroom." Merlin's hands clapped over his mouth in mortification, but Uther merely laughed. "They're the freshest apples I've ever eaten. The issue is that it may harm the castle, make it structurally unsound, what with winter around the corner. So, just... erm... try to keep it outside." 

Merlin laughed, spluttered through some tears, and leaned heavily against the tall-backed chair. Arthur crossed the floor to hold him. 

"T-Thank you, your highness. Thank you so much-" Uther wanted to reach out and place a hand on Merlin's shoulder... figured it was too soon. He insteady rested its weight on Arthur's. His son met his gaze with such passion, such glee and pride that Uther had to look away, lest he give in to the tears. "I've lived in fear for so long. This is... this is more than I ever dreamed of. I... I can't begin to thank you enough. And now being with you-" Merlin looked up to Arthur's eyes and cupped his cheek. "I feel like all of the lifetimes we've been together, all the time I spent waiting for this moment, all paid off." 

"I... erm... I'll see you two at dinner? We'll be having a feast in yours honor, so... don't be late." He then swept from the room, swiftly. It was clear that while he was allowing himself to feel more freely, this was far too much. He retreated to his room, where the sunlight in his tall windows shone through the leaves of his new apple tree, painting his walls with their vivid green. He never knew that magick could be this. If he had... it would never had been outlawed. His eyes alighted on the figure in his windowsill. Sitting on red, velvet cushions with a bird on her finger... it was Ygraine. At least... a memory of her. It was vivid -nearly palpable... but when he moved closer, he saw the glimmer surrounding her... and he knew it was the magick. His heart ached at the sight of his beloved... but it rang with joy, too. 

When he awakened to the glowing caress of magick, he panicked, at first. Then he felt it seep into his flesh and... it was a mother's warm hug, the embrace of an old friend, the liveliness of a lover. It was pure and clean, and it grounded him. He felt the earth intimately, heard its song. It healed his ails, tended his aches and he felt whole. And then he looked around and he saw it was everywhere. He'd never felt so geniunely happy. What was more, he sensed all of Camelot. He felt, saw, heard its life, its presence. He could almost reach out a hand to each and every individual... but it vanished like smoke when he tried. The magick that bound them together. Now he knew what the druid meant. Now he knew what Merlin was. 

Chapter Text

Dinner was familiar and comforting, and a small affair. Only their closest friends were there, and all their eyes were on Merlin and Arthur. As they had stpped into the room and walked hand-in-hand toward their seats, they glowed... not just metaphorically. Like the sun, like the moon, like starlight, and like firelight glinting from the surface of water, their figures were totally enveloped. Anyone who looked upon them was filled with joy, any with every congratulation, the pair grew brighter. 

Finally they sat down and the dazzling light faded in all places but the rings around their fingers. The magick continued to dance around them. 

"Excuse me," Gwaine called into the room, while tapping his fork against the goblet in his right hand. "Excuse me. Everybody. A toast!" Every cup in the room lifted. "To our favorite prince and wizard. To their long, happy life together, to their magickal adventures. To our extraordinary friendships." They all yelled their cheers, and drank heartily. 

"My friends. The best friends. I remember you all from my many lives." They were silent, attentive. "During my time lying in that room, I was reliving each and every lifetime I've ever lived. I remember it all... and I remember all of you. Every one of you were there, in your various forms. Guen, you were an entire sunflower patch once. Morgana, I saw you as a massive serpent in the ocean, graceful and bold. I could tell you all what I've seen of your souls... but for now, I just want you all to know that I... you all mean a lot to me. And, erm... thanks for the party." 

"I think I speak for all of us when I saw we're grateful to see the real Merlin, and we're glad you're okay." Percival raised a glass with his words, and drank to them. The knights all nodded. 

"There are many wrongs for us to right... and it will take time, but Merlin deserves no less. The people of Camelot deserve no less. You have saved it all, my boy. You saved them, and you saved us. Never hold back again. This is your home. You're free." Uther's voice was strong and bold, and well-rehearsed... up until the last word. He faltered and tears welled in his eyes. "But if you tell anyone outside this room that I shed a tear, I'll throw you into the stocks myself." The room erupted with laughter. For the rest of the evening, they all exchanged smiles and words and thoughts and feelings, and by the time Arthur and Merlin tumbled into bed once more, they were pleasantly buzzing with magick. 

"I'll never get tired of this feeling," Arthur said as he pulled the blanket up to his chest. "Being with you... with the magicks." Merlin hummed happily. 

"I feel the same. This is everything I've always wanted." His hand snaked beneath the sheets and rested on Arthur's bare chest. 

"Hmm... I can think of one more thing that I want," Arthur murmured. Merlin's fingers began to inch lower. 

"I could hardly resist touching you at dinner." His own hand rested atop Merlin's. 

"Alas, my dear, wanton wizard, I think we should save it for tomorrow. Sleep sounds nice. Don't you think?" At his prince's touch, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into him, settling comfortably within the many sheets. "You know I love you more than anything else in this entire world?" 

"Of course I do. And you know that I love you as much as the world can possibly love?" He was struck by the magnitude of Merlin's words, but merely breathed through the mind-boggling concept and smiled. 

"You'll have to tell me all about it sometime. After all... we do have forever." Forever. Forever and always, and long beyond that.

"Forever, yes. But tonight," Merlin whispered, "we shall sleep. For tomorrow... we begin our greatest adventure yet."