Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arthur could never remember the exact moment he fell in love with Merlin. Maybe because he always has been. Or maybe it was such a gradual fall, he didn’t even notice until he’d hit the bottom.

And here he is, Crown Prince of Camelot, pining after his own manservant like a blubbering fool.

“Alright, wake up, sunshine!” Merlin swung Arthur’s door open, hands busy with the breakfast tray, mouth half-full from the bread he stole from said tray on his way up. Merlin, as always, put the tray on Arthur’s desk before stomping over to the curtains. “Your royal pratness, you’ve got a busy day,” he called.

The truth was that Arthur had been up for half an hour. But he knew by now, if he waited long enough, Merlin would start tugging on his arm, dragging him out of the bed.

It’s stupid. It’s a stupid thing to want. It’s a stupid thing to look forward to each morning. A small, nimble hand around his wrist, pulling him into the cold of the day, and usually, onto the floor.

But Arthur didn’t get the privilege of touch very often. That’s what it is, isn’t it? A privilege?

As the Prince, he had always been isolated. He and Morgana, in their youth, used to spend nights on he tallest tower in the castle, bonding over their lonely sadness. They even used to push each other around a bit as children, but a few glares from Uther and Arthur understood. Morgana, for all her beauty and sincerity and rough edges, was supposed to be Arthur’s lesser. Arthur never agreed, but that didn’t stop the isolation. Nothing ever could.

His knights, sometimes, would risk a pat to the back or a grip on the shoulder after a battle with bandits, or a good day of training. But it was always through armor, and it’s always gone as quick as it came.

His own father—Well, he’s always been distant. The most Arthur ever got from him was an approving nod, even as a child.

Maybe that’s why Arthur found himself so attached to Merlin. He doesn’t know what to do with all the pats and grips and cuffs on the head. (Which should be treason. But he simply can’t bring himself to care.)

“C’mooon,” Merlin whined, “Your people will start to think you’re a rock if you don’t start moving.” Just as predicted, Merlin threw off Arthur’s blankets and grabbed his wrist (with both hands today, what a lovely surprise), fully pulling him off the bed. Arthur felt a ridiculous amount of joy, and tried his best to hide it.

“Ugh, hasn’t anyone told you I’m the Prince? You’re supposed to respect and fear me.” Arthur made himself sound as grumbly and put-off as possible. It probably didn’t work, as Merlin only laughed in response. It was one of those wide-smiled, crinkly-eyed, head-back laughs. The kind that echoes around his chamber. Arthur had always found he can breathe a little easier when he hears it.

“Clearly not, because I don’t fear you, and I most definitely don’t respect you,” Merlin responded, sarcasm dripping off his voice.

Arthur knew Merlin was only joking, evident by the smile on his face, but sometimes Arthur silently wondered…Did Merlin respect him? Did he even like him? Did Merlin enjoy his presence, the way he enjoyed Merlin’s? Arthur had often found himself drowning in the moonlight that is his closest friend. Just as bright and lovely as the sun, but mysterious and full of wonder. The way Arthur looked at the night sky was forever changed by the presence of Merlin. In truth, the way Arthur looked at a lot of things had been changed by Merlin. Arthur wondered if he’d had as much of an effect on his friend. He doubted it.

“I saw you snacking on my breakfast, clotpole. Go fetch me more bread.” Arthur tried to sound commanding. Merlin continued laughing, but made for the door.

When he returned, though, Merlin entered with two pails of water for Arthur’s bath.

“Merlon, you idiot, I asked for bread,” Arthur scolded. In response, Merlin took a fresh biscuit from his pocket, looked directly at the prince, and shoved it in his own mouth. Arthur gaped.

“I forgot it. Sorry, Sire,” Merlin shrugged, mouth full from the biscuit, clearly trying to keep a straight face. In truth, Arthur never minded Merlin stealing from his plate. Merlin was so thin, sometimes Arthur worried that it’s the only food he ate at all. But he can’t very well say that, can he?

Oh, Merlin, no worries. Come and sit and eat with me, and tell me about your favorite flowers, and throw your head back laughing in that way you do, and let’s never be lonely again—

No, he dared not open his mouth to say anything nice. It would be like playing with fire, risking a slip. Like all the words circling in his head might finally fall out his mouth and lay in a puddle at his feet.

“You are the most incompetent servant in the entire castle! Only my manservant would steal my bread. Twice.” Arthur threw some grapes at Merlin to complete his entirely faked tantrum. Merlin bothered to dodge a few, but for the most part only tried to catch and eat them.

“Get in the bath while I tend to the fire.” Arthur rolled his eyes, but finished his breakfast and followed Merlin’s directions.

“This morning you’ve got Council, then training with the knights, then lunch with the visiting King and his Lady. Your father will be there too,” Merlin rambled out. It was the only time he ever did his job, though Arthur wasn’t convinced he didn’t just ask Gwen when he was getting Arthur’s breakfast. “Then you’ve got a patrol to lead with your knights and a few of Uther’s men. Should take only until nightfall, and then that banquet to celebrate the new treaty or whatever. Blah blah blah.”

“And for a second there I thought you were actually doing your job!” Arthur teased.

“It’s almost exactly the same as always! You shouldn’t always need me repeating it,” Merlin complained.

“There is nothing more important than a prince knowing his schedule, Merlin. If I had a more competent manservant this wouldn’t be such a problem,” Arthur shot back. Merlin sighed overdramatically and ruffled Arthur’s still-dry hair as he walked past him in the bath. A shiver went down Arthur’s spine.

It’s little things like that.

No one. Not a single soul. Not one human being had ever touched Arthur’s hair before. Not one, until Merlin. Arthur doesn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t know how to say, thank you, thank you, I love it when you do that, you make me feel so soft and simple and I don’t know how to be the same without you now. He doesn’t know how to say, I am forever changed by you. I need you. Please stay.

So he said nothing at all.

Merlin seemed unaffected by the turmoil he’d just caused in Arthurs head, absentmindedly humming a tune and picking out Arthur’s clothes for lunch and for the banquet.

Arthur hated himself a little bit because of the way he couldn't help but lean back and close his eyes and enjoy the quietness of the morning, the sun streaming in through the window, the sound of Merlin’s soft hums filling the room. Merlin, safe and near him, the way he always should be.

The humming dropped off, but he didn’t open his eyes. He wanted to spend a few more minutes, maybe attempt to listen for the sound of Merlin’s breathing. Gods, Arthur is truly pathetic.

“AYE!” Merlin suddenly screamed in his ear. Arthur threw his eyes open and turned to his right, where Merlin’s face was inches from his. His smile was so wide that Arthur felt blinded by it. “Stop sleeping on the job.” He ruffled Arthur’s hair again, leaving his hand there an extra moment–Arthur felt himself stop breathing and tried to keep his eyes from growing wide—before Merlin gripped his head and shoved him completely under the water. He let go immediately and stood back up, cackling. Arthur resurfaced, coughing and sputtering.

“Oh, you little—” Without thinking, Arthur climbed out of the tub. As soon as he stood, Merlin’s cackling doubled and he started running wildly around the room. Arthur chased Merlin as he continued to run away.

“Oh, put some clothes on, prat!” Merlin shouted behind him, running for the rag he set out to dry the Prince with, tossing it over his shoulder toward Arthur. Arthur covered himself with it before grabbing his now empty breakfast tray and tossing it at his manservant. Merlin artfully ducked before tossing more clothes at Arthur.

“You’re supposed to dress me, you buffoon!” Arthur laughed as he whined.

“Well, stop throwing things at me and I might be nicer to you.” Merlin perched his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow. Arthur laughed but walked toward his friend, who began drying him off and dressing him.

Sex is something Arthur didn’t often think about. It has always made him feel an innate level of discomfort. As a child, he thought he would grow out of it. But even now, after years of being propositioned by visiting Ladies and Countesses and Princesses, and even a few Queens, he'd avoided it. Perhaps that was why he doesn’t mind running around naked, or having his manservant change him. He doesn’t view those things as sexual or attractive, even though he knows he probably should.

Merlin had always taken it in stride, though, and seemed just as comfortable in such situations as Arthur. Arthur knew he was probably the only person in the world that was broken when it comes to bedding someone, but he was nevertheless grateful that Merlin seemed as uninterested in Arthur's nakedness as Arthur is.

Merlin eventually finished dressing him, nimble fingers finishing his ties. After, like always, Merlin dusted Arthur’s shoulders and straightened his shirt at the front. Arthur, on his part, treasured it. He enjoyed watching Merlin’s focused eyes, and couldn't help but love the way he pet his shoulders and chest.

He never used to need that. But now that he had it, he couldn’t know how to be without it.

“Alright, let’s get you to your meeting, prat,” Merlin said, as he tried to put Arthur’s hair into place so it dries nicely. (Arthur loved this, too.)

After Council, Arthur was dressed by Merlin to train with the knights. He preferred to practice with his knights, those he elected to become knighted, because they trained the hardest. They strived to beat him. They made him better. But as prince, he could not show favoritism, and therefore offered to duel anyone willing.

Merlin, as always, stood to the side, watching. Arthur noticed. He always noticed. Always appreciated it. Merlin made him better, too. More than anyone else. Maybe not on the dueling ground, but, where it mattered. And he always breathed better when Merlin was in sight. There was no reasonable explanation for that, but it’s true.

“Sir Theodore, let us begin,” Arthur said calmly, returning his attention where it was needed most. Sir Theodore was one of his father’s knights, not much for conversation or banter. He was a short, stubby man with a beard and beady brown eyes. Uther had called him brave, but there was always something about him that bothered Arthur. A quiet sense in the back of his mind. Would he lay down his life for Arthur, if pushed? Arthur had never thought so.

But Arthur was not king, and it was not up to him who was knighted and who was not. According to Uther, nobility has more to do with it than bravery, which seemed backwards to Arthur. Not that he’d ever say that aloud, the thought itself bordering on treason.

He dodged an attack to his chest, leaving the ribs of Sir Theodore open for a swing. Arthur took his opportunity, causing the knight to stumble backwards. Arthur used his stumble to swing at his legs, which only served to make Sir Theodore fall on his back. It was a quick match. If Arthur didn’t know the coward was letting him win with ease, he’d be worried for his competence.

The worst part was that Arthur knew he could beat him fairly. He had a natural talent with the sword, and trained relentlessly, more-so than the knights, to be sure that he was worthy of leading them. Sir Gwaine is one of the best natural swordsmen he’d ever known, and Arthur beat him fairly almost every time. Sir Leon, Sir Percival, all of them. They never took it easy on him, and when he lost to them, he went over the moves until he perfected them. And even then, it’s rare.

It was almost embarrassing watching Sir Theodore give up so easily, as if Uther’s knights think his ego will be broken at a loss.

He looked to Merlin, smiling widely on the side of the field, which made him feel a little better about the whole situation. He held out a hand to Sir Theodore who had surrendered from the ground.

“A great match, sire!” Sir Theodore praised as he stood. Arthur tried not to look angry.

“Your footwork is in need of practice. Sir Leon,” He called to his friend, “Would you work with him on it?” Sir Leon was quick on his feet, always remaining steadfast. He was the same in his loyalties. It’s what made Arthur admire and respect him.

“Of course, Sire,” Sir Leon responded. Arthur saw, from the corner of his eye, Sir Theodore scowl. He ignored it.

“Who’s next?”

One at a time, Arthur battled his knights. He pointed out weak spots when he can, having them team up to better each other. Many of them had strengths where others struggle, and he preferred to have them teach and team with each other than pretend to be the best in all areas of fighting. It made them closer, too. These exercises made the knights trust each other more; when one beats another they promise to buy the fallen a drink. It was good for their brotherhood.

Arthur wished sometimes that he were only a knight, so that he could have that same comradery. He knew about the trouble they get up to together. Even Sir Theodore, who went out with his fellow knights and after one drink too many would start hugging the shoulders of his friends and singing the old sea shanties his grandfather taught him. How unfair it was that Arthur is stuck, respected but shelved away; He was too busy in meetings and banquets to ever grace the pub. Not that he was invited much anyway. It would be improper for him to be invited at all, and even more so for him to actually go. (Sir Gwaine always invited him anyway. Arthur appreciated it.)

Before the sun shone in the placement of noon, Arthur dismissed the knights to rest. He trudged back toward Merlin.

“Not bad, today. For a prat,” Merlin greeted him.

“Am not!”

“You are. A royal one, too.” Arthur gave a little ‘hmph’ and the two men walked toward his chambers to prepare him for lunch. He wasn’t excited about it. So far, the visiting King Stephan and his Queen Aviana have refused to say two words to Arthur, speaking only directly to Uther.

Arthur had always fallen in the shadow of his father. Lately, he could barely stand the legacy that shadow provided him. He often wished to be his own man…and one day, to be his own king.

“Well?” Arthur asked as Merlin finished redressing him. “How do I look?”

“Oh, very proper sire,” Merlin answered, sarcastic and indignant. “You don’t seem excited for lunch,” he continued, brushing imaginary dust from Arthur’s shoulders.

“Not so much,” Arthur responded. This was another lovely thing about Merlin. Arthur trusted his friend completely. The only secret between them was Arthur’s ridiculous crush. Sometimes it felt as though Merlin is hiding something, but if it was of any real importance, Arthur was sure Merlin would tell him. “What do you think of them?” He heard himself asking. On top of being his confidant, Merlin also advised him. Arthur has learned in the years of knowing Merlin that for whatever reason, he was usually right. Arthur trusted both Merlin and Merlin’s intuition.

“Haven’t seen them much around the castle,” he shrugged. “But Gwen says Aviana is—” Merlin began.

“Queen Aviana.” Arthur corrected. Merlin, on top of calling Arthur by his first name, (which, despite being completely improper, made Arthur feel very warm and floaty) also usually forgot to label those of nobility, like refusing to use the word ‘sir’ with Gwaine. Even in the safety of Arthur’s own mind, he thought of his knight’s first names as ‘sir.’ Merlin did not share this line of thinking.

“Yeah, yeah. Queen. Anyway, Aviana has been especially rude to Gwen,” Merlin finished.

“Well, that’s never a good sign, is it?” Arthur half-joked. Gwen was without a doubt the sweetest person in the castle. She was also the only one that Morgana seemed completely at ease with, so she’s more than alright in Arthur’s book. If anyone was causing her trouble, there was no doubt that it was out of spite, rather than a misstep on Gwen’s part.

Merlin smiled his half-smile, and took a step back. Arthur had all the faces of Merlin memorized. It was something he was very embarrassed about. But how could he help it, when Merlin was there, with that ditzy, crooked half-smile? How could he ever not be overwhelmed by Merlin, when Merlin was always here, always looking like that, and acting so helpful and like a prat at the same time? Arthur half-smiled back, mostly without meaning to, and went toward the door. He paused, hand on the doorknob as he realized that Merlin was still where he had been a moment before.

“Are you coming? To stand, I mean? I think Gwen will be there,” Arthur said, the words slipping from his tongue before he could catch them. Merlin broke into his wide smile, and crossed the room to catch up.

“Of course I’m coming. How could you possibly handle yourself without me around?” Merlin replied easily.

The feast was as boring as Arthur had predicted it would be. He was barely spoken to, Uther clearly unbothered by the visiting royalty’s refusal to acknowledge or respond to Arthur.

Merlin being there helped. Arthur tried not to look over at him too often, but whenever something happened he couldn’t help but make a small face or roll his eyes at his friend. He noticed that Merlin and Gwen were quietly and subtly having a conversation of their own. Arthur wished so much that Gwen and himself could switch places, so that he could spend his time with Merlin, rather than wasting it being ignored at this table.

“So, Prince…Arthur, isn’t it?” The Queen addressed him for the first time. She smiled, but it felt glued on, and certainly didn’t hide the menacing look in her eyes.

“It is. How are you enjoying your stay, Queen Aviana?” He made a point of pronouncing her name without pause.

“Oh, we never tire of visiting Camelot! How gracious of Uther to allow us to stay while we discuss the renewed terms of our treaty.” She glanced at Uther as she spoke, with that same fake smile. Arthur thought she looked almost slimy from the insincerity.

Uther gracefully thanked them for visiting, and that was the first and last time Arthur got to speak the entire lunch.

“You didn’t say much at the table today,” Merlin said casually, once they had returned to Arthur’s chambers. Arthur sighed angrily as he sat at his desk. Merlin began polishing Arthur’s sword, sitting on the rug, facing him.

“Didn’t have much of a chance, did I?” Arthur responded satirically, feeling tired and pouty from the sour lunch. He hated how he felt. He hated who he was.

Merlin hummed in response.

“I would’ve liked to hear your opinion on what they were discussing?” Merlin said finally. Arthur loved him, he loved him, he loved him.

“About the druids?” Arthur checked, ignoring the warmth spreading through his chest from the simple kindness Merlin had done him by asking. Merlin nodded, looked up at him.

The discussion, the revisitation of the treaty, was in consideration of whose kingdom should send more troops to investigate the camps of druids that had been reported. Apparently, there were more than a few, all on the borders of the two kingdoms. Neither wanted to send forces too close to the other without alert, in order to avoid an accidental proclamation of war.

“I think both troops would be a ridiculous amount to send to investigate a report in the first place. The decision they came to was the right one. Camelot’s knights are more than enough.” Merlin nodded in response, and went back to polishing the sword. Arthur enjoys the quiet between them for a moment before he takes a deep breath. “Can I tell you a secret, Merlin? You can’t tell anyone.” Arthur went on, voice almost at a whisper.

Merlin blinked up at him, curious. Arthur knew he should never say this out loud, but it had been bouncing around his head for so long.

“We shouldn’t need to have forces in the druid camps anyway,” He said. At Merlin’s strange, surprised look, he continued, “I know, I know, magic corrupts. But…the druids are peaceful people.” It had been eating at him for ages. Merlin stared, eyebrows arched, eyes wide.

“Do you, do you really think so?” Merlin answered. His voice sounded small. Arthur wondered if he had upset Merlin with his treasonous thoughts.

“Oh, whatever,” Arthur defended himself, rapidly growing anxious from the conversation. “You say treasonous things all the time! And it’s not like I can do anything about it anyway. No need to hate me for it.” Arthur tried to sound forceful, but he suddenly felt small and pathetic. Of course Merlin thought his idea to spare druids was dumb. Why wouldn’t he? What a miserable king he would be one day.

“No, no, I’m just surprised. I thought you hated magic.” Merlin tried to recover. It was too late. Merlin was right, of course Arthur should hate magic. Of course he should!

“I do.” Arthur lied with as much force as he could muster, then got up from his desk. “Finish that sword and make sure the rest of my armor is polished. Clean out the stables, too, before we head out for patrol. Don’t forget to pack the horses. And I expect this room to be spotless,” he spat out, as he walked toward the door, not pausing to look at Merlin as he left. How incompetent he was! Even Merlin thought he should hate magic!

The truth was Arthur just doesn’t have it in him. His whole life, Uther had told him that magic is evil. Magic corrupts. And sure, many threats on his life have been from magic-users. But just as many attempts to kill him have been by sword or arrow. Why was magic the evil thing, and not the person that wields it? The druids, for example, had never attacked Camelot. Despite the atrocities that Uther had done to their people, they remained friendly, if not downright submissive.

Arthur hadn’t raided a druid camp in the several months that he’d been thinking on this. He wished his brain would let him stop debating it. Even more so, because according to lunch today, he’ll be the one leading the raids in a few days’ time.

Is it slaughter, or is it justice?

Arthur wasn’t sure.

Chapter Text

The morning that the visiting King and Queen leave Camelot marked the day that Arthur, beside many of his and Uther’s knights, must ride out in search of the druid camps.

Arthur had been dreading it all week.

Merlin could tell something was wrong immediately. He made sure Arthur’s favorite foods were on his trays each day, cracking extra jokes, and in general trying to make Arthur smile. In fairness, it was never a hard thing for Merlin to do. His laugh was easily the most contagious Arthur has ever known. And while he usually tried to keep up his princely demeanor…Well. Arthur really needed the laugh.

“How are you feeling?” Merlin asked as he dressed Arthur that morning. It was a quiet morning between the two of them, Arthur deep in his dread. He hadn’t even bothered pretending to oversleep, although he could’ve used the boost of comfort of Merlin’s hand on his wrist.

“I’ll be fine. Stop worrying, you sound like a girl, Merlin,” Arthur responded gruffly.

“Oh, someone has to worry about you. Might as well be me,” Merlin replied simply. Arthur suddenly just wanted to sort of sit down and cry for a while, but that would be mad. So he tried his best to remain stoic.

“Well, you’ll be glad to hear you won’t have to ride out with us. My father said there were more than enough servants for the journey and my own personal manservant wasn’t necessary,” Arthur said, pointedly ignoring the love he felt swarming under his skin as Merlin dusted his shoulders and swept his hair out of his face.

Of course, Arthur was devastated when he’d been informed of this last night. He hadn’t even bothered telling Merlin because he was sure he could think of a way to convince his father. But when the morning sun drifted in his windows, he’d still come up with nothing.

It was a selfish thing to want him to come along, Arthur knew. But what if Merlin hurt himself here, and Arthur wasn’t there to look after him? Merlin wasn’t totally useless on his own, but Arthur liked being the one to protect him.

That, and the fact of the journey, which was always made better by Merlin’s presence. It was those journeys that made them so close in the first place. Their horses would walk ahead of the others, and outside of the castle walls Arthur felt more open and maybe a bit more free. Merlin seemed more at home too, and they talked more freely in two days than they had in months of knowing each other.

On one trip, Arthur had learned Merlin’s favorite flower was a pansy and that he enjoyed dragonflies. On another, he learned that Merlin’s favorite color was ‘blue or maybe yellow or red, wait, yes, definitely red.’ And so on, and so on.

So he always looked forward to them. In fact, it was the only thing that had held him together all week. And now Arthur felt like he was grasping at straw, clawing at nothing, trying frantically not to lose balance.

“What?” Merlin gaped. His eyebrows did that crinkle thing in the forehead, and Arthur knew his friend was as disappointed as he was. He allowed himself a small kindness.

“Sorry. I wish you could come,” Arthur admitted quietly. He cleared his throat as Merlin sort of looked down. “But I’m sure you’ll have plenty to tend to here. Gaius and all that.”

“Are you sure I can’t come?” Merlin pleaded. Arthur was surprised by this. Did Merlin enjoy those trips as much as Arthur? “Someone has to look after your royal backside. Can’t very well do that from here.” Arthur forced himself to laugh at Merlin’s comment and took a step back.

“I’ll be fine, Merlin. I’m not sure how well you’ll do without me, on the other hand.” Arthur raised an eyebrow as he teased.

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Merlin said, looking a little lost in thought. He shook himself finally, then steeply changed the subject, “I’d better go get your horse ready then.”

Merlin, as displeased as he seemed to be for being forced to stay behind, would soon sound the complete opposite.

To be clear, Arthur was not spying. A prince doesn’t spy, because he shouldn’t have to, because it’s his damn castle and if he overheard his name in a hushed whisper he is more than allowed to hide on the other side of the wall and listen.

“But Arthur—”

“I know I need to look after him, but c’mon. You know how hard it would be for me.” That was Merlin, Arthur had his voice memorized. He’d know it anywhere.

“He’s meant to be gone for more than a fortnight, Merlin.” Was that? It sounded like Gwen’s soft, motherly voice. A little harsher than usual, but still Gwen. “Won’t you only worry the entire time he’s gone?” He heard Merlin sigh in response to this. (Arthur had his sighs memorized too.)

“I’m not going. I can’t. I’ve been dreading it all week, and now? It’s like I’ve been let out of a bad deal. It’s the most I could’ve hoped for!” Merlin rushed back. Arthur felt as though he’d been punched. Of course Merlin had been dreading traveling with him. He’d been a fool to convince himself otherwise this morning.

“I know it’d be hard for you, Merlin.” Gwen spoke, soft and kind, in that sweet way only she can, “I just want to make sure you won’t regret letting him go out without you.”

“I can’t go, Gwen. I just…can’t.” Merlin’s voice sounded shaky, which made Arthur want to go and check on him, which was completely idiotic. Luckily, the smarter part of his brain loudly reminded him that he was clearly the reason Merlin didn’t want to go.

Arthur turned and walked away, as calmly as he could manage. And what was that about looking after him? Merlin surely didn’t think that highly of himself, when all he does is dive behind trees and hide when their party is attacked. Maybe he meant his chores on the road? But surely he knows the servants they bring will do his job?

Sometimes Arthur got this itch, sort of at the back of his head, but inside it. Something he couldn't scratch or see. It happened sometimes when he was in council for far too many hours, or when someone asked something complicated and perplexing. It happened when he thought about Merlin for too long.

Merlin was like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. Because Arthur knew, he just knew, that Merlin doesn’t waste his time in the tavern. Yet it’s something to say. A scapegoat, an easy out. Because if Merlin hadn’t been, then why would he keep agreeing that he had?

Complicated and perplexing. Are these words he should use to describe his closest friend?

Arthur shook his head to himself as he walked. No, Merlin wouldn’t lie to Arthur. He spent his time at the tavern. And he just disliked traveling, otherwise he’d have said. Because they’re best friends, and Merlin always told him the truth, like when he’s being a prat or when his hair looks nice, and Arthur was just overthinking it.

Yes. He’s just overthinking it.

He ignored that itch at the back of his head and went to make his last report to his father before he and his knights head off in search of the reported camps.

He walked swiftly into King Uther’s throne room, one hand resting on his sword’s handle, the other arm in perfect pacing with his steps. He always paced best when he knows his father is watching.

Arthur waited to be addressed before speaking.

“My son. How do you fare? Is all prepared for your travels?” Uther didn’t speak, not so much as he commanded. He stood as he always did, chin high, eyes unfazed, hands behind his back. His stance always made him look taller than he actually is. Although, Arthur supposed, that may be the point.

“Yes, Sire,” Arthur replied, reporting on the state of the horses and the knights. “If I may, Father, I would like to bring along another scout. Rather than go ahead, he will return in a fortnight if we cannot, should we find more druid camps than assumed.”

Uther looked pleased by his son’s decision. If he was, though, Arthur would never know.

“Very well. You may take your leave.” Arthur bowed at his father’s dismissal.

When he arrived at his horse, he found Merlin waiting for him, rather than the usual stable boy. It was a nice surprise, as Arthur had already dismissed his servant for the day. And even though he’d been saddened by what he’d overheard, a single smile from Merlin and Arthur would be cured.

As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t know if he could go an entire week without seeing Merlin’s face.

Merlin’s favorite color is red. Arthur had never had one before, until Merlin asked him, one journey. Merlin had smiled so wide and his eyes were glimmering under the sunlight, and it was so easy for Arthur to say that it was blue. It was so easy for his favorite color to be the dark, oceanic hue of Merlin’s excited eyes.

Arthur’s favorite color was still blue, years later. He thinks it probably always will be.

“What, did you get lost on the way to Gaius?” Arthur snarked as he approached. Merlin chuckled.

“Just came to say goodbye, knobhead. And to wish you luck.” Merlin paused for a moment, then, “I wish I were coming.” Merlin’s eyes flicked down at that, though, and Arthur was glad he knew not to believe him.

“I’m sure we won’t need any luck, Merlin,” Arthur replied, and he doesn’t mean to keep talking, doesn’t mean to say something quiet and just meant for Merlin’s ears. “Rest while we’re away. And don’t forget to eat.” He cleared his throat, tried to speak louder again. “You’re beginning to look more like a twig than a manservant.”

Merlin smiled his wide smile, eyes crinkled, and Arthur felt his heart dive.

“Take care of yourself,” Merlin said simply, putting his hand on the crook of Arthur’s neck, between his shoulder and his jaw. Arthur had never felt so overwhelmed in his life. Merlin’s thumb was resting on the bottom of his jaw. How had he gone so long knowing Merlin and never have had this? Arthur couldn’t help but smile in return, no matter how he might’ve tried, and nodded absentmindedly.

Merlin’s hand squeezed once before letting go. Arthur immediately missed the presence. He hoped for a moment that Merlin would dust his shoulders, but that would be ridiculous considering he is in full armor.

But then Merlin brushed his shoulders anyway. Arthur appreciated it.

Even as he led his knights out of Camelot, he would look over his shoulder to see Merlin, still standing at the gate. Each time Arthur looked, Merlin still stood, figure becoming smaller and smaller, until he was too far to see at all.

After that, Arthur focused his sights on the road. He could feel the pit in his stomach. Was it from dread? Or did he really already miss Merlin that much? He couldn't tell.

Sir Leon was behind him, alongside two of Uther’s men, as is the usual order. Arthur waved Leon forward to ride alongside him.

“Sire?” Sir Leon questioned as he rode forward. It was not unusual in their hunting trips for Arthur to wave forward a knight to ride alongside. He wanted to treat them as his equals, when he could.

“Do we have any word how many days travel it will be to the first camp?”

“Only two, if the weather is fair. Otherwise we might have to take shelter,” the knight answered, nervously glancing at the sky.

“They’re only clouds, Sir Leon. No need to look so afraid,” Arthur teased lightly. The man chuckled in response.

“I never did like the rain, Sire. I suppose it sounds silly to you,” he said, quieter, as if embarrassed. Arthur had rarely seen Sir Leon, of all people, embarrassed.

“That’s okay. I have a thing about frogs.” Sir Leon’s head whipped toward the prince.

“What?” He laughed out.

“What? Frogs aren’t to be trusted,” Arthur said in mock seriousness. Sir Leon smiled and laughed, and looked less worried about the sky, so Arthur figured he had succeeded in distracting his knight.

Plus. Frogs are scary. Arthur really has never liked them.

“Got it. No frogs near the prince.” Both men smiled, and Arthur nodded in confirmation.

Merlin already knew about Arthur’s fear of frogs. One night, as Merlin was blowing out Arthur’s candles, Arthur had spoken into the darkness. He told of the time that Morgana had hidden a few frogs in his sheets, which had been many years before he’d met Merlin. The memory had been replaying in his head all night, and he had wondered at dinner when exactly it was that Morgana had stopped smiling like she once had. Arthur had said that bit too, and Merlin had sat at the end of his bed. He’d said that she was probably just lonely. And that unlike Arthur, the future King of Camelot, she didn’t have such a role to play. She must feel trapped in her in-between space, he’d said.

Arthur realized two things then.

One, having a role to play clearly had nothing to do with feeling trapped.

And two, Morgana deserved to feel loved and appreciated.

They aren’t technically blood, but Morgana had always felt like his sister. The following day, he’d had a frog brooch made, and put it in a basket along with all her favorite foods and things. He’d had Gwen deliver it for him, unsigned, knowing she could keep a secret better than Merlin. Arthur smiled to himself, reminded of the memory as he rode through the forest.

He still didn’t know if Morgana knew it was him that day. But she still wore that brooch any time there’s an event at the castle, and she smiled more in that week than she had in a year.

Every few months, Arthur had something special made and sent to her room, anonymously. He wanted her to feel appreciated and loved, by everyone, not just her idiot big brother.

Merlin smiled like a fool anytime he found Arthur doing something like that. And since Arthur was unreasonably and unequivocally obsessed with that smile, Arthur told him whenever he did. In fact, sometimes they would even sneak into the lower town together to find some nice things. Merlin would often pick out something nice for Arthur to buy for Gwen, as well, which of course he would gladly do. Merlin would sometimes grab something for Gaius, too, and it took everything Arthur had to not buy that too. Just so that Merlin wouldn’t have to.

He also wanted to buy everything in every store for Merlin, but he can’t. He can’t. He just can’t.

And, Arthur supposed, it’s a good thing he didn’t. For Merlin is not here, because so much as he might dislike traveling, he wouldn’t put up with it to spend time with Arthur. This didn’t really upset the prince, not so much as it made him feel embarrassed and terribly lonely.

He tried, as he rode, to convince himself that Merlin just didn’t want to see the druids killed.

But Merlin hated magic. So much that he freaked out that night, when Arthur was having doubts. So surely it couldn’t be that, could it? And even if it was, it's not like Merlin would go in and help kill them all. He’d stay behind, with the other servants, preparing dinner or feeding the horses.

This was who Arthur became, all the time, when Merlin wasn't with him. Embarrassing. He just couldn’t stop thinking of him, wondering about him, asking after him. Arthur was downright obsessed. It felt like his blood was boiling beneath his skin, worse and worse each day, and he could never lift a hand to change it.

He wanted, more than anything, to collect banquets of pansies and red gems and give Merlin all the food he wanted. He just wanted to hold Merlin’s hand and maybe dance with him and lay on the roof of the castle and point out all his favorite stars.

But that would be completely inappropriate, wouldn’t it? Arthur would never have the privilege of love. Not only because Merlin was clearly uninterested, but also because he was a manservant and Arthur was a prince.

Trapped, always trapped. His father’s rules were clear: Arthur would be forced to marry someone to enhance the prosperity of his kingdom, rather than marry a lowly servant to enhance his own life. (Even though his father married for love. None of it made sense to Arthur.)

The night arrived quickly, and the servants began setting up camp. Arthur helped as much as the knights and servants would allow, and they all settled in. One more day.

Arthur kept accidentally calling it “murder” or “atrocities” or “evil” in his head, when he thought of what they were about to do.

But it's not, he reminded himself, because the druids are the evil ones.

It's not, because magic users are not allowed in Camelot’s kingdom or in their allies’.

It was justice. It’s not murder.

It’s not. It’s not. It’s not.

Everyone else fell asleep long before Arthur. He lied on his back, looking up at the night sky. He tried to count the stars, to fall asleep. But there are too many.

Was the sky not magical? It always looks like something of magic to him. What possible explanation is there, for all those lights in the night? Surely he was not the only one to wonder if some kind, anonymous sorcerer blessed their world with this view.

His eyes looked to the half-full moon, and his mind drifted back to Merlin.

Because if Merlin, the kindest and most fair person he knew, hated magic? Then Uther must be right. Magic must be evil, for even Merlin to hate it.

And what of Morgana, and Gwen, and Leon? Did they all hate magic too?

The real question, Arthur found himself realizing, is simple. Should he hate magic because it is bad, or because he was told to?

Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep. It wasn't deep, and he was the first to wake in the morning, but he’s grateful he slept at all.

The following night was worse. Sleep evaded him completely. Instead, he conjured images of each threat that he’d seen on his life. He pictured in his mind every person who had ever tried to kill him. Every sorcerer, every liar, every false knight. He tried to remember the details of their faces, the hatred in their eyes. He tried to recall the way their voices sounded, the way they walked or laughed. Arthur desperately wanted to remember them all, if only so that they were remembered. If only so they were not forgotten.

He tried to name each star after every person he’d killed in defense. But there weren’t enough stars.

Chapter Text

Arthur does not think of himself as brave.

He hasn’t in a long time.

If he were braver, he’d stand up to his father. He’d tell Uther’s knights to duel him with fairness. He’d go into the lower town more often, memorizing the faces of the people that his father demands so much from. He’d tell Morgana that she deserves better than what she’s been handed and take steps to make her life more worthy of her. He’d tell Merlin that he’s hopelessly in love with him.

But Arthur knows himself to be a coward.

And he has never known himself to be more of a coward than today.

Today, homes and tents burn around him. There are screams everywhere. Ash is in the air, filling his lungs, making his eyes water.

People rush past him, scared and screaming. Mothers hold their babies, siblings hold hands, trying not to lose one another in the panic. Someone falls, no one stops to help them up; if they fall behind, they die.

This is the job. Kill the druids. Burn their camps. This is justice?

Arthur watches Sir Theodore stab his sword through a young woman. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Arthur watches as her eyes go wide, and her body slumps, and her blood spills on the ground like rain meeting a puddle. Her knees cave and her head lowers, and the only thing holding her up is the piece of metal skewered through her chest. Her tattooed body goes still as Sir Theodore pulls his sword out of her, foot holding her down as he unsheathes it from her corpse, a horrific grin on his face. This is justice?

Arthur watches as Sir Theodore leaves that woman, dead on the ground, without remorse.

Arthur watches as a child runs up to the body.

He can’t hear anything, his ears are ringing, there must be ash in them—But he knows. He knows the child, no more than five, is screaming for his mother. His red hair, dusty from the ash, freckled cheeks stained from crying. The child kneels next to the woman, whose eyes stayed open and wide in death, whose stomach is still bleeding. This is justice?

Arthur watches the child grip his mother’s bloody tunic. He watches him beg an absent God for his mother’s life.

Then he watches as Sir Theodore stabs him from behind. This is not justice.

This is not justice.

This is slaughter.

Arthur’s body comes unglued and he jumps into action. Save them, save them, save them.

He has to save them. He has to do something. These are his people too, magic or not. They deserve safety and kindness as much as anyone else.

He goes tent to tent, searching for survivors of the initial attacks.

Bodies. So many bodies.

The corpses are littered, everywhere. Attacked from behind, or stabbed where they can see. Dead, in their homes, on the lawns of their tents. Their eyes staring up at him as he runs past.

Their ghosts follow him, haunt him. This is his fault. Their deaths lay on his shoulders, heavier than any armor. He has never known what it truly is to be a coward, he realizes, until today.

Arthur finds two boys hiding in a bush. Two brothers. Neither over eighteen.

“You have to go,” Arthur rushed out. The boys take a step back, wide-eyed, afraid. Because why wouldn’t they be? Here he is, wearing Camelot’s colors proudly, as his knights burn their homes and slaughter their friends and their families. Arthur drops his sword, raises his hands in surrender.

“Get to the next druid camp and warn them. It’s east of here. Follow the sun, you should make it before noon.” He moved one hand slowly as he spoke, taking his pouch of rations from his side. He holds it out to them. “I am so sorry.” He said. The boys only stare at him. “Please, you have to run. I’ll try to get anyone else out that I can.” He promised.

The boys slowly, so slowly, reached out and took his pouch. Then they ran. He watched them until they were out of sight.

It’s not enough.

He finds a pregnant woman. An elderly man. A young man, no more than twenty, covered in druid tattoos. It’s not enough.

He passes Sir Gregory as a man kneels on the ground in front of him, begging for his life. He sees it just in time to watch Sir Gregory run him through with his sword.

Arthur looks for Leon. Sir Leon is the only one of his personal knights to be assigned this task. He doesn’t have time to reconsider, he needs his friend’s help now.

When he finds him, he is off to the side, eyes-wide. There isn’t any blood on his sword, just as there isn’t on Arthur’s.

Please, please, please, Arthur thinks.

“Sir Leon.” Arthur began, without giving himself time to back out. “I have to save them. I can’t do this to my people. Please.”

Sir Leon looked at him. He nods, frantically.

“Thank the Gods.” He answered. “I can’t…Sire, I can’t...” His voice sounded as broken as Arthur felt.

“Tell them to go East. We have to get word to the next camp before we arrive.” Arthur commanded. Sir Leon nodded as he ran back into the camp.

They save a few more people.

It’s not enough.

It will never be enough.

Because for every person he warns, for every person he helps to escape, he passes three more bodies. He watches Sir George as he stabs a woman on her knees, sword pushing through her neck. He watches Sir Frederick slice through a child’s heart, the body dropping to the ground as Sir Frederick yells out to another knight.

“That’s eight! How many you got?” He laughed, as he said it.

“Eleven! Catch up, c’mon!” It’s Sir Victor that responded.

They’re laughing. They are playing this battlefield, this planned murder, as a sort of game.

Arthur wonders how many camps have been burned like this, that he hasn’t been here for. How many times have Sir Victor and Sir Frederick laughed as they toss aside the corpses of children?

Arthur wonders, even worse, if he had been here just two years ago, would he be playing along?

He doubts it. He hates himself, and he hated magic, but not like that. Never like that. Murder is still murder. It is never something to celebrate. It should never be something you can forgive yourself for.

The sins of your murders, the ghosts of your dead, they are supposed to haunt you. That’s the only way to be truly human, Arthur thinks. How many have these men killed, to be able to forgive themselves so easily?

Eventually the flames burn out. The camp is charred. Deserted, except for Arthur and his knights. There are bodies everywhere. Children, burnt and blackened in a place they once felt safe. Men and women, drowning in red, on the ground of a place they once called home.

Arthur wants so much to cry and to apologize, but he has knights to lead, to misdirect. These are Uther’s men. They are more than happy to murder these innocents. These children, and mothers, and fathers. More than happy to bring ruin upon these families.

He takes a shuddered breath. He makes eye contact with Sir Leon, who gives him a small nod. He thanks the Gods Leon was here today.

“Alright, go around. Look for any magical items that survived the burning.” He commanded the knights.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. Arthur prays silent apologies to the bodies that surround him, laying on the ground, lifeless.

Is this what he’s been training and pushing his knights for? This wasn’t a battle. This isn’t a battleground, covered with bodies of the enemy. No, these are people of his kingdom, who have never caused harm. Who have never done anything callous. Who did not even defend themselves.

They had magic. They could have, couldn’t they? They should have returned an attack. But instead they ran, and screamed, and begged, and burned. Instead, they died.

He had let them.

He had let his people be murdered at the hands of his men.

How could he ever live with himself after this? How dare he continue to live, while he had forced their deaths?

The knights finish their searches at some point, and circle around him, awaiting orders.

“Alright, we’ll head East in a bit. Let us leave this ground in search of food before we continue.” He instructed them. He hoped stalling for a few hours would allow the next camp enough time to be warned. But his knights are on horses. He knows he needs to slow them down, whatever the cost. “This camp is on the edge of foreign borders, and the bodies might attract animals to them. We must bury them.” He heard half the men sigh, and saw half look at the ground, remorseful. He tried to remark who looked at the ground. They were only following orders, doing as they were told. They have the regret a knight should.

The mass grave took a while to dig. Arthur knew nothing of druid tradition. Is this how they mourn their dead? Should he be burning them instead? Surely, they don’t prefer fire as a grievance, when the pyre is the way so many of them have been murdered.

How many deaths have occurred on that pyre? How many screams out his window has he tried to ignore? How many public executions has he avoided? Those people still died, whether or not he’d been there to see it.

Those murders are still his fault, whether or not he’d been there to acknowledge it.

Arthur hoped the grave was enough to bring them a shred of peace. They deserved more than this, but it is now the best he could do for them.

He counts the bodies as they are put into the grave.

Thirty-eight.

Thirty-eight men, women, and children that had been killed here today.

Thirty-eight lives that he had stolen. These were people. These were his people. It was his duty to protect them, to save them. He had failed them. He had watched as their homes were turned to dust, as they were assassinated, as they fell, scared and abandoned.

And how many people did he manage to save today? How many managed to escape, traumatized and alone? Twelve? Fifteen?

Certainly not enough.

He led the troops by horse, as slowly as he could manage, toward the next camp. Praying, praying, praying.

They found it abandoned, the fire pit still warm from having been used.

Some of the knights swore. He heard Leon sigh from the relief. Arthur wanted to crumple in on himself. Yes, they were safe. But for how long? Especially now that they had no home to return to.

Arthur ordered his men that they were to return to Camelot. He reasoned that if one camp had been warned, they all probably knew by now.

He didn’t know if that was true. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t see one more camp burned. Not one. Not ever.

They began the trek home. It would take another two days to return; Arthur didn’t mind.

He didn’t know who he was going to be when he returned to Camelot. Certainly not his father’s sheep dog, sent to do Uther’s bidding on any particular atrocity. He could not sit back, not after this. Thirty-eight deaths was already too heavy on his shoulders. He wouldn’t see another body on the pyre. He couldn’t.

Arthur knows he needs sleep, knows he hasn’t slept properly in days, but he can’t manage it. He cannot fall asleep without seeing those faces, either staring up at him or pushed into the ground, begging silently for his help.

Every time he closes his eyes, the faces are there. All thirty-eight, murdered, staring at him.

Waiting to see what he does next.

Chapter Text

When Arthur rides back into Camelot, he feels the shame follow him through the gates, as he has felt it follow him the entire ride. As he had felt it wrapped around him each night, like a blanket, perhaps, if a blanket was meant to swallow him whole with guilt. The crisp spring air does nothing for his lungs, which feel as though they have been crushed.

He leads the knights forward, and people gather to their sides, clapping for them and welcoming them back. This is not unusual, the people do this even when they return from hunting trips. But today, it feels wrong. It’s undeserved, in the most awful sort of way.

The applause is muffled in his ears, as though they are still filled with ash. Arthur doesn’t know what it feels like to be drowning. He is sure this must be it.

He dismounts the horse as quickly as he can manage, passing his ropes off to the stable boy awaiting them. Arthur tries to look calm, undisturbed, but the world feels like it is collapsing on top of him, and the voices are too loud, and he feels nauseous in a way he never has before.

Somehow, he manages to get into the corridors of the castle. Usually he’d go straight to the throne room to report to his father, but he can’t—He can’t breathe. Arthur can’t breathe.

The world is shifting around him, swirling onto him. He held it together for the entirety of the journey back, but as soon as he entered Camelot, the panic began washing over him in waves.

He had been able to stay focused, because he had to be, because he was in command. But here, his body seems to know Arthur is not the one making the calls. His brain no longer needs to stay so sharp and focused. His limbs are loosening, more than they should. Not relaxing, but unscrewing, and his legs have begun to melt into the floor, a puddle where his feet should be. He presses a hand against the wall as he walks in an attempt to remain upright.

All the hallways look the same. How to get to his room? Arthur isn’t sure.

One corner.

Another.

Another.

Isn’t this the hallway he was just in?

Black spots begin to line his vision. They look like the faces of the druids. They dance across his eyelids in every blink. His room, he needs to get to his room, where he’ll be safe—

“Arthur?” Arthur tries to focus on the figure in front of him. Please, please, Arthur thinks. “Arthur, are you alright?” There are hands gripping his arms, holding him steady. He tries again to center his gaze. The details of Merlin’s face finally approach his eyes, wiping away the foggy figure he had been before.

“I’m. Fine. I’m just, I’m just fine.” Arthur meant to sound sure and stoic, but his voice is breathy and he is pretty sure he has a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, holding far too tightly for him to pass as fine. He feels a hand come to his forehead.

“You are far too pale.” He hears Merlin say, “Have you eaten? Are you poisoned?” Arthur shook his head in response, too many questions, it’s too many, too much…“Hey, how about we just get you laid down, yeah?” Merlin’s voice is softer now. Arthur can see his feet moving beneath him, but he can’t feel himself walking, can’t feel Merlin’s arms holding him up.

Merlin escorts Arthur to his chambers, undresses him to his underclothing, and then tucks him into bed. Arthur’s body has shut down, he can’t see, he can’t feel, he knows he is shaking but he can’t stop.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright.” Merlin pet Arthur’s hair down as he spoke, standing beside the bed, looking at Arthur with a worry he could not see. “Sh, sh, it’s okay. It’s alright. You’re okay, Arthur, you’re okay.”

As has always been the way, Arthur could finally breathe. He can always breathe better when Merlin is around.

“I have to, I have to report to my father.” Arthur said weakly.

“I’ll go tell Leon to do it.” Merlin responded, voice still quiet and comforting. “I’ll have him tell Uther you were on watch last night. You just needed some sleep. That’s all.” He continued petting Arthur’s hair, whispering soft reassurances. “You’re okay, you’re okay. Get some rest.”

Arthur fell asleep immediately.

He doesn’t know, then, how the druid got into his room as he slept.

All he knows is she is there, at the foot of his bed.

She has knotted brown hair, standing there, dressed in rags. Her tattoos are covered with layers of the dirt that also coats her face. She points a finger at Arthur.

“You! You did this!” She spit at him. Arthur tried to respond, but she was right, and what could he possibly say to erase that fact, or to make it better? Arthur looked down in shame.

The woman tried to speak again, but it seemed the words could not escape her.

Arthur looked up again only to see her throat had been slashed. The blood poured down onto her ragged clothing, into her tangled hair.

It wouldn’t stop. The blood streamed down, onto his bed, onto his floor. Arthur is drowning in it.

He tries to get up, to reach the druid, to stop the blood.

There’s too much.

The blood surrounds him, thick waves pushing and pulling at him, trying to drown him in the sea of red.

He tries to call to the woman, but no words escape his mouth.

“Ya….ya…you…ih is.” She garbled out at him, blood dripping from her mouth, her eyes, her nose, her ears.

And then Merlin shook Arthur awake.

He practically leaped as he sat up, trying to find the woman before it was too late, trying to stop her throat being cut—

It’s funny, how nightmares seem so real when they are being had. Afterwards, it is easy to realize how impossible it would be. But in the moment?

Arthur had felt his heart beating in his throat. He had felt the warmth of the thick blood as it wrapped around him. He had heard the woman’s voice, clear as crystal, blaming him for what he had done.

He realized finally that Merlin’s eyes were on him. He was sat gingerly on the bed, facing Arthur.

“Arthur?” He asked quietly.

“I’m, I’m fine. I’m fine.” Arthur said, trying more to convince himself than to convince Merlin. He cleared his throat, trying to clear his head of the dream. “What time is it?” He swallowed, glancing at the window, which showed that it was still dark.

“This is usually the time I’d be putting you to bed, Sire. I was finishing my nightly chores and…” Merlin trailed off, concerned eyes not leaving Arthur.

“I’m fine. It was just a dream.” His voice is finally strong again, more convincing. “No need to worry Merlin, everyone gets them sometimes. Even Princes.” Arthur lied with a cheeky smile. Merlin still looks deeply worried, but Arthur ignores it. “Do you know if my father is awake? I’m sure Leon’s report was satisfactory, but I’d like to give my own.” Merlin looked disappointed for a moment, but it disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

“The whole castle is asleep, I think. I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow.” As Merlin spoke, he put a gentle hand on the front of Arthur’s chest, pushing him lightly back down into the bed. He pet Arthur’s hair absentmindedly as he continued. “I was reading, I think you might’ve been sleep deprived earlier. I’m surprised you woke up at all today.”

Arthur is very distracted because Merlin is touching his hair. And he’s touching it as though he always has, even though Arthur knows he hasn’t. The most he gets from Merlin is him straightening his hair in the morning, or ruffling his hair occasionally. But this? Arthur loves this. Probably more than anything else in the world. How has he gone so long without it? He wishes Merlin would do this forever, because already he feels himself being lulled back to sleep.

“Sorry.” He answered, eyes closed, only half paying attention to the conversation.

“What for?” Merlin asked him.

“Hm? Oh, I dunno.” His words sounded as soft and sleepy as he felt. “I’ve done something, I’m sure.”

“No, no, you’re fine. Just a prat.” Merlin responded quietly. Arthur feels himself falling again, the rhythmic comfort of Merlin’s hand in his hair making him feel completely at ease. “But that’s okay, I don’t mind.” He heard Merlin whisper as he fell fully back into his dreams once again.

And dreams they were. For the woman soon returned there, rooted in her spot at the end of his bed.

He realized finally that it wasn’t dirt that covered her.

It was ash.

~

When Arthur awoke the following morning, he found his breakfast tray on the table and his curtains opened. As he begins to get out of bed, muscles aching, his door opens quietly and slowly.

“Oh, you’re up!” Merlin smiled at him. Arthur resisted the urge to smile back.

“Did you let me oversleep?” He asked, concerned.

“Only for a few minutes. We’ll skip the bath until after training.” Merlin shrugged. “No big deal.” Arthur scowled in response. “You needed the sleep.” Merlin added, more quietly. Arthur let his face relax, made himself nod, and went to sit at his desk for breakfast.

“Is this a plum?” Arthur asked as he looked over his tray. He quietly rejoices. He loves plums. Merlin glances at him as he continues tidying.

“Looks like one.” He shrugged.

“But, these are out of season. Where did you get it?” Arthur pressed, knowing full well it was Merlin who had put it on his plate. He sees the tips of Merlin’s ears go red.

“I dunno, it was just in the kitchen.” Merlin defended casually. “Why? Do you have a problem with plums?” He asked, sounding like he absolutely knew the answer to the question.

It made Arthur want to melt.

“No, no,” Arthur said, as he felt the heat rising in his cheeks. He looked down at the plum, grinning like an idiot. “Plums are fine.” He saw Merlin smile to himself, before he turned away to continue his chores.

Merlin told him his schedule for the day. Arthur was glad his father had asked for him this morning, before training, so he could get it out of the way.

He finished breakfast, and Merlin dressed him, and dusted his shoulders, and if he took longer to put Arthur’s hair into place, Arthur certainly didn’t mind.

He was glad, however, that when he left his room he actually knew where to go. He’d grown up in this castle, and yet yesterday he’d found it impossible to remember which way was which. Merlin said last night, he might’ve been sleep deprived? That would make sense, from the way he hadn’t slept, but Arthur is sure it was more than that. Probably the sleep deprivation on top of the panic he’d been feeling is truly what had done him in. But Merlin needn’t know any of that.

“Good morning, Father.” Arthur greeted his father in his throne room after Uther had nodded at him.

“Good morning, my son. I was informed you fell ill last night?” Uther questioned.

“The knights were exhausted from our travels, so I took the remaining watch on our last night of travel. I only over-extended myself temporarily.” Arthur lied.

“I see. Leon tells me you were successful in seeking out only one druid camp?” Uther continued his questioning.

“Yes.” Arthur nodded. “Unfortunately, the druids must have used telepathy to warn the other camps to scatter before they died.” He knew this wasn’t true. But he also knew his father would never change his mind about magic. And Arthur was no use to anyone in prison for treason.

“Well, we will have to seek them out soon, before they have time to strategize and attack.” Uther urged. Arthur had to try very hard not to roll his eyes. You liar. You fucking liar. You murderer. You lying murderer. He continued assaulting his father with names in his head as he responded.

“I agree. I think if we arrive with fewer men, we can take them by surprise, use stealth to prevent warnings.” Arthur had taken the two days of traveling back to Camelot to decide how he would save the druids from this. He knew Uther would agree to his lie. “I think it best if I go with a few select knights. Sir Gwaine, Sir Leon, and Sir Percival have already volunteered.” Arthur had, in fact, not even asked them. But he knew Leon would help him convince the others, if need be.

“Leon didn’t mention this in his report.” Uther responded plainly.

“I doubt he is qualified to suggest such a mission.” Arthur had decided to diss Leon while he was eating his breakfast this morning, knowing Leon’s report would not match his. He hoped Leon wouldn’t mind. Uther hummed in agreement.

“When do you expect to leave?” Uther said finally.

“I am at your disposal, Sire.”

“Very well. You’ll have one night of rest, you’ll ride out on the morrow.” Uther decided. Arthur bowed and paced out of the room.

Perfect.

He went directly to training with the knights, after Merlin helped him into his armor.

Sir Frederick was the first volunteer to practice dueling with him.

Arthur looked at him, feeling as though he was seeing him for the first time.

Sir Frederick is a tall man. He looms over most. He has ginger hair and a matching beard, and freckles everywhere in between. In fact, he looks like that first child, who Sir Theodore had stabbed from behind. Arthur wonders if this is what the child would have looked like one day, if it hadn’t been for him and his knights.

And here Sir Frederick stands, with an easy smile on his face, helmet under his arm.

This is the man who had been laughing as he murdered a child. This is the man who had made a game out of a massacre. Arthur felt himself seethe with anger, disappointment, betrayal. More than anything, he felt embarrassed. This was one of his dueling partners, someone he’d known for years. A knight he commands. A knight he once even respected.

Arthur wants to spit at him, wants to throw a gauntlet at his feet. Instead, he turns to the group, voice booming.

“If anyone here falls or surrenders too quickly, you’ll be helping my manservant with his chores for the rest of the day.” He waited until everyone was looking at him, waited until they understood he was not joking. “Is. That. Clear.” His voice sounded menacing, even to his own ears.

Sir George looked around, then spoke.

“How quickly is too quickly?” He asked. Arthur smiled wickedly.

“I guess we’ll find out.” He turned back to Frederick, a wicked smile still on his face. “If you don’t lose, I suppose it won’t matter.” He puts his helmet on, just as Frederick does.

The duel was challenging, in the way that it would have been fun for Arthur if he wasn’t up against a child murderer. He bottled his emotion down, making himself think rationally. Only allowing extra emotion to power a hit with more force.

Their swords meet a few times, and Frederick should overpower him on those bits, by height alone, but he isn’t as quick as Arthur.

Arthur knows Frederick is fighting fair, giving it his all. Arthur has him on his back in less than two minutes.

“Let’s hope no-one beats your time, or you’ll be the one cleaning out the stables today.” He spit, letting Frederick pick himself up from the ground. He heard the knight grumble to himself. “What was that, Sir Frederick?” Arthur’s helmet is already off, eyes burning into the man.

“N–Nothing, Sire.”

“Thought not.” Arthur snipped. He turned back to the other knights. “Who wants to try against his ridiculous time?” Just to be an asshole, he made sure to wait much longer to win against the other knights. A few of them were actually very impressive fights. He found that his knights were enjoying themselves more, too, when they were actually trying against him.

Between battles, he made sure to mention quietly to Sir Gwaine, Sir Leon, and Sir Percival to meet after training with him.

When training adjourned, Merlin helped him out of his armor.

“You were trying much harder, today.” He commented.

“What?” Arthur was surprised Merlin had noticed the change.

“Seemed like they were actually trying to win, for once.” Merlin said simply. Arthur smiled a bit.

“Well, I gave them good incentive.”

“And what would that be?” Merlin asked, causing Arthur to laugh to himself.

“Sir Frederick will be replacing you in cleaning the stables today.” Merlin looked up from where he had been setting down Arthur’s chestplate.

“What?” He gasped. “You can’t, you can’t do that! Can you?”

“Sure I can. He deserves it.” Arthur responded, without thinking. In truth, Frederick deserves much worse.

“Well, I suppose that’ll teach them to stop going easy on you.” Merlin scoffed to himself. “Which I always think is silly. You’re the best swordsman of them all.”

His compliment settled into Arthur’s gut, like a snake of fire slithering its way around him. Crawling up his spine, to the back of his neck, making his hair stand on end.

“Better than Gwaine?” Arthur teased.

“Oh, good point. Second best swordsman.” At Arthur’s offended reaction, Merlin burst out laughing, before gathering up all the armor.

“I’m off to polish these, unless you want me in that meeting?”

“No!” Arthur said, too quickly. “I mean,” He coughed, “No, that’ll be fine.” Merlin gave him a strange look, but complied nonetheless.

“Alright,” Merlin drawled out slowly, then turned, “I’ll see you at lunch!” He called out over his shoulder.

“See you—” Arthur began, although Merlin had already left him alone in the tent. “At lunch.”

Arthur stood there alone for a moment. It was clear to him in a way it hadn’t been before; there was a reason he didn’t get the privilege of touch or of love.

It was because he didn’t deserve it.

All these years, yearning and fooling himself. Letting himself fall in love with Merlin, and letting himself enjoy the way Merlin’s hands felt on his shoulders or in his hair.

He had been free-falling for so long, and yet that is another freedom, another privilege he does not deserve.

Had he ever deserved these things? Is he only realizing his faults and his failures now? As if blaming himself enough will ever make up for the deaths on his shoulders, the blood on his hands? As if Arthur hating himself enough will allow thirty-eight druids to find the peace they would’ve had if it hadn’t been for him?

It doesn’t matter, he supposes.

He hates himself all the same.

Chapter Text

As it turns out, it was not hard to ask the knights for help. Sir Gwaine agreed before Arthur had even finished the proposition. Sir Percival was not far behind.

“Can I ask, and it’s not that I’m not grateful—” Arthur began.

“Why are we so keen to help?” Sir Gwaine finished for him. Arthur nodded. Surprisingly, Sir Percival spoke first.

“Well, it’s not about magic, at least for me. It’s you I follow, not Uther.” He said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, Arthur felt his heart swell. He tried not to look as surprised as he felt. He clearly didn’t hide it well, because Sir Leon and Sir Gwaine chuckled, and Sir Percival went on, “You may not be King yet, but you act with more thought than your father ever has. I apologize if I’ve overstepped.”

“No, no, you haven’t.” Arthur defended him.

“Well it’s not all about you princess.” Sir Gwaine chimed in, the usual sparkle in his eye. “I’m sick of watching people die just because they’ve got magic. They’re so scared, now, running around having to keep this secret.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked. Sir Gwaine coughed.

“Just, that, people should be free to be who they are. That’s all.” Arthur felt Sir Gwaine was holding something back, but he was in no position to question him.

“Alright. Well, I agree. We’ll ride out in the morning. We’ll bring rations and supplies, and if we find any camps we’ll warn them, and leave behind the only help we can offer.” Arthur pinched his nose as he finished, looking down. He sighed. “It isn’t enough. They deserve better, after all we’ve done to them.” Arthur looked up to find Sir Leon nodding sadly to himself.

“But what else could we do?” Sir Leon said, quietly.

Nobody really had an answer to that. What else could they do, without Uther realizing the true mission hidden beneath his command? What else could they do, to make up for the countless atrocities against the druid people?

Arthur wished he could bring Merlin along. Arthur was already missing him, and he hadn’t even left yet. But Merlin hates magic, and this cannot be jeopardized. Not that he believed Merlin would actually tell anyone, if he found out. But he didn’t want Merlin to have to make that choice.

So when he got back to his chamber, to have his bath, and found Merlin waiting for him, he lied to him, the same way he had Uther.

For a millisecond, he thought he saw Merlin look terribly sad. But it was gone so quickly, and Arthur had no explanation for it that would make sense, so he chose to ignore it, same as that itch at the back of his head.

Just a trick of the light.

“I can’t believe I get to have more days off already!” He proclaimed. If it was a little more dim than it should be, Arthur ignored it. He climbed into the bath.

“Yes well, you’d better not allow my chamber to gather dust.” Arthur snarked.

“Oh, it’ll be in perfect condition, you prat.” Merlin responded sarcastically.

“It better.” Arthur leaned his head back. He didn’t close his eyes, though, the way he would’ve just a week ago.

He doesn’t want to say he’s bothered by the nightmare, because it’s only fair that he should have one. It’s the least he deserves. But it certainly isn’t pleasant. And when he closes his eyes, it’s not that he sees the woman, it’s just that the darkness looks a lot like smoke.

When Arthur sees that smoke hidden behind his eyelids, his brain imagines a replay. And even if it’s only for a second, it’s like he’s there again.

He hears the screaming in his head. He remembers the way people were running, the way they looked as they died.

Oh, good. Now he’s imagining it even with his eyes open.

“You alright, Sire?” Merlin said, just as Arthur realized he’d been staring at the ceiling for long enough that the bathwater should have gone cold. He was lucky to have realized it before it could, though.

“Yes, just fine.” Arthur responded, trying to sound convincing.

“Alright.” Merlin answered, in a way that made Arthur think he didn’t believe him at all.

Merlin returned to fiddling around the room. Arthur returned to his bathing. He found he couldn’t enjoy the quiet the way he used to.

“Merlin?” Arthur spoke, not looking up from the tub. “Would you. Would you hum? The way you do sometimes? I can’t…I can’t stand the quiet this morning.” Merlin gave a small, confused smile, but obliged. His tune filled the empty space in the room, circling warmth around Arthur, filling up his lungs and his chest, in a way that air never could. He leaned his head back, again.

He tried to imagine anything else.

But there it was again, like always, now. The camps, the faces of the dead, carving themselves into his ceiling.

“C’mon, lean forward.” Merlin’s voice shocked him from behind, standing over him. Arthur tilted his head back to see Merlin’s crooked smile. “C’mon, you haven’t all that much time.” He urged. Arthur leaned forward to continue scrubbing his head. “Oh, stop it, prat. I’ll do it.” Merlin chuckled.

Arthur froze, confused, as Merlin began humming again, dipping his fingers in the water and pulling them through Arthur’s hair softly.

Arthur felt more like putty, than a man in a bath. He leaned to Merlin’s accord, eyes fluttering closed without meaning to. But Merlin’s humming was so close to his ears, now, and finally Arthur couldn’t hear the screams. There were only spectacular colors, dotting his closed eyes, and Merlin’s soft hums.

Time must have passed, but the bathwater is still warm, and Arthur is so at peace that he feels none of it. Only when Merlin’s quiet tune stops does he open his eyes.

“That’s better. Come on then, time to get you dressed.”

Arthur had a few princely duties around the castle, and had a dinner to attend that evening, but he found time, mid-day, to slip away.

He put on his most ragged cloak, and went toward the lower town, wishing quietly that Merlin was beside him. But Merlin couldn’t come, because Merlin didn’t know, because, because, because.

When he reaches the square, Arthur walks toward the stone mason.

As Arthur walks, though, his guilt stacks on his back like bricks have been sown to his cloak. These townspeople, whom he have sworn to protect; Has he betrayed them? Has he not only been the downfall of the druids, but will be the downfall of the townspeople? He feels like a traitor, a serpent in his own skin.

Because that’s what he is, now, isn’t he?

Whether he’s doing the right thing or not, he has officially betrayed the crown. He is a traitor now, and was the moment he helped those druids escape.

It’s not just that he’s ignoring a rule, or abusing a law. He is flat out rejecting Uther’s most unbending legislation. Because it’s not just druids that Arthur won’t hurt. It’s anyone. It’s everyone. Everyone, magic or not, is safe with him. And that is not how Uther rules.

Arthur wonders if he should feel as guilty about it as he does. Lying to his father was the easy part. But he is defying everything he has ever been taught, going behind the back of even his own kingdom.

But how could he ever live with himself if he doesn’t help them?

The thought strikes him like a bolt of lightning through his chest: How does Uther live with himself?

His father was always someone Arthur respected. He was the only parent he ever knew, so of course Arthur had grown up looking up to the man.

Morgana and Arthur had always fought over Uther’s attention growing up. Uther’s compliments were few and far between, and they certainly would not settle on the shoulders of both children. In their younger years, Morgana and Arthur would battle with wooden swords, practicing their dodging and footwork. Every once in a while, they would get an approving nod from Uther.

Arthur recalled often feeling jealous of Morgana in their youth. He remembered when she used to get scared at night, the wind too loud against her window, the room too big, the shadows growing around her. She would pass his room to reach Uther’s, and the King would hug her and carry her back to her room. Arthur remembered following each time it happened, watching as Uther tucked her into bed, reminding her from the doorway that she would always be safest in the castle.

Arthur remembered one night, when he was maybe seven or eight, he was so desperate for a hug that he had faked a nightmare, and went to his father’s room. He had walked past his knightly guards, looming over him, and knocked softly on the door. Uther had looked down at him and only sighed, murmuring to himself about how his son had turned into a girl, and promptly closed his door.

(Arthur wonders, not for the first time, if his insults to Merlin are simply reflections of insults that had once been pelted on him. He wishes he knew how to be better.)

As Arthur and Morgana got older, their standards split completely.. Arthur was praised for agreeing with Uther, and for his fighting and hunting. Morgana was praised for being quiet, and for being beautiful.

Arthur suddenly wished he had stopped to talk to Morgana, to ask her opinion on all of it. To ask her what she thought of Uther, now that they’d both grown older. Surely, she’s grown to have opinions of her own about the man that prefers her when she is silent.

He promised himself he’d go straight to her when he was done here.

Arthur entered the shop to see a man with a broom whistling to himself. Arthur knew the name of every shop-keeper, and most farmers, which always angered Uther. His father always reprimanded him, that there was no use in knowing the names of swords and brooms. Tools are still tools.

“Mr. Jameson, how are you sir?” Arthur greeted the man, grateful as always that he knows his name.

“Oh, Sire, how do you do, Sire?” The man responded nervously. Arthur smiled widely, and felt the man relax.

“I’m well. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m well, Sire, very well.”

“And Mrs. Jameson, is she doing well? Last I remember you had a little one coming around, hm?” The man seemed overjoyed and very flattered at Arthur’s memory.

“Oh! Yes, yes, should be any day now. The midwife says she is coming along fine.” Mr. Jameson chuckled to himself. “I’ll tell you though, my wife is certainly at the end of her rope.” Arthur laughed at the stone mason’s joke. “So, what can I do for you, Sire?”

“I was wondering if you had enough time to craft something for me. I’d need it before I leave on the morrow. I know I’m asking for it late, but I hope to make it worth your while.” That was certainly true. Whenever he visits the town, he always tries to leave extra coins in their pockets. Only enough that Uther doesn’t notice, or he’d raise the taxes again on the assumption their commoners could suddenly afford them.

“I’m sure I can manage, Sire, what do you need?”

Arthur described to him what he was hoping for, careful not to explain why he wanted it, or what it is for. He made sure to ask for it to be as light as Mr. Jameson could manage creating, for it would have to travel by horse. Mr. Jameson promised he’d work through the night to complete it. Arthur thanked him profusely, and left him a more than generous payment.

Arthur hurries back to the castle, wanting to catch Morgana before they had to attend dinner.

“Arthur?” She asked, when she found him standing at her door. She was fastening her frog brooch to her dress, facing toward him. “Ugh, this damn, Arthur, would you mind?” She held it out to him. He stepped into the room, and took the brooch out of her hands.

“Did I ever tell you how I got this?” She asked, as he fastened it to her dress. He shook his head, trying to keep his face plain. “It just showed up on my door, in a basket. At first I thought it was Gwen, but these are real emeralds. Must be someone with a bit of money to spare.” Arthur finished, and took a step back. “I suppose I’ll never know who sent it to me. But it’s my favorite brooch, all the same.” Morgana smiled at him.

“Yeah, well, green suits you.” Arthur responded simply. Morgana turned the chair from her desk out, and gestured to it as she went to sit on the edge of her bed.

“What can I help you with?”

“I was wondering,” Arthur glanced nervously at the door. “Do you mind?” He asked, nodding at it.

“No, go ahead.” Arthur closed her door, before sitting in the chair.

“I was wondering if you…How you feel about…” The King? My Father? No, he could be viewed as neither of those titles in this conversation. “Uther.” Arthur finished finally. Morgana raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you ask?” She answered, dodging the question. Arthur sighed.

“Call it a crisis of faith.” He shrugged cooly. Her eyebrows scrunched together.

“Speak plainly, Arthur.” She commanded. Her voice is soft, but forceful. Arthur nodded.

“I don’t….agree with Uther’s…policies. I was supposed to lead a raid on a druid camp just days ago—” He began.

“Supposed to?” Morgana interrupted. Her face suddenly looked lighter, almost hopeful.

“I mean. The raid still happened. People still died. I wasn’t. I couldn’t.” He swallowed, looked down. “I wasn’t fast enough.”

“What do you mean?” There is hope in her voice too, Arthur can hear it.

“I tried to save them. But it wasn’t enough.” Arthur realized he was beginning to cry, and tried to reign himself in. “So many people died, and I…I tried.” He couldn’t stop himself, felt the ash in his throat again, felt it even as his sobs carried up his throat. “I was with Uther’s knights,” He was bent over himself now, hands holding his head. “And they were, they were laughing!” He choked on the last word, trying and failing to calm down. “And I just. I can’t do it anymore, Morgana. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” At some point she must’ve moved to him, because he feels her hand pat his back as he tries to pull himself together.

She waits for him to calm down. When his sobs finally reside, she pats his head once before going back to sit on the bed.

“I’m not sure I’ve seen you cry in years.” Morgana said quietly.

“I’m not sure I have either.” Arthur paused, wiped his eyes. “I feel like it all the time, these days, though. I think my father would have me thrown in the dungeons if he ever saw it.” He half-joked, wondering if he was right.

“I didn’t know you disagreed with him.” She changed the subject, sounding embarrassed at her proclamation.

“I mean, I have disagreed about magic for almost a year. But thinking about it and acting on it are very different.” He responded. She nodded.

“And you want to, now? Act on it, I mean?” Morgana asked. He looked at her, more sure than he’d ever been.

“No more of this madness. Morgana, it’s wrong. Those are my people he’s ordering deaths on. My people that he is massacring.” There is a pause between them, a moment of Morgana sizing him up.

“I’m proud of you. I think you’ll be a great King.” She said finally. She is the only person in the world who knows how much a compliment means. The only person who understands what it is to have a complete lack of them. He shakes his head.

“I couldn’t even save half of them, Morgana.” He sighed. “I deserve no praise. At least my father is decisive. I’ve no idea what to do.”

“Uther is a fool, he always has been. He rules with fear.” Arthur chuckled at this.

“That’s what I came here to ask you. Your opinion of him.”

“Does it matter?” Morgana asks, seeming genuinely curious. Arthur thinks for a moment. Why had he come here, seeking her guidance?

“I think you are one of the wisest people I know.” He spoke finally. “Often you’ve been forced to sit back and observe, as if your opinion carries less weight. But I trust your guidance, and I value your thoughts.” Morgana, knowing the weight of a compliment the same way he did, looked startled and almost content. She broke into a small smile.

“I didn’t think you noticed that.” She responded, more meekly than she had before.

“What?” She gave him an incredulous look. “That you’d been pushed to the side? That you’d been silenced?” She only stared, face tilted slightly, eyes wide. “Of course I noticed Morgana. I’ve always been the coward of the two of us. If you were holding your opinion, I knew it wasn’t a choice of your own.” She snorted.

“You’ve never seemed a coward.” She corrected. Arthur fought the urge to remind her that it was his complicity that had allowed her silence. “Arthur, you couldn’t’ve helped.” Morgana seemed to read his mind. “What were you supposed to do, question Uther? Threaten him? Beg him? You’re a prince, but that doesn’t mean you’re safe from treason, Arthur.” She reminded him, her voice more forceful.

“I suppose that brings us back to the task at hand.” He changed the subject.

“I thought you were meant to do another raid tomorrow?” She asked. He smiled, a little.

“I told him that if I arrived with less knights we could be more stealthy.” Morgana still looked confused. “Sir Leon helped me, at the first raid. Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival will also be joining us.” Morgana laughed out loud before covering her mouth.

“You trickster!” She exclaimed. Arthur laughed a little, too.

His smile faded.

“It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough, Morgana. I’ll never be able to outweigh the balance.” He said sadly.

“I disagree. Sneakery is the best we can do for now. The best we can do is enough.” Arthur breathed in her words. Trying to let their weight convince him. He nodded, then stood.

“I suppose I should go prepare myself for dinner.” He said, turning for the door.

“So, you’re alright with magic, now?” Morgana called faintly over his shoulder.

“Magic or not, everyone in Camelot deserves to freely be who they are, with the same protection and kindness nonetheless.” He said, echoing Sir Gwaine’s words. He turned around to see her standing, wide eyed.

“Promise?” She said, the way she used to when they were small.

“Promise.” Arthur replied, remembering. She smiled widely, almost laughing with relief.

“Good, because…Because I have it. I am magic.” Morgana stood tall, proud, awaiting his response. Arthur stares at her for a moment. He wonders how long she believed he would report her, if she’d told him. He wonders how long his sister has considered him a threat. The thought breaks his heart.

“I am sorry you couldn’t tell me before,” He said, trying to appear as kind and warm as he could, “But I’m proud of you, and you are loved, and I won’t let anything happen to you.” Morgana looks like she could cry, her hands folded under her chin, a smile evident on her face.

“I’m proud of you, Arthur. I just…Thank you.” He nodded and smiled.

“So, you, you practice it?” He asked.

“Not really. I’m only trying to control it.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Do you remember how I had nightmares, as a child?” Arthur nodded. “A few months ago, they became something else. Still nightmares, I suppose, but they become real. Prophecies.” She finished.

“Oh, that must be haunting. Are you, are you alright?” Arthur reacted without thinking, and it only made Morgana smile more.

“I am getting there.” She nodded enthusiastically as she spoke. “Gods, I…I feel like I’ve been hiding this forever.” Her face looked younger, with this weight off her shoulders.

“Does no-one else know?” Arthur questioned.

“Just Gwen. She helps best she can.” Arthur smiled at this, raising an eyebrow.

“How is Gwen?” He asked, in a teasing voice. Morgana blushed immediately.

“Oh, go get ready for dinner, you idiot.” She shooed him out of her room.

Arthur felt more solidified in his decision than ever before. Morgana supporting him would have helped enough, but him supporting and protecting his sister? Nothing has ever been easier.

Chapter Text

Arthur doesn’t know how he arrived here.

He’s back at that camp.

Why have they set up again?

Aren’t they smart enough not to return?

A child runs up to him, grabbing Arthur by his trousers. Arthur cursed himself, how had he not put on armor?

“Please.” The child begged. Arthur stared, confused. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but couldn’t find the words.

The child coughed, and coughed, and coughed, until it was clear that he could not stop on his own.

Arthur knelt down to him. The child’s face was quickly becoming red.

Still unable to speak, Arthur tried to give his back a harsh pat, to dislodge whatever was in the child’s throat. As soon as his hand touched his back, though, he couldn’t remove it. Arthur’s hand began to quickly feel aflame.

The child couldn’t stop coughing. Arthur tries in desperation to shake the child, breathe, breathe.

But the boy does not. Arthur’s hand begins to feel as though it is on fire, against this child’s back. He tries to swallow a scream from the pain, for he doesn’t want to alarm the druid.

The child abruptly stops coughing. He is sweating, and his face is red and puffy. His eyes are bloodshot and afraid. He looks at Arthur again, begging.

“Please?”

The boy's pale skin begins to char and blacken. His cheek becomes discolored and the skin begins to fall off, as though it were made of candle wax. His eyes are dripping, sinking. Arthur can’t hold back his scream. The burn of his hand shoots up through his arm, scorching his neck and shoulder. He feels invisible flames lick at him, surrounding himself and the boy.

Protectively and without thought, he wraps the boy under him, hoping that his own body would be taken by the flames first, so that the child might still have a chance.

Arthur can’t scream anymore, can only cough and choke on smoke he can’t see.

When he wakes up, he finds that he isn’t surprised that it was only a nightmare. But once he falls back asleep, he is just as scared and desperate as before. Arthur wakes up, shaking and sweating, three separate times.

On the second, Arthur makes a quick trip to the stone mason, pays quickly with gratitude, and attaches the carved stone to the back of his horse apologetically. He returns to bed still dazed, and hoping to fall back into something less haunting.

On the third, he finds that Merlin had just entered his chambers, breakfast tray in hand.

“Y’alright?” He asked, smiling and chuckling, as if this were any other day.

Although, Arthur supposes, it is. Arthur tries to calm down, but his heart is still racing and he still feels like he is choking, and the sunken eyes of that boy? Arthur sees them, watching him, from everywhere.

“Fine.” Arthur said forcefully. Breathe. Breathe, he reminds himself. You have to breathe.

“You’re clutching that pillow pretty tight.” Merlin joked, and Arthur looked down.

Even when he had raced to an upright position, he had held the pillow, without even realizing. Embarrassed, Arthur begrudgingly puts it beside him and gives it a small pat, grateful when he could take his hand from it with ease.

“Just a dream.” Arthur explained as he got out of the bed. Merlin shoots him a worried look.

“A bad one?” He asked.

“No, no. It was…about…plums.” Arthur lied, then immediately felt like an idiot. Plums? That’s the best he can do? Merlin seemed unimpressed.

“Plums?”

“Yes. It’s odd to have them this time of year, and now I want more. Why don’t you go see if the kitchens have any?” Arthur commanded. Merlin raised an eyebrow, then looked slowly and meaningfully at Arthur’s breakfast tray, now sat dutifully on his desk, on which sat a plum.

Arthur followed Merlin’s gaze.

“Ah, well, good. You’re finally getting better at doing basic manservant things.” Arthur pushed, trying to recover from this truly awful conversation. Merlin had the nerve to look only worried. It was quickly making Arthur grow anxious. “What?” He spat.

“Are you alright?” Merlin asked, so soft and sweet and kind. Arthur wanted so badly to talk to him, then. To tell him of the boy at the camp and the woman at the end of his bed, and that he isn’t a murderer.

But Merlin does not think it murder, does he?

Best to remain quiet, he decided.

So Arthur only nodded, walked over to his desk, and sat down.

Merlin finished opening his curtains. Skittering about the room, doing some sort of chore.

“So you’ll be riding out just after breakfast.” Merlin said finally. “To…hunt those druids down.”

Arthur nodded again, overwhelmingly tired. When was the last time he’d slept well, or even through the night? Before King and Queen Aviana had come with news of the druids, at least. That was over twelve days ago. Arthur holds his spoon up, so that he can see himself in its reflection. It’s small, but he can still make out the ridiculous blue under his bloodshot eyes. It makes him look older. It makes him look like his father.

The thought makes him shiver, and the action shoots pain through his shoulders and back. He tries to roll the knots out, because on top of everything else he doesn’t want to be in pain as he rides out of Camelot today.

“I can help, if you want.” Merlin called to him, already walking over. Arthur shakes his head, but truly doesn’t feel like he could respond with the right words. “I work with Gaius, Arthur, I promise I know what I’m doing.” Merlin half-teased as he arrived behind Arthur. He faintly touches his hands to Arthur’s shoulders. “It could help?” His hands lightly ghost over Arthur’s shoulders, awaiting a response.

Arthur feels his fight drain out of him, and just wants Merlin to help, just wants to not be so tired. He nods.

“You sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Merlin said quietly.

“I don’t mind.” Arthur responded, just as quiet. As an afterthought, “If you think it could help.”

Merlin begins to massage his shoulders and his upper back, pressing lightly into where he feels Arthur’s knots are. It immediately helps. Arthur wishes he were brave enough to go back to sleep, which is what he clearly needs. But as soon as Arthur closes his eyes, there they are, thirty-eight dead faces looking at him. Screaming at him. His eyes launch back open of their own accord.

Merlin must have noticed somehow, because he begins humming again, the way he had when Arthur had been in the bath. Suddenly Arthur felt very vulnerable, like Merlin was seeing too much. Like Merlin had figured out just how much Arthur needed him. Like Merlin knew how Arthur draws every breath for Merlin, and how it’s so much easier when he’s around. As if he makes the air around Arthur as safe as Arthur feels when he is with him.

Merlin’s hands rest eventually on Arthur’s shoulders. Just lightly sitting there, refusing to remove themselves. Arthur tries not to breathe too hard so as not to scare Merlin off, away from this intimate moment, where Arthur finally feels safe, for the first time in almost two weeks.

“Where have you gone?” Merlin asked him quietly, once he had hummed the final notes of his tune. Arthur looked down, not speaking. The silence stretched between them, and Arthur felt as though his own skin was being ripped at its endlessness. “Please, I…We used to talk more than this.” Merlin said finally.

Arthur let out a shaky breath, still looking at his lap. He didn’t know he’d been acting any different. He doesn’t know what to say, Merlin’s hands on his shoulders suddenly feeling mountains away from where he sat, here in this chair. Arthur is stuck, searching in the dark for the memory of them. Arthur is facing a race of his own, a tug of indifference as his personality is being shredded into something new. Trapped somewhere between a coward and a man. Caught between a traitor and a prince.

The truth is they were closer than this, only a week ago, with only his ridiculous pining hidden between them. And now? There is a wall of secrets separating them, bricks of lies stacking faster than he can acknowledge them, crushing Arthur onto himself.

How does he break this, now? How can he explain any of it? And how long can he confess, into the emptiness that is crawling into his veins, before his voice becomes a hoarse whisper and his words turn into ‘I love you.’

It’s not that Arthur doesn’t wish to apologize, and to explain. But he simply doesn’t know how, now. The confession won’t leave his throat, not the way he needs it to. So he sits there, head down, swimming in his secrets and shame.

Merlin’s hands leave his shoulders.

Arthur stands up. He takes a moment to prepare himself to dismiss Merlin for the day, if only so that he could think about anything else than this for a moment.

But when Arthur looks up, he watches in slow motion as Merlin wraps his arms around him.

He feels Merlin’s arms snake under his own arms and around his waist, pulling Arthur to him, as Merlin bends a bit to bury his face in Arthur’s neck. Arthur’s brain finally can think about something else for a moment, because he can feel Merlin’s breath on his neck and he can smell Merlin’s hair and for the Gods’ sake, Merlin is hugging him.

Merlin is hugging him!

Arthur’s body catches up and his arms move easily to wrap around Merlin’s neck, a hand finding its way to hold the back of Merlin’s head. I love you. I love you. I love you.

This. This is what Arthur had been so desperate for. He couldn’t describe it before, couldn’t name it. He’d found joy in the brushing of his shoulders or a hand pulling him out of bed. He’d made do. But this? This was what he had been aching for. A hug. He didn’t even know what a hug felt like, before this. Arthur honestly doesn’t think he’s ever had one.

And if he thought he felt overwhelmed before, when Merlin’s hands were in his hair, he didn’t have a word for how he felt now.

It feels a little like finding home, after having been lost. Except Arthur hadn’t even known he was lost. Hadn’t even known how desperately he’d needed someone to hug him, and to have someone to hug. Merlin didn’t show any signs of letting go. Arthur is content to die here, like this, and he held just as tight.

Eventually, Merlin murmured something into his neck. So Arthur pulled back, just a tiny bit.

“Hm?” He asked.

“Gonna be late.” Merlin said, still not moving from his spot. Arthur wanted so badly to stay here, always. As though being held by Merlin for long enough would put all his broken pieces back together. But that’s too much a burden to ask of Merlin, someone who hugged Arthur because he could clearly tell how much Arthur needed it.

He’s always been able to read Arthur like a page, faster than Arthur could decipher his own words.

So Arthur forced himself to pull back, just enough that Merlin would follow. But he didn’t clear his throat and step back, the way he usually would.

“You don’t have to tell me whatever it is now, if you’re not ready to.” Merlin said, not stepping back either. Arthur was close enough to see bits of lighter blue in Merlin’s unusually dark blue eyes, and counted himself the luckiest man in the world to have glimpsed something so precious. “But I want you to know I’m here. And whatever it is, I’m not leaving.” Merlin continued, looking down slightly. “Even if it’s something bad. Even if it’s causing you nightmares.”

Arthur really just wants to hug him again.

Instead, he takes one step back, finally.

“Thank you.” He tries to pour I love you, I love you, I love you, into those words. “I—I’ll be better. I can be better. I’m just…” Arthur trails off. What is his explanation? “Tired.” He finally decided. Merlin snorted, a small bit.

“Yeah, I got that bit.” Merlin crinkled his nose and gave a small smile as he finished. “Gaius might have something for that, though. To help you sleep better.” Arthur found himself shaking his head before he’d even made the decision.

No, he earned these nightmares. He deserves this haunting. This is the penance he must pay for his sins.

“I'll be okay.” Arthur found himself saying. “On my own.” He added, immediately regretting it, due to the way Merlin briefly closed his eyes and sighed, head tilting downwards.

“You don't have to be, though.” Merlin responded, sounding resigned.

Before Arthur could respond, a knock came at his door.

“Princess! We’re all waiting for you!” Said Sir Gwaine, from the other side. Arthur and Merlin locked eyes.

“ON THE WAY!” They both said, at the same moment, making both men giggle. Arthur rushed to be changed by Merlin.

When Merlin finished, and began to dust his shoulders, Arthur purposely did not allow himself a spare moment to let himself overthink. He wrapped his arms around Merlin’s neck once again, having to reach upward to reach the taller man. He tried to be very soft about it, not wanting to hurt Merlin in the full armor he was now wearing for his travels. Merlin returned to his arms without a second thought.

“Please forgive me.” Arthur whispered into his dark hair. Merlin must’ve heard him, because he let go. Arthur thought Merlin looked like someone who was trying to be very brave. Merlin put his hair into place, then looked down at his eyes.

“Be careful.” He responded. Arthur nodded, as a silent promise, grabbed his sword, and left the room.

He noted immediately that Merlin had stayed behind.

Chapter Text

There was a notable difference to this journey, in comparison to the last. Despite the cloud of confusion that surrounded Arthur’s very first hugs, he was in great spirits.

For one, leaving the gates of Camelot did wonders for the burden on his shoulders. He still feels it, burying into him, eating away at his back. But it feels lighter, out here. Manageable. Arthur allows himself to wonder for a moment if this is, in fact, the result of Merlin’s massage. He leans toward yes.

For another, he is with his own knights. Three of the people he respects and admires the most in the world. Every once in a while Arthur catches himself calling them his friends, in his own head. Which is completely inappropriate. People of his station should never have the privilege of calling someone a friend.

Except Merlin, he thinks.

Sometimes Arthur wishes he could have more than one, though. He knows that is completely ridiculous. How ungrateful of him, to already have this blessing, this wonderful exception in his life, and to want more.

But the men he travels with today make him want to be greedy. Sir Leon, whose face mirrored his own at the massacre of the druids. Who helped him, and them, without question. Who has always been loyal, and steadfast, and kind. Sir Gwaine, who calls Arthur by a nickname. Who questions his authority, and makes him think through decisions. Who befriended Merlin on his very first day in Camelot. Who is such a triumph, in humor, in armor, and in strength. Sir Percival, who has sworn oaths to the King but has chosen Arthur. Who challenges him on both the dueling field and in conversation. Who is gentle and sweet and unwittingly strong. Arthur wants to complement them, and shake their hands, and remind them how needed they are in Camelot. How needed they are, here, at his side.

He rides alongside Sir Leon, currently, the other two knights following their heels. He didn’t even have to ask him to move forward today, which Arthur is grateful for. He likes it better this way. Equal, fair, no one person ahead of any other.

He rides quietly and enjoys listening to their conversation, soaking in their bickering and laughter.

When they make camp for the first night, each man sets up their own place. Arthur is grateful he doesn’t have any servant being made to do it for him. Once they’ve eaten and become settled, Arthur offers to take the first watch.

“What?” Sir Leon asked immediately.

“What? Just because I’m a Prince, I can’t take a watch?” Arthur defended himself. Sir Gwaine snorts at that.

“Princess, you look like you’ve been sleeping in the dungeons. Get some rest. You can take watch tomorrow night.” Sir Gwaine commanded. Arthur feels a strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude to their perceptiveness. He sighed in resignation.

“Alright, alright. But wake me if—”

“Oh, hush. We will, princess.” Sir Gwaine turned toward Sir Leon and Sir Percival. “I’ll take first, Leon, you’re next?” The other two men nod in agreement. Arthur lays down, head turned toward the campfire.

The knights talk for a little while longer, but soon it is just the crickets, and the cackle of the fire, and Sir Gwaine. Arthur shifts on to his back, trying to see anything but the dead, refusing to look at the stars.

“You’re still awake?” Sir Gwaine called to him, in a low tone.

“Seems so.” Arthur responded from the ground, rubbing his eyes.

“I’d wake you, Arthur, you know I would. You look ill. Just trust us, and get some damned rest.” Sir Gwaine said, sounding more than a little offended.

“I trust you with my life, Sir Gwaine. I’m just not tired.” Arthur lied about not being tired, he was exhausted, but he just didn’t feel like talking about any of it. He heard Sir Gwaine chuckle.

“You don’t have to call me that, you know.” Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed. Call him what? He’d only used his name. “Especially not out here, where no one can hear. It’s not like Leon or Percy will tell.” Sir Gwaine finished.

“Oh.” Arthur said, simply. He sat up, thinking for a moment. “It’s a show of respect.” He continued, looking at Sir Gwaine. Sir Gwaine chuckled again.

“I already know I have your respect.” Sir Gwaine responded. “You’re the reason I’m a knight at all.” He said, after a while of sitting together in silence.

“You’re a great knight. Better than most of Uther’s scoundrels.” Arthur spat the last few words out without thinking. Sir Gwaine raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah…Did you really make Frederick clean out the stables?” Sir Gwaine asked, eyes shining in the firelight. Arthur clenched his jaw.

“Yes. He deserves worse.” Arthur retorted.

“Does he?” Sir Gwaine asked. He lowered his voice even more. “Leon hasn’t talked much…about what happened. But he won’t go near Frederick, or Victor, or Theo. I never liked them much anyway, the pompous assholes. But you are far more forgiving than me.” Sir Gwaine posed it as a question, without really asking one.

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Sir Knight.” Arthur answered, after a few breaths.

“Oh, stop with that. I know you respect me. I respect you more than almost anyone, princess. But we’re friends too, and you can just call me by my name. Percy and the lion, too. It drives all of us up the wall when you do that.”

“Do what?” Arthur asked.

“Distance yourself.” Sir Gwaine filled in cooly. “You act like you’re all alone in the world.”

Up until that exact moment, Arthur had truly believed that fact. He’d never thought it in so many words, but yes, that’s the gist. He has always considered himself alone.

Is he?

He thinks of Merlin, and their hug. He thinks of Morgana, and the way she trusted him with her deepest secret. He thinks of the way Percival jumped to help, simply because Arthur asked. And for a moment, he thinks of Mr. Jameson, a simple stonemason, who has a wife and a baby on the way. How honored Arthur had felt to been told such knowledge, and how lovely he felt when Mr. Jameson realized he had remembered.

Is this what being alone looks like?

“Sometimes I think I am. But then I have my idiot friend Gwaine, to right my head.” Arthur spoke finally. Arthur tried the name without the title, purposely, trying to get a feel for it. He liked it. Gwaine, his friend. Of course.

Gwaine broke into a huge smile.

“So, can’t sleep, huh?” Gwaine asked him.

“I haven’t managed to in a while.” Arthur admitted to the fire. Gwaine nodded.

“Yeah, I get them too.” Gwaine said in a sigh. Arthur glanced at him. Gwaine didn’t wait for him to ask, though. “After my father died…Well, you know that bit already. I was penniless, starving. My mother was thinner than I’d ever seen her. She looked like she was decaying, alive. At a certain point, it becomes ‘them or me.’ I did a lot to survive. To provide. I was just a kid. But I was angry. I grew up angry. Maybe I did more than I had to.” Gwaine thought for a moment, looking into the fire. “She died anyway, in the end.” He shook his head. “I try not to regret the things I’ve done. The mistakes I’ve made. But they still haunt me, just the same.”

“I’m sorry you went through that all alone.” Arthur said, after it seemed Gwaine was done.

“What’s haunting you, my friend?” Gwaine changed the subject, turning to him. Arthur sighed.

“You didn’t know me when I hated magic. I wasn’t as blind as my father, but I was blind all the same. So many people burned on that pyre, Gwaine. The screams that I learned to ignore.” Arthur’s voice held as much regret as he would allow. He was too exhausted to cry.

“You couldn’t’ve changed their fate.” Gwaine tried to reassure him.

“I changed yours.” Arthur replied. He didn’t sound angry, because he wasn’t. But it was true. His father would have seen Gwaine killed, and instead Arthur argued for his forgiveness. He’d been banished for a small while, but when returned Gwaine could prove his nobility, and Arthur fought against Uther to allow his friend to be knighted. He looked back at the fire. “This past year, I convinced myself that to accept magic quietly was enough. That there was nothing I could do, until I was King, and maybe then things could be different. People still burned, still screamed. But I sat quiet, believing it to be good enough.

“I went to kill those druids, because I was told to. Always such a good knight. Such a good follower. And by the time I gained my bearings and realized the horror of it all, most of them were already dead. Every single death, in that camp, in Camelot…I am complicit for their murders. I am the Crown Prince of Camelot, and I sat back and drank my wine as my own people begged for their lives and died for nothing.” Arthur confessed. It had been weighing heaviest on his mind, more than anything. He knew as soon as he said it the true reason he couldn’t tell Merlin. Because Merlin might forgive him, or console him, and Arthur deserves neither of those things.

Gwaine sat silent for a while, contemplating on Arthur’s confession.

“What would you do now? If you could go back, and try it all again?” Gwaine asked, after a long while.

“I’ve no idea. Something better.” Arthur answered. Gwaine snorted.

“You’d do nothing different.” Gwaine said, although his tone was not accusatory. “What else is there? You said it yourself, the King is blind in his rage. He sees no reason. There is no convincing him, or changing his mind.” He paused. “Even for me. Of noble blood, in a small fight with a knight, and he wanted me executed. For the Gods’ sake, he settled for banishment! And you weren’t easily forgiven for that, were you?” He’s right. Arthur paid dearly for his involvement. Twice. “And that’s without bringing magic into it.”

Arthur tried to let himself be convinced by his words. It didn’t work as well as he hoped.

“You know why you’d do it all the same again?” Gwaine asked. Arthur shook his head. “Because you’re smart, princess. There is no version of you standing up for magic that doesn’t land you in the dungeons, or banished, or even tried for treason. Yeah, it’s awful to stand back and watch. But that’s the way of it. And you are not going to take the crown by force. You’ve never been that sort of man.”

Arthur knew everything he said was true, the moment he said it. But to know a fact, and to forgive himself at all, are two very different things.

“And what of that massacre that I led, on the druids?”

“You might’ve been in front, Arthur, but the King was leading it. Safe and sound on his throne, but killing all the same.” Arthur breathed this in. He swallowed. Let the silence settle between them.

“Frederick laughed.” Arthur explained, finally. “He and Victor, they made a game of it. They were counting how many they could kill. I watched him murder a boy, who might’ve been nine or ten, and then laugh about it.” Arthur said. Gwaine looked sick with rage. “And I can’t lift a finger to punish him for it.” Arthur started laughing, quietly to himself. “How am I supposed to live with that? How can I train him, when I’ve seen how he uses his sword? How dare I sleep, when I stood there like a fool and let those druids die?” He stopped laughing abruptly. “Might as well have run them through with my own sword.”

“I think you just feel helpless. Not guilty.” Gwaine responded, more wise and thoughtful than Arthur has ever seen him. It’s jarring. Not that he ever dared underestimate Gwaine’s intelligence, just that Arthur doesn't get to see him so deep in thought very often.

“Tell that to the ghosts that haunt me.” Arthur said.

“As soon as you tell that to mine.” Gwaine half-joked. “Try to sleep. I’ll wake you if it seems a nightmare is getting too bad.” Arthur thought for a while, then nodded numbly. He really is so, so exhausted.

When Arthur awakes, he feels more refreshed than he has in two weeks. He remembers the nightmare he’d had, watching a elderly woman as her bones broke, unable to move or speak or look away. Her, screaming and writhing in pain, bones breaking into unnatural shapes, one limb at a time.

But Gwaine had woken him halfway through, whispering that it wasn’t his fault over and over again. Arthur didn’t believe him, but when he fell asleep again he’d fallen into a pit of darkness, for which he’d never been so grateful.

It’s a little after dawn, when they set to continue their travels. Arthur feels invigorated. After endless days of never truly being rested, he feels himself alive again for the first time in a while.

Gwaine looks very proud of him. Arthur rolls his eyes, but appreciates his friend deeply.

His friend.

His friend, Gwaine.

It feels nice, in his mind. It feels like a privilege that he finally won. Although is ‘won’ the right word? No, but perhaps, given. A gift, from Gwaine and Percival and Leon.

Today’s travels are lovely. Gwaine rides beside him, Leon and Percival close behind, and he laughs alongside them. Eventually Leon and Percival drift into their own easy banter, and Gwaine trots alongside him.

“So, you’re our big friendly magic protector these days, huh?” He teased.

“Yes I am.”

“So…you know, then?”

“Know?” Arthur asked. Gwaine looked him over.

“You don’t know.” He said, seeming convinced.

“Maybe not.” Arthur agreed, completely lost. Gwaine looked at him again.

“Do you?” Arthur glanced at him. “About a certain someone’s secret?”

“Yes, I—” Arthur cut himself off, having been too pleased to finally understand what the conversation was about. “Wait, how do you know?” Arthur fired back. Hadn’t Morgana only told one other person?

“Sort of just found out on my own.” Gwaine clarified.

“Oh, that makes sense. She’d said she only told one person.” Arthur chuckled.

“Wait, who do you mean?” Gwaine looked completely lost.

“Who do you mean?” Arthur dodged.

“You said ‘she’, didn’t you?” Gwaine clarified.

“Why?” Arthur asked, suddenly very worried it might be clear who he was talking about, revealing a secret Gwaine wasn’t meant to know.

“Oh, I just…Nevermind. Just a misunderstanding.” Gwaine seemed very nervous all of a sudden. “Who’d you mean?” Gwaine asked, trying to shift focus.

“Mary.” Arthur said. Quickly, but not too quick, so as not to seem suspicious. “Wife of the stone mason? When I went yesterday there was a broom sweeping all by itself.” He lied. Gwaine nodded and changed the conversation, seeming relieved. Arthur hoped he had seemed convincing.

When they made camp for the second night, the four men sat around the fire talking for a long while. It felt effortless, and lovely, and more than Arthur probably deserved.

Gwaine offered to take the first shift. After the others fell asleep, Arthur sat up.

“Bad dreams again?” Gwaine asked, voice completely absent from any judgment.

“Haven’t tried. I have to run an errand. I’ll be back in time for my shift.” Arthur explained, getting up as quickly as he could. He hoped his horse wasn’t too tired for the small detour.

“I can’t let you go off on your own! The prince can’t just go off by himself!” Gwaine whisper-yelled as he watched Arthur ready his horse.

“I’ll be back in just a few hours. Don’t worry, Gwaine.” He reassured his friend. “Plus, Merlin says I’m the best swordsman in Camelot. Clearly, I don’t need your help.” Arthur teased. Gwaine rolled his eyes.

“Oh, that barely counts.” Gwaine said, exasperated, although both men knew he was going to let Arthur go on his own. “Can I at least know where you’re going, so we can look for you if you don’t return?”

Arthur mounted his horse.

“To apologize to my ghosts.” Arthur said, more poetically than he meant. He began trotting forward. “Leon can lead you, if I’m not back in time for my shift.” Gwaine rolled his eyes but stepped out of the way.

“Be careful, hm?”

“Look who’s acting like a princess now, huh?” Arthur teased, before riding off, toward the deserted camp of the druids.

Chapter Text

Arthur knows that this isn’t a dream.

He knows this, because this place looks nothing like the one he’s been picturing.

It’s been a preserved moment in time, stuck playing in a loop in his memory. In his mind, when he thinks of this druid camp, he still sees bodies on the ground. He still pictures blood beneath his shoes, smoke drifting through the air, and everything between is only a layer of ash.

He knows that this isn’t a dream, because when Arthur arrives, the place looks, for lack of a better word, real.

It must have rained, for the puddles of blood have long since been washed away. He does not smell the dead the way he assumed he would. It isn’t all ash, either, but even in the dark he can make out the broken and burned shells of what used to be homes.

And of course, unlike every dream about this place, no one here is dying. Not anymore, at least.

Instead, it’s just Arthur, the sound of his footsteps against solid ground, long-past screams carrying on the wind. Just Arthur, and the stars, and the ghosts.

Arthur unhooks the large satchel he’d kept tethered to his horse, lugging it behind his back. It’s heavy, but no heavier than the weight he’s been carrying on his shoulders for days. He leaves his sword and daggers behind. Arthur will not dishonor this place again with a weapon. He walks gingerly and carefully toward the mound, as though he might wake someone if he steps too loudly.

Eventually he crosses the camp. Here it is. The large patch of grass-less dirt gives it away. The mass grave.

Arthur carefully unbuckles the satchel, revealing the medium-sized headstone he’d commissioned from Mr. Jameson. It’s not as thick as most, for he was wary of the horse carrying it for two days, but it is at least the correct size.

It’s mostly blank, of course. Along with everything else that Arthur will never forgive himself for, Arthur didn’t know a single name to write down. Instead, near the top, in small dainty lettering, sits the word ‘Nelotol’ surrounded by flourishes. Nelotol, according to the books that Arthur had access to, was ‘thirty-eight’ in the language of the druids. The flourishes and flowers are those once native to only druidic lands, and many are still used in their medicines and foods.

He hoped it was enough to give them some decency and grace.

Arthur knows it is not enough to make up for what he’d done to them. Nothing will ever be enough. But this is something, at least.

He places it into the dirt, facing away from the lifted soil. Takes a few steps back, to make sure it is presentable. Eventually he sits at the headstone, head hanging low.

For a very long while, Arthur says nothing at all. He listens, instead, to the quiet wind bristling through the deserted camp. He wonders what it used to sound like, when there were people here, safe and happy. He wonders how the children sounded when they laughed. Did it carry on the wind, swaying in the way flowers do, in the way only innocent and beautiful things can? Did the basket-weavers whistle a tune as they worked? Did the fishermen sing? As they practiced their magic, did they speak loudly? Or was it quiet, the way one should be when handling something fragile?

Arthur supposes he’ll never know. And the people under this headstone will never make those sounds again.

“I’m sorry.” He said finally, to the stone that stares back at him. “I know you don’t need my apologies. I know my regret means so little now. But I have to say it anyway. I need you to know that I will be better.” His eyes begin to tear up, but he breathes them back down. He will not mark this place again, will not disgrace it with the imprint of his presence any further.

“I promise. I’ll be better, for you.” Arthur echoed, to the dark, to the memory of what used to be. “You deserved better. I am truly so sorry, for I was not that for you.”

A long stretch of silence follows. The stars laugh at Arthur from above. They take no heed of his promises. Too little, too late, they whisper to him.

Arthur stands, to go to his horse, before deciding something.

He has to walk for a while, but eventually he finds enough flowers for a plentiful bouquet. He wishes he had brought flowers with the meaning he was trying to convey. But these would have to do.

He treads back to the headstone as lightly as he can. Oh, to lead a path without leaving a footstep. Wouldn’t that be a blessing?

Arthur places the flowers at the stone, below the words. There is nothing else he can say, so he gives a deep bow and slowly, gingerly, returns to his horse.

The return to Gwaine took far longer than the trip towards the camp. Probably, Arthur thinks, because he rides with less purpose. There is nothing for him there, at the fire keeping his friends warm. Nothing but princely duties that Arthur did not earn, did not deserve. Nothing but the stars, laughing at him. Nothing but the sins of his life swallowing him whole.

He returned nonetheless, if not slowly.

“About time!” Gwaine whisper-yelled at him upon his return. “I was about to wake the others!” Arthur gave a half-smile.

“Well, I’m back now. Stop your worrying.” Arthur responded.

“Someone’s got to!” Gwaine returned, bringing thoughts of Merlin to Arthur’s mind before he could stop them. Hadn’t Merlin just said the same? Don’t these people understand? Arthur doesn’t need their worries, and he most certainly does not deserve them.

“Right, right.” Arthur said, dismounting and tying his horse.

“Did you do what you needed to do?” Gwaine asked, voice softer than before, after Arthur was done. Arthur nodded, face like stone. Gwaine waited a while, perhaps for Arthur to talk more about it. But eventually he understood Arthur was not planning to share. “Well, it’s your shift, if you can manage it?” He said finally. Arthur nodded again, half-smile returning to his face.

“Sure, sure, get your beauty sleep.” Gwaine rolled his eyes but laid down nonetheless.

Arthur settled in for a long night.

There was less wind here, as they had trees blocking most of it. But the trees are not high enough to block out the stars. Eventually, Arthur tilts his head back to look at them, as if finally ready to face their penance for what he’s done.

Yet they have no answer for him. They only twinkle back, filling the darkness.

There was a time when those lights were his favorite thing. Arthur remembers himself, much younger, just before becoming a teen, sneaking up to the roof of the castle to stare up at them for hours on end. He’d lie there on his back, making up names for each one. Each night he’d sneak up, and say hello to every star, one at a time. He’d whisper his secrets and his doubts to the stars, knowing they’d hold them for him. Even as a child, Arthur knew the burden he faced. He would one day have to lead this kingdom, lead Camelot, and even back then he feared he’d lead it to ruin.

Once, Morgana had been wandering the corridors, and must have seen him sneaking up. She’d followed him only to find Arthur lying on his back, chatting with the stars.

“What’re you doing?” She had asked him. Arthur had shrugged from the ground.

“Just pretending.” Arthur answered simply. Morgana went beside him, and lied down, so that her feet were near his head and his near hers. They stared up at the stars for a while, gossiping and giggling, the stars there to watch out for them. Eventually Morgana had yawned, and Arthur had yawned, and both children agreed it was long past time for bed.

After that, Morgana would sometimes come up with him, but usually Arthur sat alone. Just him and the stars.

He can’t remember when he stopped going up. Arthur thinks it was probably when he started going to Council. Between that and training, most nights Arthur was far too exhausted to go up and say hello to his stars. Eventually he stopped going up at all.

Arthur stares up at them now, trying desperately to remember which star he’d named what. He found he could only recognize a few. Had the sorcerer rearranged the sky? Or had he really forgotten it all so easily?

He makes up new names for the ones he can’t recall. The moon is his guiding point, and so Arthur officially renames it Merlin, because who else helps Arthur keep his path, the way Merlin does? He gives the very brightest star the honor of being named after his sister.

There is a fact that he’s been ignoring, of course. Because it would be selfish to acknowledge it. But, Arthur convinces himself, the stars have always been good at keeping his secrets.

So he whispers to Morgana the Star. He tells her how disappointed he is, that she had hid herself from him. How angry he is with himself, for not presenting as trustworthy. How scared he is to become his father. The first step is those around him hiding themselves, isn’t it?

Arthur knows that it was her secret to share, when she was ready. But he is so desperately saddened that she had not felt safe enough with him. Even if she had confessed to him years ago, if it had been happening then, Arthur would’ve protected her. Between choosing Morgana’s side or Uther’s, the choice has always been simple. Yet he had not proven himself a safe haven for his friends, had he?

No, he hadn’t.

That’s yet another thing I’ll never forgive myself for, he thinks. The list seems unending.

Eventually Arthur grows tired, and shakes Leon for his shift. Leon complies and they share a few words before Arthur prepares himself for sleep, saying goodnight to each star he named.

When Arthur finds himself in a hole beside a man his own size, Arthur recognizes immediately that it must be a nightmare.

Of course, that does nothing to stop it, and certainly does nothing to wake Arthur from his slumber.

The man’s lips have been sewn together with black thread, and when Arthur puts a hand to his own mouth, he finds the same for himself. Before he has time to process this, he feels pieces of weighted dust land in his shoulders and hair. The man beside him tries to say something, but Arthur can only understand the wild look in his eyes. He is afraid.

Arthur looks up, only to have more thrown on him. It lands in his eyes, and by time he clears them his feet have been covered. He looks down at what’s covering them.

Dirt.

Arthur is being buried alive.

He joins the man in his scramble to escape, both of them clawing at walls of the hole they find themselves stuck in. Arthur tries to scream for help, but finds the thread prevents any sound from escaping. All the while more and more dirt is piled atop them.

Eventually, Arthur realizes that the pit they are in would not be deep enough if he were only a little taller. He gets the man’s attention before pointing to his shoulders. The man seems to understand because he begins clamoring atop Arthur, trying desperately to escape. Arthur walks toward the wall, where the man claws, so that he might have a better chance.

Suddenly, the man falls off Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur looks to the ground to see the man on his back, arms sewn together as though he were a hog.

Arthur sees his own arms mirror the man’s, thread entangling his joints all the way down to his fingers.

He crouches to the man, ignoring the dirt gathering on him, struggling to shake the man awake. The dirt buries the man easier now, with him laying down, and Arthur can’t help him. He can’t wake him. Why can’t he wake him?

Arthur tries to let out a defeated scream, but his mouth emits no noise. There are tears welling in his eyes, and the dirt is up to his hips now. But he can’t move away from the man. He won’t. He won’t leave him here.

Eventually the dirt rises higher, and it’s squishing his lungs and his chest.

He can’t breathe.

Arthur can’t see the man anymore. There is only the dirt, surrounding him, choking him, raining down on him. He feels his tears mixing with the dirt, causing the mud, which only makes him sink further.

When Arthur awakens, he is gasping for air.

Percival gives him a strange look.

“Are you alright?” He asked Arthur. Arthur nods.

“Nothing.” He answered. “Just a bad dream.” He added, at Percival’s doubtful look. Percival nodded, face full of empathy.

“I was about to wake the others up.” Percival changed the subject, for which Arthur was eternally grateful. He’d known it was a nightmare, and he’d forgotten! It had felt so real. The dirt on his skin. The thread through his lips.

Once Leon and Gwaine awake, stubbornly, the men pack up their area and stomp out the fire. They mount their horses and begin heading East once more, hoping to stumble upon a camp.

Almost another full day of riding passes before Arthur picks up faint chatter and laughter in the distance. He signals his knights to keep quiet. Slowly, Arthur dismounts and ties his horse, and leaves his weapons with it, signaling his men to do the same. Gwaine and Leon comply immediately, and after sparing a worried look in Arthur's direction, Percival follows suit.

The men tread lightly. They aren’t trying to sneak, really, not wanting to frighten the druids upon their arrival, but also do not want to scare them off before they can explain. Eventually they reach the edge of the camp. Arthur surrenders his hands, not knowing how else to signal that he means them no harm.

Faces freeze, looking at him, eyes wide. No-one moves. The world is still, for a moment.

Then a young boy steps forward.

Arthur recognizes him. That’s one of the two brothers that he had found first. This is the first druid he saved.

“Have you changed your mind?” The boy asked finally, fear laced in his shaky voice. “Are you here to kill us, after all?” Arthur shook his head, slowly.

“No.” Arthur replied, watching as an older woman took steps to put herself between Arthur and the boy.

“Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot.” She spoke, voice commanding and sure. Immediately, it is clear that this woman is in charge. She looks him over, sizing him up, then seems to reach a conclusion and smiles gently. “You are here to help.” She stated it as fact, rather than ask it as a question. Arthur feels relief flood him. He nods.

“None of us bear our weapons.” He began. “We know you have cultures of your own, but we did bring some of Camelot’s best medicines and foods, and knowledge of troop movements and plans. We—” Arthur cut himself off, then started again. “I. I know it does not make up for the atrocities inflicted on your people, and I am not here to ask for forgiveness that I do not deserve. But I hope my future actions can help to serve and protect you.”

The woman has a small smile on her face by the time Arthur finishes. She turns to the wary group that has gathered around them.

“Let us show our friends great hospitality, and make sure to set a place for them by the fire.” She commanded. She waved Arthur and his men forward. “Follow me.” He does so, walking slightly behind her, hoping it conveys his respect here, the way it would in the castle.

The woman leads them to a large tent. The torch light in here is dim, and the tent is thick. With the setting sun, the space begins to have a magical glow, more mystical than most lights are. The men stand awkwardly until the woman gestures for them to sit.

She sits as well, more graceful by far.

“You have traveled all this way just to make things right.” She states. “For that, you have our gratitude, and my respect. We do not hold anger against you, or Camelot.” Arthur nodded slowly at this, grateful for her kindness. “I am Elrand. I watch out for these people. Our numbers have grown recently. I suspect that is because of you, yes?” As she spoke, a small smile made its way on her face. Arthur looks down in shame.

“Yes…It was my men that attacked—” She raises a hand to stop his confession.

“I know who my people were killed by. That is not what I asked.” Arthur tried not to look as confused as he felt. “Many druids fled to our last camp, with warnings of an attack. They said that some of the knights had allowed them to flee.” Her revelation shocked Arthur into silence.

“That was Arthur.” Leon spoke, from where he sat across the room. “He and I tried to save who we could. I fear it was not enough.”

“Eighteen druids fled from that camp to ours. Alive and well. The sixty people that you hear now? They are alive because of those warnings.” Elrand did not look away from Arthur’s ashamed eyes. Arthur, however, stared only at the floor. She sighed. “But I assume your condolences do not come from the King?”

“No, he does not share our beliefs of peace.” Leon answered again.

“You would go against his wishes, if only to bring us peace of mind?” She asked.

“It’s…The very least we can do.” Leon responded.

“Sometimes,” Elrand looked back to Arthur, “The most we can do is very little. It does not make it less important.” She looked back to the other three men. “If you wouldn’t mind shedding your armor, you are welcome to go help prepare the meal. Ask for Kalgur, he’ll tell you what to do.” Once all four are out of armor, they exit the tent. Arthur turned to follow, but found Elrand’s small hand on his elbow.

“Stay for a moment, if you don’t mind.” She asked him. Arthur sat back down. “You do not want forgiveness.” She stated.

“No.” He answered, trying to meet her unyielding eye contact.

“Then what is it that you seek?” Arthur thought for a moment. What does he hope for, here? Why had he come?

“I just want to make things better.” He said finally, failing to hide the emotion in his voice. Elrand nods at this.

“Arthur Pendragon. A famous name, even among druids.” She said, “There are many prophecies of you. They always speak highly of the Once and Future King.” Arthur shakes his head without really meaning to. The guilt in his gut is choking him from the inside, coiling within him, making him uneasy under Elrand’s stare. “We do not hold the actions of your father against you, young Pendragon. Helping druids to escape an attack, bringing medicine and supplies across many days’ travel; These are the actions we judge.”

“I do not deserve such mercy, Lady Elrand.”

“Look up from the floor.” Arthur does as he is told, looking back up at her. Elrand is an older woman, her black hair accented with wisps of gray. Her face is round and kind, welcoming in the way that mothers seem to be. Her dark eyes search his face. “I am not going to relieve you of your guilt. I am not sure anyone can. I will say this: You are more than your father’s shadow. The light shines from you. I see it.”

Arthur does not know what to make of her compliment.

“Come now, and smile. We will not burn today, you can rest easy with us.” Elrand leads the way out of the tent and the sight hits Arthur the way a match hits sandpaper, igniting something deep inside of him, setting him aflame.

It is night now, the stars shining brightly overhead. Children laugh and play, their shadows dancing in the firelight. Gwaine is smiling shyly to a woman serving him food, and Leon and Percival sit in conversation with a few men. Someone must be singing, but Arthur can not see them. A few younger women practice magic, gold running up the bark of a tree. There is a stream nearby, babbling to itself. This feels like a moment out of a book. A moment so beautiful and so peaceful that Arthur feels he is intruding by watching.

A young girl runs up to him, braids messy from her excitement. She is barely tall enough to pass his knees, and she has to strain her head to look at Arthur’s eyes.

HI!

The excited voice echoed in his mind, rather than out loud. The girl’s eyes are a very pale gold, almost white.

This is magic? This is what Uther hates so much?

“Hello.” Arthur said aloud, not sure if he could talk in his mind. He smiled widely, without meaning to. He leaned down to be at the girl’s eye level. “What’s your name?”

Melian, the girl said in his head. I’m Melian. That’s my sister, over there.

Melian points to a group of children laughing and playing near the fire. Arthur nods.

"Hey, I have a sister too!" Arthur exclaimed. Melian is very excited to hear this news.

Your friend is very nice. He said to come and get you. Her little voice laughs in Arthur’s mind, making him want to laugh with her. He looks again, behind them, and sees Gwaine being swarmed by laughing children. One on each leg, one on his back, and one sitting atop his head, pulling on his hair as he stomps and pretends to be a giant.

“Arthur!” Gwaine called to him. “You have to save me! They’re eating me!” He gives a fake scream and pretends to shake a child off his leg, making all of them roar with laughter. Melian’s tiny hand wraps around Arthur’s pointer finger, and drags a very willing prince to join Gwaine in the madness.

He laughs harder than he has in a long time, that night. A very long time. Percival teaches some of the younger kids patty-cake. Leon chats with the adults.

It feels more like freedom than Arthur has ever known. It feels a little like home.

It makes him miss Merlin.

Eventually things settle down. The kids are ushered to bed. The camp becomes more still, although there is still quiet chatter between the adults that are still out. Arthur sits on the ground, leaning against a boulder, thanking the stars for giving him this gift.

He feels someone sit beside him.

“So this is what it looks like when a Pendragon smiles.” Elrand’s voice pulls him from his solitude.

“I’m afraid it’s a rather rare sight.” Arthur said, smile not fading.

“Then I should count myself lucky.” Elrand smiled, looking up at the sky. “I have always treasured the stars. I see you take an interest in them as well.” Arthur nods.

“There is something so… lovely about it.” Arthur replied, eyes not straying from above.

“That’s what my name means.” Arthur looked at her. “Elrand. Its literal translation is Dome of Stars.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Elrand.” Arthur said, grateful for all she had given him this night. “It’s a lovely name.”

“I suppose you do not know much of the druids.” She answered him eventually. “For example, we trust the instincts of our young, more-so than anyone else in the camp. Their magic has not learned the lies of men, yet. It simply is. If the children, and their magic, trust incomers on the camp, we know we can too.” She pauses a moment, and Arthur wonders if he has passed some sort of test. “You were very sweet to my granddaughter.”

“Melian?” Arthur confirmed. Elrand nods. “She’s a sweet girl. She spoke to me, in my head. Is that normal?” Elrand laughed a bit.

“Yes. Almost anyone with magic can communicate through their mind. Although when we have guests, we try to be polite.” It’s Arthur’s turn to smile.

“You have been so welcoming. It’s almost overwhelming. I’m not sure how to thank you.” Arthur spoke with earnesty, feeling the golden warmth wrap and settle in his stomach. It had been truly such a wonderful night, and it did not have to be. The druids easily could have accepted the supplies and turned them away, and Arthur would not have thought any less of them. But they allowed Arthur and his men to enter, and to eat among them, and to enjoy their company.

“Continue on this path, Arthur Pendragon. That is all we can ask of you.” Elrand begins to stand, stopping to put a hand over his heart. “You have our trust. Do with it what you feel is right.” She stands upright, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your beds have already been prepared. Do not leave tomorrow without saying goodbye.” She points Arthur in the direction of his bed, accepting his rampant gratitude, and turning to go in the opposite direction, back toward her own tent.

All four men sleep through the night, shifts not being needed here.

Arthur dreams.

He dreams of children, laughing and living, and their parents, clapping and dancing. He dreams of magic. He dreams of Merlin, too. Of his smile, and his laugh, and the way brushes Arthur’s shoulders.

He knows this camp is safe, and under his protection, especially so while he is here. And so he sleeps, with no fear or doubt creeping into his subconscious. For the first time in a very long time, he only dreams of nice, safe things.

The following morning, the children are very sad to say goodbye. Leon and Percival shake the hands of the adults they spoke to. The men put their armor on, and take their leave. Elrand places a hand on Arthur’s cheek before he departs.

“We will tell the others of your kindness. You should return to Camelot, Emrys is missing you.” Arthur’s eyebrows scrunch in question, but she does not continue. Instead, she steps back to allow him to mount his horse. “May your travels be safe.” She bowed her head.

Their travels were, in fact, not safe.

The first two days are without incident. Arthur’s nightmares returned, but he had expected them, and welcomed them, even in sleep. Arthur also stopped at the burned camp once more, to give the dead fresh flowers, as if that would fix anything at all.

On the third morning, they are set to reach Camelot by nightfall. Percival rides beside Arthur, reminiscing about the loveliness of their trip. The men have already gone over their story; the one they’ll tell the King, and all of Camelot. No one will ever know the beauty of that night, except for them. Leon calls to Percival, who slows so that the former could catch up. Gwaine rides ahead to match Arthur’s pace.

“Excited to see your Merlin again?” Gwaine teased.

“Mine? He’s not—Merlin isn’t mine!” Arthur felt the embarrassment rush up his face. The truth is, he is counting the minutes to see Merlin again. All morning, Arthur has spent his time deciding if he could get away with giving Merlin a hug as soon as they are together again. (Arthur is leaning heavily towards yes.)

“Ha! Tell him that!” Gwaine laughed in response to Arthur’s bright pink face. “Does he know why we actually came out here?” Gwaine asked him, tone slightly more serious. Arthur’s face falls, and he shakes his head.

“No. Merlin hates magic.” Arthur sighed, looking at his horse. Gwaine bursts out laughing. Arthur whips his head in his friends’ direction. “What’s so funny?” Gwaine’s face fights between laughter and looking a little nervous.

“It’s just, it’s Merlin. He couldn’t hate anything, if he tried!” Gwaine exclaimed finally, after he’d caught his breath. Arthur thinks on this for a moment, finding he couldn’t help but agree. “All I’m saying is, you should talk to him about it.” Arthur finds himself nodding and smiling with relief. Maybe Arthur could bury his secrets out here, on the way, so by the time he arrives to Merlin, there would be no more between them. (Except, of course, his ridiculous infatuation with his manservant.) Finally, things replaced how they should be. Arthur feels the safest when he is with Merlin. Of course Merlin would carry these secrets alongside him, if only he had asked.

Arthur feels lighter than he has since before the first druid camp, and even more excited than before to see Merlin.

So it feels odd, a little like he has been snapped in half, when he feels the arrow pierce his armor and bury itself in his chest.

Chapter Text

When Arthur wakes for the first time, he can’t open his eyes. He can only feel himself being moved, helpless as his head falls back. He feels himself put on a hard table, and hears voices. But their words sound foreign, and he can’t make sense of them.

The harder he tries to listen to the voices, to make out what they’re saying, the sleepier he gets.

Soon, the darkness etches out from underneath his eyelids, spreading throughout the air, grasping at him, pulling him under.

When Arthur wakes for the second time, he feels the pain he’d failed to notice before. His abdomen is drumming with agony, the effort of breathing almost too much. He hears yelling nearby, but can’t make out who is speaking under the waves of torment.

“I don’t know what you’re even saying that for! He is going to be fine, Gaius.”

“It isn’t looking well, and I just want you to be prepared—”

“He is going to be fine! He has to be. He has to be.”

Arthur feels the sudden need to call out, to reassure that voice that he is just fine, that he’ll be alright, but he can’t move his mouth to form the words. Oh, Gods, is he dreaming again? He can’t tell.

He lets darkness wash over him, finding more ease in the pit, than in this realistic nightmare.

When Arthur wakes for the third time, he finds himself in his own bed. His whole body aches, and even his head thrums in a pattern of torture. The sunlight streams in his window, but his breakfast tray does not sit at his desk.

Where is Merlin?

Arthur has to see him, has to hug him, has to explain it all to him—

But he can’t move. He tries, desperately, to get off of the bed.

He can wiggle his fingers, and his feet, and can feel the pain in his chest and the ache in his legs, but he can’t move them.

“Merlin!” He tried to call out, but his voice is hoarse, and he could not call out to the hallway if he wanted to. He tried again nonetheless.

And again.

And again.

But no-one came.

When Arthur wakes for the fourth time, feeling pouty and abandoned, he finally opens his eyes to see Merlin, sharpening his sword by the fireplace.

“Where is my breakfast?” Arthur croaks out, still upset that Merlin hadn’t been here before. Merlin’s head whips up to him, eyes wide. The sword clanks to the floor, and Merlin is at his side faster than Arthur could even blink.

Merlin seems to realize before he reaches out to Arthur, though, that grabbing him and hugging him might put him in more pain, so he seems to settle for cupping a hand to Arthur’s cheek.

It makes Arthur forget everything for a moment. It makes him forget about the stings of pain shooting through him, makes him forget how hungry he is, makes him forget how to breathe. I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Finally.” Merlin breathed out, sitting beside Arthur on the side of his bed, facing him. “Gods, I…We were so worried. Wait ‘till you see how many bouquets arrived for you. All of Camelot has been praying for you.”

“Even you?” Arthur murmured, eyes slipping closed. He is so, so tired.

“Especially me.” Merlin said quietly, hand slipping into Arthur’s hair. Arthur hummed, content.

“Missed you.” Arthur sighed, sleepily. He heard Merlin draw in a shaky breath.

“Missed you, too. So much, Arthur.”

For some reason, Merlin saying his name seemed to draw Arthur back to reality. He sat up abruptly, regretting it immediately. For one, the pain shooting up his chest and back is nearly unimaginable. Two, Merlin’s hand slipped from his hair, laying back down at his own side. Arthur sat back again, but felt much more awake and alert.

“Did you say all of Camelot? Why would all of Camelot be worried? How long have I slept?” Arthur fired the questions almost quicker than he could think them. What of Leon and Percival and Gwaine? Has Uther found out the truth? Are the druids safe? How was he even hurt? What happened?

“Calm down, Arthur.” Merlin said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all okay.” He seemed to read Arthur’s mind. “Everyone is safe. Even you, now.” Arthur took a deep breath.

“How long have I slept?” He asked, more calmly.

“Thirteen days.” Merlin answered. Thirteen? How could it have been so many? “It was touch-and-go for a while. Gaius had just about given up on your lazy arse.”

“Is everyone else alright? Leon and Percy—”

“Since when do you call them that?” Merlin interrupted him. Arthur rolled his eyes. “They’re fine. You were attacked by bandits. Archers. But your knights saved your life, raced back to Camelot in record time after they’d fought them all. You should’ve seen the look on Uther’s face. Bet he was feeling real sorry for ever trying to execute Gwaine.” Merlin smiled.

Arthur started to bark out a laugh, but it quickly turned into a cough, the attempt dying in his dry throat.

“How about I get you some soup, hm? Kitchen’s been preparing it fresh for the past eight days, just in case you woke up.” Arthur nodded.

Merlin returned shortly, bringing back a stew of sorts in a small bowl. Arthur winced as he reached out to take it.

“Oh hush. I’ll do it.” Merlin said, sitting beside him once again. He took a spoonful of the stew and held it to Arthur’s lips.

It was the best soup Arthur had ever had. Might’ve been because it was made fresh. Probably because he hadn’t had proper food in days. Most definitely because Merlin was feeding it to him, taking care of him, as if it was no effort at all. As if he didn’t mind Arthur, and all the worst parts of him. The thought made Arthur warm in a way that nothing else could.

There is only ever Merlin.

After the second spoonful, Arthur looked nervously at his dearest friend.

“Gwaine said…that I should ask you about how you feel about magic.” Arthur drawled out. Merlin looked very nervous.

“What?” He defended, as if having been struck.

“I was telling Gwaine how you hate magic, and he said you could never hate anything.” Arthur explained. “I figure if you can put up with me, he might have a point.” Merlin smiled, sighing out a breath. Then he looked confused again.

“But why did you tell him I hate magic?” Merlin asked, eyebrows scrunched.

“Because you do.” Arthur explained slowly, mirroring his face.

“What? No I don’t!” Merlin exclaimed.

“Yes you do!” Arthur pushed.

“What made you think that?” Merlin sounded exasperated.

“You said so!” Arthur defended himself.

“When?”

Arthur thought back to that conversation. Hadn’t Merlin said he hated magic?

He can’t remember. It feels like so long ago, now. It feels like decades have passed. Wearing him down, making him older, giving him wisdom he hadn’t had then.

“I…I thought you said…” Arthur must look as defeated as he feels, because Merlin gives only a small laugh before feeding him more soup.

“I definitely don’t hate magic.” Merlin half whispered, as though he was admitting something he shouldn’t.

“Good.” Arthur said. “Me neither.” Merlin had the audacity to look surprised.

“Really?”

“What, you don’t believe me?” Arthur asked, incredulous. Merlin looked down.

“The other knights won’t tell me what happened on your trip. But their report to Uther…” Merlin trailed off. Arthur swallowed a laugh for fear of his pain.

“You’ll have to keep a secret, Merlin.” Arthur said, seriously. Merlin looked up with hope dancing in his eyes. “It was a plan.”

And so Arthur explained, from the beginning, the truth.

He spoke of the horrors of the first camp, and the attempts to save druids between him and Leon.

He expressed his guilt, and how the nightmares, neverending, are always of that day.

He told Merlin how he’d lied to his father, and how easily Gwaine and Percival had agreed to join him.

And, finally, more joyfully, he explained the events at the second druid camp. He told stories of Elrand and Melian, and of how he laughed in the firelight, in between bites of soup.

He didn’t tell Merlin of the headstone, or the flowers. It didn’t feel like a secret, not really, but it was something just for the druids. Only the dead needed to know.

When Arthur finished, Merlin looked hopeful and winded and proud. His eyes are shining in a way that makes Arthur want to hold him and never let go. Arthur only now notices how fluffy and messy his hair looks, how tired his eyes are. Arthur wonders if it had been him, making Merlin lose sleep.

But Arthur realizes suddenly that he isn’t done. That there is one more secret, pouring out of him, hollowing him out.

“Can I tell you another secret?” Arthur asked, before Merlin could speak.

“If you have more soup first.” Arthur complies with Merlin’s request, finding the soup still pleasantly hot, despite how long he’d been talking. After he finishes most of it, he leans back to spill the secret that had been killing him.

“Morgana has magic.” Arthur said, feeling the venom of it crawl up, out of his stomach, up his neck, falling past his lips. “And that’s fine. Really. Except that she only just told me about it. All this time I’ve known her, and sworn by her. And it’s only been going on a few months, but it feels like…Like I was just lucky she told me at all. How long would she have kept that from me? How long could someone call me their friend but still fear me?” Arthur almost started to cry, so he looked away from Merlin, and moved his gaze straight ahead, aimed for the wall.

“It makes me hate myself, more than anything else. More than the druids. More than the deaths. How can I ever live with myself, knowing I caused someone I loved so much fear?” The words fall from his lips in rhythm with the tears from his eyes, and he stares off at nothing, wishing he were back, under the stars. “I’d die to protect Morgana, or Leon, or Percival, or Gwaine, or you, or Gwen. And the thought that even one of you haven’t known that, truly known that, all this time?

“I think it will break me. I think I’ve been forced to live with many burdens, but this is by far the worst. I mean,” Arthur turns finally back to Merlin, to see him looking down in thought, “Could you imagine? If after all this time, Gwaine turned to you, and told you he had magic? Admitted that before, he’d always been a little afraid of you? All this time, he’s silently wondered if you’d see him killed?”

Merlin doesn’t really have much to say after that. He seems deep in thought from Arthur’s words. Merlin feeds Arthur the rest of his soup.

“I can’t imagine it, Arthur. I truly never have thought of it that way before.” Merlin said dimly, after a little while.

“I’m sorry for dumping all that on you,” Arthur found himself saying, “But it was eating me alive.” Merlin pets his hair in response, and Arthur knows he is forgiven. His eyes begin to close of their own accord, now that he’s eaten, and spoken with Merlin, and everything is a little bit better.

“Get some rest. I’ll come check up on you later. I’ll have someone report to Uther that you’ve finally stirred.”

Arthur nods.

“Thank you, Merlin. You’re my favorite.” He admitted, sleepily, half-regretting it even as the words fell out. He opened his eyes a little bit to see Merlin smiling his wide smile. It made Arthur relax even more, as though there was one last breath he’d been holding.

“You’re my favorite too. Don’t tell Gwaine.” Merlin responded, petting his hair a little while longer, until Arthur finally fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Many people come to visit Arthur when he’s unconscious. His conversation with Merlin would be the longest he could hold for another week, only able to stay awake for a very small while at a time.

Gaius was there when he woke, once, replenishing the wraps on his chest.

“You’re not out of the woods yet, Sire. But if anyone can fight through this, it’s you.” Gaius said more, too, something about the fever and the infection, but it all began to turn to gibberish, so Arthur ignored it, and dozed off once again.

Once, when Arthur was conscious but unable to open his eyes, he heard Morgana and Gwen beside him. He heard murmurs and pleas, and tried desperately to respond, but found that he couldn’t.

Yes, Arthur heard many voices come to see him as he lay there, trapped in his mind, unable to shake himself from this endless sleep. He heard Leon, praying to the Gods for Arthur’s life. He heard Percy, quietly shaking beside him. He heard Gwaine, cursing at him for taking so long to get better.

But mostly, Arthur heard Merlin.

Merlin, opening his curtains, putting his breakfast on the desk. Fiddling around, finding something to do in the room, humming his tune as he worked. Merlin, sitting next to him, petting his hair. Merlin, speaking softly and sweetly in ways that made Arthur feel as though he were melting. Merlin, coming to visit Arthur when he could, staying later into the night than he should.

But whenever Merlin wasn’t there, humming, the druids came to keep him company.

He heard druids dance around the room, and could smell the fire they were burning in as they laughed.

Arthur quickly found they were the only ones he could actually see.

A ginger druid boy came to see Arthur, to make Arthur watch as he burned. The boy laughed and choked, until he was dead.

A druid woman visited, too. She sang to him, so sweetly, until her head began to bleed itself out of her mouth. She kept singing, gargling, thick blood falling where her notes used to be.

A girl was suffocated after a beast of shadows engulfed her, leaving her body deformed on the cold floor.

A dark-haired man screamed, arms outstretched, as wounds appeared across him, as though he were being stabbed and tortured, although no one was around to inflict such injuries.

Yes, Arthur heard many voices and received many visits.

His father was not one of them.

He had asked Merlin, once, when he could manage to stay awake for long enough to.

“Has my father come to see me?” Arthur needed to check. He had to know.

Merlin’s sad look to the ground was answer enough, and Arthur went back to sleep embarrassed and upset.

What Arthur really wanted, more than anything, was a hug. He felt himself reaching out for it in his mind, as if attempting to will it into existence. Now that he had a name for this lonely feeling, now that Merlin had given him something to crave, Arthur thought of it all the time. This longing wraps around him, eating away at anything he is fed, swallowing his soul, until there is only a pit in his gut.

Arthur feels as though he is only a moth, caught in the hands of some childish grief.

He’d been grieving this his whole life, he thinks. But he hadn’t known it, until Merlin. Arthur had become so used to feeling nothing at all, or everything inside, and perhaps that is why he never knew what to do with the touches Merlin blessed him with.

Maybe that is why he needs Merlin here, beside him, so badly. Arthur had been broken for so long. But imagine explaining it all to a man with a knife in his back, one that he couldn’t see, one that he had lived with always. No, no, the knife shouldn’t be there. No back should have to carry this weight. No memory should be forced to carry this pain, always.

How does he forgive his father? Arthur hadn’t even known how torn Uther had made him. Not even when Merlin shifted his view on everything else. Arthur’s love and respect for his father had remained stagnant, without pause or question. And yet here Arthur is, unable to wake, unable to be better, and his father leaves him here to die on his own. Arthur hadn’t realized how far away Uther truly felt from him, until the burning of the druid camp. That was the moment it all truly clicked into place, hadn’t it?

Should Arthur forgive his father for leaving him all alone when he was only a child? For scaring Arthur with unexpected rage, or for making him nervous because there seemed to be no rage at all? Should he forgive Uther for the coldness, for the loneliness, for shutting doors and speaking through walls? Should Arthur forgive his father for letting a boy grow up in the shape of a son, with only the stars to speak to, in a big lonely castle?

Arthur wonders if he is anything like his mother. Was she softer than him? Does he have her laugh, hidden somewhere within him? Did she have the courage he yearns for?

Magic was what had killed her, in the end. She’d died afraid, and in pain, before she’d ever even held him. (Arthur wonders if that means Merlin truly was his first hug, because his mother had never had the chance.) Arthur wonders if his mother would give him more than an approving nod, if she would have held him and tucked him into bed after a faked nightmare. He wonders if she too would use the excuse of justice as a cover for massacre.

Arthur wonders if she would be proud of him, now.

Which should Arthur regret; Who he became, or who he didn’t?

It’s exhausting, being trapped in his own mind, with only his thoughts and his sins to keep him company. Arthur thinks for a moment, I hope the pain eases soon.

He realizes too late that he isn’t talking about his wound.

His pain, his greatest challenge, his deepest fear. They have never existed in an outside force. Arthur has never feared anything more than he has feared himself.

Even as a boy, scared to grow into a Prince, scared to become a King, scared to wear a crown he might never fit.

Arthur has always wanted to escape himself, trying and failing to outrun a destiny that he has not chosen.

It’s not that Arthur doesn’t enjoy his duties. Secretly, quietly, he loves them.

He always has. He loves training with the knights, loves leading his men, loves the discussions in Council. He loves having the spare moment or money to better a life in the lower town. He loves being able to read, and write, and understand the language of flowers. He loves knowing the name of each servant, stableboy, and townsperson.

But Arthur fears nothing more than leading his people to ruin, runs from nothing the way he runs from the possibility of failure. Arthur has always resisted the desire to lead, because deep within himself he knows he is not fit to.

Arthur wonders if this is why Merlin flits about his room, which surely must be clean by now. Arthur wonders if this is why Merlin hugs him, and looks after him so. Does he see through Arthur’s bants and tantrums? Has Merlin seen into him, the way no-one ever should? Does he know of the griefs Arthur cradles in his arms, the ghosts he carries on his back?

The nightmares are new, but the ghosts have always been there, piling up, clawing at his neck.

Arthur wishes so much he could stir from his slumber again, and call out to Merlin. Please, please, please, he thinks.

He feels Merlin at his side.

“Sh, sh, it’s just a nightmare.” Arthur heard, and feels Merlin pet his hair and stroke his cheek. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

How often has he become unsettled in his sleep, for Merlin to notice so quickly that Arthur is begging for him? How often has Merlin been petting his hair that Arthur has not been conscious of?

“Sh, sh, you’re alright, darling.” Merlin continued.

Darling.

The name settles on Arthur’s skin, warming him the way the sun might, if only it were stronger. Arthur tries to carve it into his memory, wanting to remember always the way Merlin sounded when calling Arthur something so soft and simple and kind. Arthur prays he is awake enough to remember later, tries to will himself out of sleep. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Arthur wants to say, your name is written across my ribs. I breathe you, and every breath I draw is for you. Your voice has wrapped itself around my bones, and it’s keeping me warm. I was born for you.

Instead, his eyes slowly flutter open. Merlin has a look like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, which brings a soft, tired smile to Arthur’s lips.

“Do I have nightmares often?” Arthur asked, trying to keep his eyes open. Trying to memorize Merlin’s surprised face so he can picture something beautiful as he falls asleep.

“Sometimes. I don’t think anyone else could tell. You just sort of start to murmur nothing to yourself, and you look…I dunno. Lost.” Merlin responded, hands folded in his lap.

“Am I getting any better?” Arthur wondered aloud. “Will this ever end?” Merlin looked very concerned.

“Yes, yes. Soon.” His voice sounds strong and sure, but Arthur can tell Merlin’s eyes are scared. “You’ll be just fine.”

“Sorry.” Arthur whispered, fighting sleep.

“It’s my fault.” Merlin whispered back. He looked down, playing with his hands in his lap. “I should’ve gone with you.”

“What could you have done?” Arthur teased. Merlin still looks pained. “I had my best knights with me, and none of us saw the arrow coming. Even if you’d been there, I still would’ve taken the hit.” Merlin won’t look up. Arthur reaches, so that his hand covers Merlin’s dainty ones. “I’m glad you were here, safe. Wouldn’t want you doing anything stupid to cover my royal arse.”

Merlin laughs, a little bit. Arthur counts it as a win.

Arthur suddenly feels as though he is going to reveal something he shouldn’t. He feels that I love you hiding behind his teeth. He decides to change the subject. Tries to ignore the way Merlin is grasping onto his hand.

“How is everyone in the castle?” Arthur asks, if only so that he could hear Merlin’s voice for a little while longer.

Merlin tells him of Leon, leading training each day. He tells of how Sir Frederick had snickered once, and of how Gwaine challenged him to what he had called a ‘friendly duel’ only to have the man on his back within seconds, glaring, Percival holding back his laughter. He speaks of Gaius, and the wildflowers he’s been looking for. Merlin tells him of Morgana, who walks beside Gwen in the gardens. He mentions how she had tried to attend council in Arthur’s absence, but Uther wouldn’t hear of it. At Arthur’s scowl, Merlin quickly moves on. Eventually Merlin runs out of people to talk about.

Arthur gives a little ‘hmph’ of disappointment.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Merlin asked sarcastically.

“I want you to pet my hair and tell me stories.” Arthur said, slowly, wanting to ask for a hug as well, but feeling like he’d already begged for too much. Merlin smiles his wide-smile, one hand sitting in his lap, holding Arthur’s, the other dancing past his cheek into his hair.

His stories fill the empty room, ghosting over everything like snow, landing softly on Arthur’s pain and easing it away. Arthur feels better, knowing for the first time that he will recover fully from this. That he could fight harder, in his sleep, so that Merlin does not have to bear guilt over him ever again, so that Merlin would never again have his worries wasted on Arthur.

Arthur promises himself this, as he falls asleep once more, swearing that in the morning he will leave this damned bed.

He does.

The following morning, when he hears Merlin shuffling into his room, opening his curtains, Arthur forces himself upright.

Once he’s gotten that accomplished, he swings his legs off the bed. It doesn’t pain him nearly as much as he’d anticipated. Arthur feels sleep calling out to him, but he ignores its sweet, whispered promises. He also ignores Merlin’s protests and shocked face.

“Arthur, no, you need rest—” Arthur takes a deep breath before standing.

Immediately he regrets it, but forces himself to remain upright. Arthur grips Merlin’s shoulder, wishing he were strong enough to stand on his own.

“Arthur, please. Let’s sit you back down!” Merlin protested. Arthur shakes his head.

“No. No more bed.” Arthur whined in response. He walked, leaning on Merlin, towards his desk. “A man must make his own way sometimes.” Arthur tried to make sure he sounded commanding, “Without his bed to help him.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, escorting Arthur to his desk, easing him into the chair.

“See?” Arthur said, as if he had won. “Told you.”

Arthur began eating his breakfast, albeit slowly.

“Such a prat.” Merlin seemed relieved to see him up and moving, though, and Arthur was glad for his efforts. Arthur shoots him a cheeky smile.

“So? Aren’t you going to inform me of my schedule for the day?” Arthur asked. Eating helped immensely. He feels less dizzy, more sure, the sleepiness slipping back into the quiet corners of his mind. He feels fully awake, for the first time in a very long while.

“Schedule!” Merlin scoffed. “Sure, I’ll tell you your schedule. Get back into that bed and rest, clotpole!” He huffed, hands on his hips.

“No, no, no more resting. It’s time for me to be better.” Arthur argued.

“You’re not going to be all better overnight!” Merlin exclaimed, exasperated. Arthur shook his head, Merlin’s arguments giving him a headache. Not that he’d ever complain. To have his mind pained by Merlin’s voice forever would be a blessing.

“It’s certainly been more than a night.” Arthur replied sternly.

“Arthur—”

“No, I’ll at least go to Council, surely.” Arthur said, trying to keep his voice from whining. He could not sound weak if he wanted to win.

“Ha! You can talk to your pillows, if you’re that bored.”

“Merlin.” Arthur begged. “I have to get out of that bed. I can’t stand it anymore.”

Merlin gave Arthur a harsh look, before relenting and nodding.

“Fine, fine. But nothing strenuous. And I’ll be there the whole time. And I’ll fetch you a walking stick. And if I say you look too pale, you’re going back to bed.” Merlin stated.

“Deal.” Arthur agreed, and waited while Merlin went to get him something to shift his weight onto.

When he returned, Merlin had in hand the most magnificent cane Arthur had ever seen. It looked like it was made of wood, but small rhinestones of Camelot’s colors twinkled underneath the careful carving, making it look majestic and magical.

“Where did you get this?” Arthur whispered in admiration, holding the cane lightly, looking it over with care.

“Oh, I dunno,” Merlin said, sounding nervous, “Just something Gaius had lying around.” Arthur stood up to test it, and found it fit him perfectly.

“Did you steal it?” Arthur teased him. Merlin scoffed.

“I would never!”

Arthur sat back down to finish his breakfast. Merlin left again, returning with pails for Arthur’s bath.

“You’re trying to get me to go to sleep again by having me bathe!” Arthur accused.

“I’m trying to get the stink of pigs off you. I’ll let you walk around the castle, but not smelling like that.” Merlin flitted about, filling the tub, setting out Arthur’s clothes for the day. Gathering the supplies he would need to re-cover Arthur’s wound. Arthur watched him, content. His favorite moments in the world are between just him and Merlin, both busy doing something else. Is there anything more intimate than simply existing, together?

Eventually Arthur hobbles his way to the bath. Sitting down in the tub is difficult in a way it never used to be. It annoys him. Merlin tries to wash his hair, and as much as Arthur wants to let him, he lightly pushes him away.

Arthur wants to know that he can do it on his own.

After the struggle of the bath, Arthur had to be re-bandaged and changed. Putting a shirt over his head is the most excruciating task so far, which makes Arthur feel completely humiliated.

“You’ll sit there for several minutes before we go.” Merlin commanded him.

“For how long?” Arthur complained.

“Until I say so.”

By the time Merlin finally lets Arthur stand again, Arthur feels much better. After being changed, he’d thought for sure he was going to fall over. The world feels more steady now.

He grips the cane tightly, shifting most of his weight onto it. Merlin opens the door for him. The guards that watch his door look downright relieved to see Arthur.

“Good morning, Sire!” The knight to his left greeted him, excitement in his voice. It made Arthur feel so humbled and grateful, to see his knights care for him so dearly.

“Good morning, Sir Benjamin.” Arthur returned his knights’ smiles. “Don’t let Merlin know, but I’m finally escaping!” He joked. Merlin rolled his eyes as the knights laughed.

“Won’t tell a soul!” The other knight, Sir Walter joked.

Arthur unsteadily walked past them, Merlin joining him at his side.

“Where are we even going, Arthur?” Merlin half-whined.

“We are going out to the field!” Arthur exclaimed. At Merlin’s incredulous look, Arthur continued, “I want to cheer Leon on as he trains today.” Merlin smiled at this, and slowly, so slowly, they made it outside.

Gwaine saw them immediately, abandoning training to run toward Arthur. Several other knights were quick to follow, overjoyed to see him. Arthur’s heart swelled.

“You’re alive!” Gwaine gripped his shoulder, almost throwing Arthur off balance.

“Careful, careful, he’s still healing.” Merlin reprimanded, and Arthur feels Gwaine’s grip lessen slightly.

“Thought we’d lost you for sure.” Percy joked, his rare, wide smile on display.

“He’s a fighter, this one.” Leon chimed in. The few other knights that had run to Arthur laughed and joked with him.

The men talked for a while, Leon offering to speak with Arthur later to give a proper report. Arthur nods, grateful. Not wanting to seem weak, he glances at Merlin.

Merlin immediately understood.

“Alright, enough chit-chat. Back to training! Arthur’s got other duties today.” Merlin commanded. The knights that surrounded him obeyed Merlin’s instructions.

Almost everyone in the castle loves Merlin. Arthur’s best knights show him great respect, and know how highly Arthur thinks of him. Leon and Percival treasure Merlin, and everyone knows of Gwaine’s deep friendship with him. Gwen and Merlin are often stuck at the hip, the pair thick as thieves. Even Morgana trusts Merlin, blessing him with her rare smiles, usually reserved only for Gwen.

Uther never really liked Merlin. Frederick, Theodore, and few of Uther’s men had a clear disdain for Merlin. But that’s alright, because Arthur didn’t really like them anyway. And even those idiots were smart enough to never say a bad word Merlin’s way, knowing Arthur would have their heads in a heartbeat.

But for the most part, Merlin flourished at the castle, easily loved by anyone he came across. The cooks must favor him, too, to be putting out-of-season plums on Arthur’s plate.

Once they reached the castle again, Arthur sat immediately on the first chair he saw.

“Alright, let’s get you back to bed.” Merlin said.

“No, no. Please, I’m really feeling very well. I just need a bit of rest here for a moment, and then we can walk some more.” Arthur begged. Merlin sighed in defeat.

“Fine, fine.”

After a while, Arthur felt much better, and Merlin helped him stand back up.

“Where to next, you royal prat?”

Arthur thought for a moment.

“I want to go check on Morgana. I heard her, at my bedside. I don’t want her to worry anymore.” Arthur said, leaning on his cane, shuffling toward her chamber.

“Heard her?” Merlin questioned.

“I was half-awake, most of the time. I heard most of the people who came to see me. Or, at least, bits and pieces of it.” Arthur recalled as they walked.

“Oh.” Merlin sounded nervous.

“Oh, don’t worry Merlin. I heard you shuffling around my room, coming up with things to do.” Arthur said, “Just to bother me!” He finished, teasing. Merlin scoffed.

“Psh! Gaius made me!” Merlin said, though it was clear to both men he was lying.

“Arthur?” Morgana exclaimed, exiting her chamber just as the men turned the corner to face it. Arthur broke out into a smile as Morgana rushed for him, stopping just in front of him, seeming suddenly at a loss of what to do.

Arthur realized with a snap that Morgana must also have no understanding of what it is to hug. The thought burned through him. He wondered what it would have been like, to grow up knowing how to properly show affection.

He reached out with one arm, bringing Morgana into a half-hug. He wanted to hug her fully, to show her this new revelation of home, and of family, but one hand was forced to remain on his cane.

Morgana froze for a small moment, before hugging him back lightly, one arm over his shoulder and one arm under, wrapping behind his back. Arthur wished he could go back in time, and save Morgana from growing up alongside him in this castle, where her room was too big and too empty and the shadows held her more than any one person did.

“I’m so glad to see you’re alright.” Morgana smiled, as they pulled away. Merlin steadied Arthur as he readjusted to standing fully on his two feet. “I came to check on you a few times, but you just looked so ill…” Morgana trailed off.

“I’m fine, I promise.” Arthur reassured her, the way he’d wanted to before, in his sleep. “Merlin’s been taking good care of me.”

“Oh, I bet.” Morgana teased, looking between them. Arthur blushed profusely, and promptly decided it was most definitely time to end this conversation. He turned as quickly as he could manage.

“Goodbye, Morgana!” He called warily over his shoulder as Morgana laughed at his abruptness. “Tell Gwen I said hello!” Arthur put extra emphasis on Gwen’s name. It had the desired effect, causing Morgana’s buckled laughter to quiet itself in an obviously embarrassed silence.

Arthur agrees eventually to allow Merlin to guide him to his room. He is proud of himself for the walk, and is exhausted by the events of the morning. He enjoys letting Merlin tuck him in.

“Will you wake me for dinner?” Arthur asked. Merlin looks uneasy. “Please?” Merlin nodded finally, and pet Arthur’s hair, sitting beside him until he eventually fell back to a well-earned sleep.

Chapter Text

Dinner that night is tense, to say the least. The long table is filled with several of Uther’s highest ranking knights, Leon, Morgana, and the King himself, sitting at the head of it all.

All heads turn toward Arthur as he enters, and Leon and Morgana smile jovially. Merlin leaves his side to stand by the other servants. Everyone had already been informed of Arthur’s plan to attend dinner, so his entrance is not grand and unexpected. Uther’s knights seem unimpressed, however, and Uther’s expression is unreadable. Arthur, still leaning mostly on his cane, smiles at the group.

“My son.” Uther greets him, gesturing for Arthur to sit down.

The feast commences, and side conversations begin with ease, at first. After a while of silence between the father and son, however, Uther turns to Arthur.

“You did not come to see me, when you were certainly able to.” Uther chastised. Arthur wants to laugh.

“Nor you, me.” Arthur snapped back.

Uther looked struck, and looked Arthur up and down. He clenched his jaw.

“It is your duty as Prince to report to your King, boy.” Uther spat.

“And it is your duty as Father to care for your Son, and yet here we are.” Arthur barked, quickly losing his cool and happy demeanor.

“Take care in how you speak!” Uther nearly shouted, standing in his fury. The table had long since gone quiet.

“Care?” Arthur growled, standing, shifting his weight to his cane, to match his father. “Is that the word you truly wish to use? You dare to sit there and preach to me about care?"

The world was still for a moment. Arthur breathing with the fire in his chest, the anger in his throat. Uther stands as he always has, chin up, eyes empty.

Then Uther struck Arthur across the face with his backhand.

The gasps were quiet, but echoed throughout the hall. Arthur heard Merlin the most, from where he stood against the wall with Gwen and a few other servants.

Arthur didn’t feel the slap, not so much as he felt the shock of it. Uther had not struck him for insubordination in years, not since he was only a child. Arthur refused to be made to feel like a child now, and raised his chin high, ignoring the sting settling on his cheek.

“You’d strike a wounded man?” Arthur challenged. “I suppose I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am.” He took satisfaction in the way Uther’s face went red with anger, looking around the table quickly, as if embarrassed.

“You should take your leave, Arthur.” Uther growled. Arthur recognized it as a warning. “Clearly the fever has more control than you tonight.” Arthur wanted to snarl, to spit at his face, to throw a gauntlet at his feet.

Instead, Arthur leisurely sat back down, and grabbed another roll. He turned to Morgana, who sat beside him. Her eyes are worried, but her face is just as stonelike and stoic as Arthur’s.

“Morgana,” Arthur smiled at her, “Tell me of your day?”

Morgana smiled at him, pride shining on her face in a way Arthur had never seen before. He finds himself deeply grateful for her in this moment, as she answers him without a second thought.

Slowly, Uther sits himself back down, knuckles turning white against the corners of the table he holds.

Arthur ignores him, and the glares Uther sends his way.

He glanced nervously at Merlin, once, to see his furrowed brow and confused eyes. Arthur shrugs in return, a smile glimpsing his face. Merlin gives him a small smile and a thumbs-up.

After the dinner, a servant appears at Arthur’s door telling him the King has summoned him. Arthur sighed, and nodded, following him.

When he arrives, Uther has his back to him.

“You embarrass me.” Uther speaks aloud, looking out his window. “I have always known you to be a coward and a fool, but never thought you foolish enough to defy me like that.” Arthur stands proudly, hands behind his back. Oh, I defy you in more ways than you know.

Uther turns to Arthur finally, walks to him, taking his time. They stand at about the same height, but Uther tries to make it feel as though he towers over his son. It’s strange, the way this no longer works now that Arthur is not afraid of the man.

“I will allow this to pass, as you are still ill.” Uther takes one more step forward, his dirty breath clouding Arthur’s nose. “If it happens again, you’ll find yourself in the dungeons.” Uther dismisses him before Arthur has a chance to respond. Arthur is more than a little glad for this, as he was about two seconds away from taking the crown early.

The rest of the week is much less eventful. Arthur and Merlin take walks everyday, Arthur trying to regain his lost strength. Gaius has warned him that he is not to participate in training for another several weeks. Morgana shows him bits of her magic, Gwen usually in the room cheering her on. Arthur feels honored to be invited to see these things.

Arthur still has to lean on his cane, but no longer on Merlin so much. He sleeps a normal amount, now, and wakes before Merlin comes to greet him and open his curtains. Arthur is grateful for this, able to have a moment to recompose himself each morning after his nightmares, before Merlin has to see him. Merlin has already seen too much of him.

However, Arthur is worried about his friend. Merlin seems more withdrawn from him than ever before. Arthur doesn’t know what caused it. Merlin doesn’t seem angry with him, and still jokes with Arthur as he always has. But he doesn’t pat his arm, or touch his hair, and there have been absolutely no hugs.

And, when Merlin thinks Arthur isn’t looking, he looks terribly sad. Almost distraught. It makes Arthur’s heart ache. He wonders if this is Merlin’s way of telling Arthur that he is sick of him. Maybe Merlin had grown tired of petting his hair.

The back of Arthur’s mind itches when he thinks about it. What could he have said or done to upset him so? Their last serious conversation had been his confession of the druid camps, and Morgana, but Merlin had said he didn’t mind magic!

Arthur sits himself at his desk, scribbling out ideas for a revised tax plan to review in Council, that might bring less struggle upon his farmers. He already knew his father would strike it down, but Arthur didn’t mind. He knew speaking out to him had been foolish. One cannot win a game of chess with insults.

Morgana had loved it, though. She had raved for hours afterwards, so excited and proud of her big brother. Arthur was glad to have won her confidence in him. She admitted that she had not noticed when Arthur had changed from a Prince to a would-be King, but she was sure it had happened. The thought made Arthur’s stomach churn.

Merlin walks in, dispersing his thoughts.

“Good mo—” Merlin stopped when he saw the empty bed, looking surprised as he realizes Arthur is sitting at his desk. “Oh! Good morning, Arthur.” In fairness, Arthur usually gets up to shake off the bad dreams, and then crawls back into bed to wait for Merlin to call to him. But today the nightmare had been intense, and Arthur was almost afraid to get back into bed, which had turned into a pile of dead bodies in his sleep.

“Hello, Merlin.” Arthur greeted his friend warmly, admiring the way the sun lands on Merlin’s cheekbones and hair. His eyes look almost gold in the light. Arthur loves him.

“You’re up early, aren’t you?” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Things to do, you know. Busy, busy.” Merlin sets his tray beside him, taking a step back afterwards. Arthur wishes he wouldn’t. He wishes he could grab Merlin by the waist and have him stay beside Arthur, always. Instead, he watches, leaning back in his chair, as Merlin goes to open his curtains.

“What are you working on?” Merlin asked.

“A revised tax plan that my father will probably refuse.” Arthur sighed. “Would you take a look?”

This happens often between them, Arthur having Merlin review his documents and ideas. Merlin is one of the few servants who knows how to read and write, and Arthur values his opinion more than anyone else. Merlin nods, and reaches out as Arthur hands him the parchment.

“You’re trying to lower the taxes of the farmers?” Merlin asked after he finished, sounding a little in awe.

“The winter hit them with more force than in previous years. They are struggling to get through the seasons. It will be no good for anyone if they do not have the money and supplies they need to get through this years’ harvest.” Arthur revels in the way Merlin is looking at him, eyes soft and trusting and hopeful. It makes Arthur’s skin crawl, in the way that his skin wants to reach out to Merlin but his bones have forgotten how to move. Merlin seems to shake himself out of a daze and take a step back.

“It’s well put, and clearly and cleverly thought-out. I think if Uther were a smarter man, he’d know to implore it immediately.” Merlin said finally, returning the parchment to the desk, turning away to flutter around the room, starting on his chores.

Arthur felt his hand raise, and saw himself reaching out after Merlin. He immediately pulled it back to himself, sitting on his hands to resist temptation. He cleared his throat.

“Thank you.”

Arthur, as always, enjoyed the peace of the morning. Merlin, rushing about, humming. He hums more, now, almost always rather than the few-and-far-between that it used to be. Ever since that day, when Arthur had asked him to fill the quietness, Merlin hums near constantly. Arthur wonders if Merlin purposely does it now, knowing how it eases mind. Of course, Merlin just existing near him is enough to ease Arthur’s mind.

Eventually, Arthur finishes his breakfast and his writings, and Merlin finishes his chores, and Arthur stands to be bathed.

He wishes he could come up with an excuse to have Merlin wash his hair, but nothing felt reasonable, so Arthur did it on his own, the bathwater perfectly warm as he washed himself over.

When Merlin dresses him, his hands feel quicker than usual, as if trying to hurry through the task. When he’s done, he steps back.

Arthur feels the moment in his upper chest, as if a weight is being pushed on his lungs.

Merlin had not brushed his shoulders.

It’s stupid. It’s a stupid thing to mourn, a stupid thing to love, a stupid thing to need. But here Arthur is, feeling lost and lopsided without it. More weight shifts to his cane as he struggles to readjust. He feels overdramatic about how he’s reacting, but even in the past week Merlin has already pulled back everywhere else. At least Arthur still had this. Except now he doesn’t, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

Merlin doesn’t see the sharp confusion in Arthur’s eyes, because he is busy staring at the ground.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked finally. “Is everything…Are you alright?” Arthur started fiddling with his hands, unreasonably nervous.

“Fine, yeah.” Merlin looked up as he responded, and his eyes looked hollow. When had that happened? How had Arthur not noticed? That itch at the back of his mind began, again, stronger now.

“You can talk to me, you know.” Arthur said, taking a step forward. Merlin took one backward, and Arthur froze.

“No, I…” Merlin trailed off, seeming to shake himself. He took a deep breath, walked forward, brushed Arthur’s shoulders. “I’m fine. Just tired, is all.” Merlin’s expression was unreadable, although up close Arthur could see how Merlin did look tired. He wanted to offer to let him rest here, in his far more comfortable bed, but that sounded insane, so Arthur chose something else.

“You can have the day off, if you’d like. It’s not like I’m exactly busy these days anyway.”

Merlin looked relieved. It broke Arthur’s heart.

“Thank you, Arthur. I—Thank you.” Merlin said, taking his leave and walking out the door.

Arthur looked around, in his too big room, all alone. It’s too quiet when it’s just him.

Chapter Text

Arthur’s day is worse, after Merlin leaves.

Everything keeps going wrong.

Arthur had started his walk by visiting the kitchens to ask if they happened to have any plums. Because plums make him think of Merlin, now, and Arthur was hoping it’d cheer him up. Of course, the kitchens looked at him as though he’d lost his mind, and he hobbled away embarrassed. Arthur went out to see how training was going, missing it terribly, only to accidentally distract Gwaine who then got nicked on the chin. Arthur made his way back to the castle, wanting to give up and return to his chambers, only to fall on the stairs.

The pain screeches through him, ripping him apart, screaming into him, so badly that black spots dot his vision. He has to yell for help like an idiot, only to find no one happens to be around. Arthur was forced to sit, in awful pain, for another ten minutes before Gwen happened to find him.

“Arthur?”

“Finally.” Arthur muttered to himself, still on the verge of blacking out.

“What are you doing on the floor?” Gwen asked, running a few steps down to fetch his cane, then returning to his side.

“Oh, having a ball!” Arthur answered sarcastically, “What does it look like?” He snapped. Gwen pulled back like she’d been burned. Arthur inwardly cursed himself. “Sorry, I’m sorry Gwen. That wasn’t fair. I’m having quite a day. I shouldn’t take it out on you.” Gwen’s soft smile returned and she finished helping Arthur stand upright. Arthur quickly inspected his cane to find that it was still in perfect condition, by some miracle.

“Are you alright?” She asked, once Arthur was back on his feet. “Should I help you to Gaius?” Arthur shook his head. He couldn’t go and bother Merlin on his rest day. Surely Arthur could manage.

“No, no, I’m just fine.” Gwen looked around.

“Where is Merlin? Isn’t he pretty much always with you?” Arthur felt exhausted.

“I gave him the day off. All I do is walk around anyways.” He explained tiredly, as they climbed the stairs together.

“And he actually took it?” Gwen sounded incredulous. Arthur nodded. “Sorry, Sire, it’s just that he usually prefers to be by your side.”

This made Arthur want to cry. If Merlin enjoys being by his side, then why is he not here? Why had he been so relieved to not have to travel with Arthur to the camps? If Merlin enjoys his company so much, why is it that Arthur is always the one pining? Arthur feels foolish. He wishes so much that Merlin would just come here, and be by his side, and tell Arthur what it is that’s bouncing around his head.

Doesn’t he know that Arthur is sorry?

It doesn’t really matter what for. If Arthur has upset Merlin, he’s sorry. He’s beyond sorry. Arthur would willingly scour the Earth searching out penance on how to make it all better. He’d give Merlin anything he ever wanted, hands full of gifts and remorse. Of course, he’d give Merlin anything he wanted anyway, if only Merlin would ask.

Arthur is almost glad Merlin doesn’t know how wrapped around his finger Arthur truly is. Merlin could destroy Kingdoms, wage wars, all without lifting a finger, because Arthur would do it for him, if he asked.

“He seemed upset with me.” Arthur admitted quietly.

“So your solution was to send him away?” Gwen’s voice was soft. She wasn’t trying to attack or chastise him. She just wanted to understand.

“He looked relieved.” Arthur answered her. “Maybe he’s upset about what I said to my father. We were fine before that.” Gwen let out a cackle.

“Are you kidding? He was more proud of you than anyone, more-so even than Morgana. Plus, when he saw what the King did…” She lowered her voice, looked around to check that no-one was listening in, “I had to hold him back. Although I was one moment from interfering myself.” Gwen adjusted her dress nervously at the confession. Arthur stopped walking, turning to look his friend in the eye.

“Thank you.” Arthur said. “I would never expect you to interfere on my behalf, of course, but your words carry great weight with me.” Gwen blushed, smiling, and nodded. “You really had to hold Merlin back?” Arthur asked, continuing their walk as a blush crawled its way up to his cheeks.

“He was more angry than I’d seen him in a very long time. I thought for sure he’d explode!” Gwen gossipped. Arthur laughed as they walked, her arm resting on his.

It is always so easy to be near Gwen. It’s no wonder Morgana has taken such a liking to her. Gwen is such a soft, kind, vibrant force that she can easily erase the woes and troubles of the people she is near. Arthur quietly hopes that maybe one day Morgana and Gwen will admit their feelings and wed, so that he could officially call Gwen his sister.

Arthur looks around.

“Where are we going?”

“To Morgana’s chamber. She asked for you. I was headed for the fields to search for you when I found you on the stairs.” Gwen explained, “And don’t ask me what for. She wouldn’t say, only that it was terribly important.” Arthur nodded.

When they reached Morgana’s chamber, they found her sitting on the edge of her bed, arms in her lap, a worried look settled in her features.

“Guess who I found having a nap on the stairs!” Gwen announced as they walked in, making Arthur roll his eyes. Morgana only looks up, preoccupied look unceasing. “Is everything okay, love?” Gwen’s tone changed as she saw Morgana’s expression.

Arthur went to sit on Morgana’s desk chair, suddenly a bit jealous. Arthur wished his manservant would call him sweet names, in daylight, when Arthur isn’t dying.

“No. Would you close the door, before you sit?” Morgana responded, and Gwen nodded, closing the door, then joined Morgana on the bed. Morgana gave a faint smile to her handmaid before turning to Arthur.

“I had an awful nightmare, Arthur.” Morgana began.

“A premonition?” Arthur asked. Morgana nodded.

“It was of you. You were dying!” Morgana looked absolutely torn. Gwen grasped one of Morgana’s hands. “You are going to choke to death, tomorrow night.”

Arthur sucked in a breath. Alright, okay. That’s fine.

“Did you see anything else in the vision?” Arthur asked. Morgana thought for a moment.

“You were in the great hall.” She stated. Arthur nodded. Morgana began to sniffle. “All I can ever do is watch in the dreams, Arthur, and I…I couldn’t help!”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Arthur coaxed, glad Gwen was there for Morgana to hold onto. “I actually understand that bit.” Morgana looked up from her lap.

“Truly?”

“What, you don’t think you’re the only one in the castle with nightmares, do you?” Arthur teased.

“No, I suppose not.” Morgana answered, a small smile creeping onto her face.

“Tomorrow night, in the great hall. Good to know. I promise not to choke.” Arthur half-joked, just to make Morgana laugh. She did, a bit, rolling her eyes. Only then did she look around the room.

“Where’s Merlin?” She asked. Arthur resisted the urge to sigh.

“Arthur gave him the day off.” Gwen answered before Arthur could.

“Whatever for?” Morgana asked, making Gwen shrug.

“He thinks Merlin is upset with him.” Gwen explained, yet again, before Arthur could even open his mouth.

“Well, is he?” Morgana was clearly talking only to Gwen now.

“Somehow I doubt it.” Gwen giggled. Morgana crinkled her nose, huffing out a small laugh. This makes Gwen snort, which makes Morgana crack up. Soon both girls are laughing, holding the other’s hand as they lean their head back, cackling.

Arthur rolls his eyes, but feels a lot of fondness for them both.

“Wait, why would you want him in the room?” Arthur asks, as they calm down. “You were talking about your magic!” Morgana’s mouth drops open, and Gwen’s expression mirrors hers.

“You haven’t told him?” She asked. “I assumed you would have!”

“No, I mean, I did—”

This makes Morgana and Gwen burst out laughing all over again. Arthur feels very embarrassed by the whole thing.

“Sorry. I know I shouldn’t have.” Arthur apologizes after they finish their fits. Morgana rolls her eyes.

“I never told you that you couldn’t tell him. You could tell your knights, too, the ones who went with you, before. I trust you, Arthur.” Morgana said. Arthur felt himself take and release a deep breath, tears unwarranted but still existent in his eyes. “Plus, I’d never tell you a secret then force you to keep it from Merlin.”

“Not that he could, clearly!” Gwen joked, making Arthur snort and Morgana laugh.

“Gwen and I can’t keep any secrets either. I mean, she even told me abou—” Gwen slaps her hand over Morgana’s mouth, making Morgana’s eyes go wide with realization a half-second later.

“Told you what?” Arthur asked, looking between them. Gwen slowly lowers her hand from Morgana’s face.

“She told me,” Morgana looks like she is trying to come up with a lie, and then seems to find one, “About how you’re head over heels for your manservant!” She finished, making Arthur blush and stammer. “Not that that’s news, really.”

Arthur, despite his embarrassment, knows she is lying. He chooses to ignore it, to let it go, because he has enough secrets to keep as it is. After a while of teasing and gossip, the conversation becomes serious again.

“Can’t you just not go to the great hall tomorrow?” Gwen asked. Arthur shook his head.

“No, there’s a feast tomorrow. Uther won’t let me miss it.” Arthur explained.

“No more standing up to him for a while, I assume?” Morgana raised an eyebrow as she spoke.

“Not with the threat of the dungeons on my back.” Arthur said, and filled her in on their conversation in the throne room after dinner that night. Gwen looked more angry than he’d ever seen her.

“Maybe you can pretend to be ill? Have another mishap on the stairs, but go to Gaius this time?” Gwen offered. “Merlin can help, too, and Gaius will explain to anyone who asks that you’re concussed or something of the sort. You’ll be safe in your room!” Arthur looked to Morgana, eyebrows raised.

“Would that work?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been able to…stop them, before.” Morgana admitted. “No matter what I try, they always come true.”

The statement hangs in the air. They figure they’ll try it nonetheless, but their hopes are not high.

Morgana hugs him goodnight, which is new. Arthur appreciates it.

“Sleep well.” He wished on her.

“You too.” She pleaded in return.

Arthur did not sleep as well as either of them hoped.

There is a father, holding his infant baby, in his dream.

They look happy, and healthy. The child giggles as the man coos at it. The moment is warm. The father smiles up at Arthur, waving him over.

Each step that Arthur takes toward the man, the more in pain he looks. Arthur breaks out into a run, trying to reach him, before it’s too late.

By the time Arthur arrives at his side, the father is on his knees, weeping. His baby is dead in his arms. Arthur looks at the infant. It looks sick, like it had been dead for much longer. Like it hadn’t been happy and safe, before Arthur had come along and ruined it all.

The man looks up at him, except now he has Merlin’s face. It’s Merlin that stares back at him, now, crying and mourning, and blaming Arthur for the pain he has caused.

Arthur stumbles backward, scrambling away.

The world around them is silent, and Arthur can only hear his own jagged breath.

“You’ve betrayed me.” Merlin’s voice calls to him. “You did this to me.”

Merlin’s face contorts in agony. The bags under his eyes grow darker, and his cheekbones stick out as his cheeks become hollow. He begins to look sickly, like the baby.

Arthur wants so badly to run to him, but his legs do not obey, an instead begin to back up.

As he does, Merlin looks better. His cheeks become full again, color returning to his cheeks. His weight returns and his eyes no longer look sunken. Arthur backs up further, and Merlin becomes almost golden with health.

Arthur blinks, and his figure shifts back into the druid man and his baby, both happy and healthy, safe away from Arthur.

When Arthur wakes up, he doesn’t know what to think.

That shouldn’t have been the worst nightmare so far, but it was.

Is his mind trying to warn him?

Is Arthur what makes Merlin so tired, is he why Merlin was so relieved to have a day off?

He wishes Merlin had been the one to wake him, to hold him, so that Arthur could see up close if Merlin’s eyes were sunken or cheeks too hollow. Arthur wishes it selfishly, too, because he sits alone, crying in his bed, for a very long time.

It’s still dark when Arthur finally calms down. There is no way he’d risk going back to sleep after that. It felt unfair, in comparison to the others. Nightmares of the druids, he deserves. Nightmares of Merlin are cruel.

Arthur leaves his bed, his feet cold against the floor. He grabs his cane, inspecting it. It had quickly become one of his favorite possessions. He will be glad when he isn’t using it anymore, so that he could put it somewhere he can admire it. The dark wood is accented by Camelot’s colors, shining underneath. It’s lovely and beautiful but still simple. And Merlin had retrieved it so quickly, as if he knew without thinking what Arthur would enjoy most out of the collection of canes Gaius probably has for his patients.

And what, Arthur’s brain is just telling him that he should back away?

Should he back away?

Arthur takes a deep breath, lifting his cane off the ground, trying to find his balance without it.

He has to slam it back down almost immediately to keep from falling.

Since when does Arthur dream of regular people anyway? He’s always only had nightmares of druids! What could this dream possibly be punishing him for?

Should he be punished?

Arthur gathers his courage and tries again. He can manage it a little longer. He does this again and again, feeling weak from the effort. Pain shoots up his chest and back.

But at least he’s thinking about something else.

Anything is better than thinking about that nightmare.

Because Arthur is fine with being haunted by his ghosts, and his sins, and his failures. He has refused Merlin’s offerings of a sleeping tonic. Arthur knows he deserves to be reminded of his failures. But how has he failed Merlin?

Has he failed Merlin?

After Arthur can stand for a few seconds without the cane’s support, he tries to walk a step. He nearly trips over himself, but shifts back onto the cane just in time.

And why had it had a baby in it, if it had been about Merlin? Yes, fine, maybe when Arthur is daydreaming sometimes, he imagines a future with Merlin. Maybe he likes to picture that they have a surrogate midwife later, and a child that has Merlin’s features. And yes, alright, maybe Arthur has thought about names, and adventures the three of them could go on, like picnics on the beach. Maybe he’s decided which room the child would sleep in, and how he’d always tuck them back in if they had a bad dream, no matter the gender. Is that so truly awful? Did he deserve to watch as Merlin blamed him for the dead baby in his arms?

Arthur tries another step, nearly falling once again. He curses out loud.

Was he really so bad for Merlin? Is that why Merlin needed a day off? Merlin needed time away. From Arthur. It was the same with the travels, hadn’t it been? Merlin had been telling Gwen how he had been dreading it. He felt like he’d been let out of a bad deal. Isn’t that what he said? Is Arthur the bad deal?

Arthur takes a deep breath, tries to step without the cane once more.

He falls.

He closes his eyes, as he slips, and sees Merlin, sick, because of him, still humming.

He hits the ground with a thud, and feels the ache echo throughout his body. He has to strain to roll onto his back from his side, where he’d landed.

Arthur lets out a defeated scream.

He feels like a child, on his back, throwing a tantrum.

But he’s so upset. He is so fucking tired, all the time. Waves of exhaustion are so constant that he’s learned how to swim through them without batting an eye. But the darkness is always there, at the back of his mind, trying to lure him to sleep. Except that sleep only brings more nightmares, and he wakes up more tired than before. The only thing holding Arthur together is Merlin. Arthur knows this. Has always known. Because as much as he might like to imagine a future with Merlin, Arthur truly is content to call the man his best friend.

It hasn’t been happening as much lately, but Merlin truly makes him laugh more than anyone else. Makes him smile when no-one else can. Makes the world a little easier to exist in. Makes it a little easier to breathe.

And what, this nightmare is telling him he shouldn’t?

Should he give up the only thing that makes him strong?

Is it selfish to hold on? Is it spineless to let go?

Arthur lets out another exasperated, strangled scream from the floor as he swallows the tears forming in his eyes.

Foolish. Cowardly.

He has always been these things.

Arthur has always tricked himself, better than anyone, into forgetting for a little while.

But deep down he has always known. He is a fool and a coward, in the shape of a prince. He is a sheep in wolf’s skin, not the other way around. He’s a good liar, a good pretender.

That’s the only thing he’s good at.

It seems Merlin has finally realized this truth.

Even still, he wishes so deeply that Merlin would find him here, struggling on the floor. Please, please, please, he thinks.

Arthur reaches for his cane, which had rolled out of his grasp. He can’t find it. He lifts his head from the ground to look around, eventually realizing it had rolled under his bed.

Arthur starts sobbing.

It’s uncontrollable, and he is inconsolable.

He is a child in a crown that will never fit, laying here on the floor, weeping as though that would fix anything at all.

He bangs the back of his head against the stone floor. Again. Again.

Can he never be free of this? Can he never be better? Will Arthur never be able to wash his hands of this grief?

If Merlin is leaving, Arthur won’t complain. Arthur will never stand in Merlin’s way, as he finds someone better. Someone worthy of his friendship, like Gwaine.

Arthur’s soul used to be whole, hadn’t it? Maybe once, a very long time ago? Now his soul is split, a deep valley, empty and aching. Arthur wishes so deeply, in the remnants that used to be his soul, that Merlin would come and comfort him, and hold him, and help him off the ground. Please, he thinks. Please.

Arthur ignores the pain he feels as he slowly sits up on his own.

He doesn’t need that cane.

He doesn’t need Merlin.

He’d only ruin them.

Arthur was not made to touch beautiful things.

Once he is sat up, he turns, and shuffles himself backward, so that his back is against his bed.

He wipes his shame off his face, leaving it on the floor, as he uses the edges of his sturdy bed to pull himself upward. He tries to ignore the image that comes to him of a toddler using the side of a crib. Feels altogether too broken because of it.

He sits down on the bed. He should feel like he won, he did it!

But Arthur feels like an idiot. A monkey dressed in armor is still only a monkey.

He sits on his bed, feet on the floor, until the sun rises. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t slept. Arthur slaps his face a few times to fight off the idea of laying back.

Eventually Merlin enters, cheerily, refreshed.

“Good morning, Sire!” Merlin greeted him. Arthur plasters on a smile.

“Good morning, Merlin. Feeling any better?”

“Loads! I really needed the day. Thank you.” Merlin sounds genuinely grateful. And why wouldn’t he be? If Arthur didn’t have to be around himself for a whole day, he’d be grateful too.

“Of course.” Arthur responded.

Merlin had already opened his curtains, and looked confused for a moment.

“You don’t want breakfast?” Merlin questioned, since Arthur had not moved toward it.

“The cane rolled under the bed.” Arthur said dumbly.

“Oh!” Merlin went to the side of the bed and dropped to the floor. “Well, how’d you get it under there?” Arthur shrugged, even though Merlin couldn’t see it. He heard Merlin mutter something to himself, probably about Arthur’s incompetence, and reemerged holding the cane.

“Thank you.” Arthur felt a little better when he saw the cane wasn’t broken. He held it to his chest without thinking. If Merlin noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“So, Morgana said you’d fill me in on some plan?” Merlin asked as he began his chores.

Arthur thought for a moment. Maybe he was meant to die, tonight. Maybe then he could finally get some damned rest. Maybe then Merlin could stay healthy and happy, safe away from him.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a better one.” Arthur lied.

Chapter Text

King Stephens and his Queen Aviana reach Camelot later that morning. Arthur had been informed of their visit when he had become well enough to walk. They had planned arrive and dine with the royalty of Camelot, to feast and to celebrate the extermination of the druid camps.

The whole ordeal makes Arthur’s blood boil. He already does not entirely like the presence of the visiting royalty, but they are also on the way to celebrate something horrid and obscene and tragic.

It’s not true, of course. All but one of the reported druid camps are safe and flourishing. But they don’t know that. And somehow it makes the whole thing so much worse.

There’s something else about them that bothers Arthur. He can’t put his finger on it. An itch at the back of his mind questions why they’d even travel all the way to Camelot for only a few nights, twice. They leave their Kingdom virtually unprotected, with only a Lord looking out for the castle while they’re away.

Although, Arthur convinces himself, Queen Aviana does seem very frivolous. Perhaps they are never one to turn down an invitation to frolic and toast.

As the morning goes on, Arthur almost forgets that he is going to die, tonight.

Merlin teases him, and Arthur teases Merlin back. Then Merlin smiles at him, content and bright-eyed, and Arthur remembers. Because Merlin has always been the thing that holds him together, and if he is pulling away, then there is nothing left that Arthur truly wants. And certainly nothing at all that he deserves.

Arthur doesn’t deserve this Kingdom, who he would see to ruin.

He doesn’t deserve Morgana, who was forced into silence because of his own complicity.

He doesn’t deserve the stars. Or love. Or touch. Those are fragile, beautiful things. Arthur always breaks fragile, beautiful things.

No wonder the nightmares had warned him.

Merlin was on the verge of breaking, because of Arthur.

But Arthur could save him. Arthur could save the whole Kingdom. He could better all of Camelot, simply by dying tonight.

How lucky he is that it is so easy! All Arthur has to do is attend!

“So you’re not even going to tell me what Morgana had said?” Merlin had asked, as he dressed Arthur that morning. Arthur shook his head resolutely.

“No. I had time to think it all over last night, and I think my idea is better. Except for it to work, you’ll have to stay in the dark about the whole thing.” Arthur spoke, telling the complete truth. “And stay clear of Gwen and Morgana, or it’ll look suspicious.” Arthur added, which was a little bit more of a lie. But if Merlin found out about Morgana’s nightmare, Arthur was doomed to miss dinner.

Merlin rolled his eyes but promised, dusting Arthur’s shoulders.

“You look a little better,” Arthur found himself saying, “But still more tired than usual. What’s going on?”

He supposed there was no point in pretending it wasn’t happening, now that it wouldn’t matter anymore. Merlin looked surprised, and a little flattered that Arthur had noticed.

Merlin took a step back.

“Oh, I’m fine really. Maybe your bad dreams have rubbed off on me!” Merlin answered.

Yes, Arthur thinks, maybe they have.

Maybe they really have.

That’s what Arthur gets, for being selfish with Merlin. For hugging him and asking him to pet his hair. Of course it was his fault. Of course Merlin is having bad dreams and tired eyes because of him.

Oh, Gods, the nightmare he’d had is already happening! It’s been happening in slow motion all this time! Arthur has been breaking Merlin without even realizing.

Merlin must read Arthur’s face, because he takes a step toward Arthur, approaching in the way one approaches a scared horse.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, and Arthur quickly schooled his face to one of boredom. “I was only joking, darling.”

Merlin looks as shocked as Arthur feels at his words, the name having slipped out on its own.

And for a moment, Arthur wants to say, forget the dream. Let me grow old beside you, as you call me darling, and I hold your hand like a promise.

“Sorry, I…I don't know where that came from.” Merlin quickly tried to cover. Arthur’s breathing is heavy all of a sudden, each breath weighted with please, please, please.

“You’ve called me that once before.” Arthur states. Please, please, please.

“Have I?”

“Yes.”

“Well. It’s—It’s something that I usually say to everyone. Just ask Gwen. I call her that all the time. I just don’t say it with you, because you’re… just Arthur.” Merlin rambled out. No, wait— “We’re barely even friends.”

Arthur releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He has to physically put a hand to his stomach to keep himself from falling to his knees and throwing up on the floor.

Here Arthur is, calling Merlin his best friend as if he’s somehow earned that privilege.

And that’s what it is, isn’t it.

A privilege.

“Leave me.” Arthur said, voice eerily calm as he struggles to remember when he had managed to convince himself that Merlin considered him a friend, too. The bile is rising in his throat, he can feel it coming up.

“Arthur, I didn’t mean—”

“Leave me.” Arthur interrupted, voice harsher this time. Merlin looks a bit like an injured fawn. Why? Why do you look so sad, and still so beautiful, when you say nothing but the truth?

Merlin takes a step toward him, but Arthur takes a step back.

“Get out, Merlin. I mean it.” Arthur warned him, voice and face matching like stone.

Merlin’s shoulders sink, and he turns to leave the room, head downcast.

Oh good, Arthur thinks, I’ve broken him even more than before. One more night, my love, and then you’ll be safe. And then you won’t have to serve such a prat anymore.

All this time Arthur had fooled himself into believing the term to be a bit of banter, if not a quiet compliment. Foolish. Cowardly. Foolish. Cowardly. Dead soon.

Merlin doesn’t return all day.

Arthur just lies in his bed, waiting for dinner. He skips Council. It won’t matter anyway.

He thinks of going to see Leon, or Percy, or Gwaine, but then doubts himself. Do they think of him as a friend? Or had Arthur only fooled himself into believing that? Had he misheard Sir Gwaine, voice quiet in the firelight?

The sun still shines, but he can feel the stars laughing at him.

The day passes slowly. Arthur just lies on his bed, staring at his ceiling.

He expected to cry, after Merlin left. But he didn’t. It seems all his tears were wasted the night previous, because Arthur only sits, feeling more numb than he ever had before.

Arthur spends his time instead thinking of his mother.

Will the Gods let him meet her?

Will he finally know what she looks and sounds like, with his own ears and eyes?

Arthur thinks maybe the Gods will send him somewhere worse. Somewhere that he can repent for ruining the lives of so many.

Uther has never been a religious man. Arthur doesn’t know what he believes.

He hopes the Gods make him pay. For all the things he’s done. He hopes his mother never has to meet him.

Time passes slowly. Fool. Coward. Fool. Coward. The words bounce in his head like a poem he’ll never write.

When Arthur enters the great hall, Morgana nearly drops her glass. Gwen is stood by Merlin, whispering nervously.

When Merlin looks up, it’s clear that Gwen had filled him in on Morgana’s premonition.

Merlin looks pissed.

It’s unsettling, seeing Merlin with this much fury on his face. It sort of makes Arthur want to apologize and run back to his room.

Instead, he walks, cane first, toward his seat at the table.

“My son.” Uther greeted him. Arthur sat down.

“Hello, Father.” He turned to the visiting royalty. “King Stephan, Queen Aviana. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

They greeted him quickly, if not impolitely, and turned back to Uther.

Arthur wondered if they were going to be the ones to kill him tonight.

They must be, right? They’re rude, and clearly dislike him. Morgana said he would choke. Perhaps they have poisoned his drink.

Arthur reaches for his glass.

“Arthur, what the hell are you doing here?” Morgana whispers harshly to him, checking to see that everyone else is engaged in conversation.

“Thank you for the warning, Morgana. Truly. You’ve done all that you can. Whatever happens now is no fault of yours.” Arthur replied plainly.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She asked. Realization seemed to hit her when she sucked in a breath. “Arthur. Do not take this lying down. Please.” She begged. Arthur shook his head.

“Fine. Then I’ll make sure you survive, and then kill you myself.” Morgana claimed.

“Don’t bear this weight. None of this is your fault.” Arthur whispered back, and held the chalice to his lips, hoping it would be quick, for Morgana’s sake. And then his drink fell out of his hands, and all down his shirt. The whole table gasped.

Arthur looked up to see Merlin, glaring down at him.

“Oops. Sorry. Clumsy me. Allow me to clean you up, Sire.” Merlin snarled at him.

Arthur laughed.

“It’s alright Merlin. It’ll take me far too long to hobble my way upstairs.” Everyone laughed. “Let me finish my meal, and then I will bathe.” Arthur responded, voice sickly sweet.

“I raised you with more manners than that, Arthur. Go and change your tunic.” Uther chastised him. “And then we’ll see about finding you a more competent manservant.”

Uther.

Uther!

Of all the people to stop this, of all the people to ruin his plan, it would be his stubborn father.

Of course it would be Uther.

Arthur held in his sigh and stood up slowly, leaning on his cane.

Merlin towered over him, eyes unblinking. Arthur was almost sure that he’d have been safer at the table. He’s never seen the wrath of Merlin. Has never experienced his rage. He doesn’t know what to do under his glare.

“Come on, Sire. I’m sure we will be quick.” Merlin’s anger dripped off his tongue like poison.

Arthur followed him like a dog being reprimanded, and slowly they made their way upstairs.

“You’re not gonna push me down these, are you?” Arthur joked.

“I might. Then at least you’d be forced to go to Gaius.” Merlin spat back. Arthur remained quiet for the rest of their walk, which felt even more excruciatingly slow than usual.

Finally, they reached Arthur’s chamber, and Merlin slammed the door behind them.

“Arthur, what were you thinking?” Merlin demanded. Arthur had no answer. He looked at the ground. “Answer me!”

Arthur shrugged.

“How lost are you? Truly? You could have reached out to any of us for help, and we would bend over backwards for you. Leon. Percival. Gwaine. Morgana. Gwen. Me. Anyone in town. Why is it that you are the only one who hates you, and the only one who doesn’t see it?” Arthur shrugged again. He wanted to cry. Or scream. Or both. He felt them bubbling up in his chest, up his throat.

“We need you, Arthur! This kingdom needs you! I need you!” Merlin yelled.

“This kingdom deserves better!” Arthur yelled back, voice cracking as his eyes watered. “You deserve better!”

“Isn’t that my choice to make?” Merlin screamed, tears falling from his angry eyes.

“Haven’t you already made it?” Arthur demanded. “Wasn’t it just this morning that you reminded me how we stand?”

The sentence hung in the air for a few moments too long.

“I just misspoke, Arthur. You know you’re my closest friend in the world!” Merlin’s voice still had an edge to it, but he was finally saying the words Arthur was so desperate for. And it should help, it should fix him, but it came hours too late. Arthur shook his head, face contorted.

“I’m bad for you. I’m bad for this Kingdom.” Arthur confessed, sob stuck in his throat, making his words crack.

“Surely you know that’s not true.” Merlin tried to take a step toward him, but Arthur took one away in response. Merlin continued talking anyway, but he stayed put. “Surely you know how needed you are, Arthur. Not just as a prince, or a knight, or a crown. But you.” Merlin’s voice is calmer now. Now that he’s ripped Arthur open, seeing the most raw and bare piece of his long-broken soul.

“I am a coward and a fool, Merlin.” Arthur admitted, feeling as though he were only reminding Merlin of flaws he’d somehow forgotten about.

“Are those your words, or your father’s?” Merlin asked, ignoring the streams down his cheeks.

“What?”

“Your father is more cowardly and more foolish than you have ever been, Arthur, despite what he’s drilled into you.” Arthur shakes his head at Merlin’s words. “He’s been degrading you for so long I’m not sure you know how to tell the difference between his thoughts and yours.”

“That’s not true.” Arthur felt like a child.

“Really? Because I look at you and see someone who would lay down his life for an entire kingdom, without having ever been asked. Uther rules us to ruin without an ounce of regret.” Arthur can only shake his head, sobbing and looking anywhere but at Merlin. “You saved hundreds of druid lives, simply because you saw an injustice. Uther kills with ease, because he only sees hatred. You allow me to walk beside you, as a friend. Uther would have me killed for it.”

Arthur feels as though he is bleeding out.

“C’mon, Merlin.” Arthur cried out, “You’re the kindest person in the world, and even you can barely stand me.” Merlin starts crying.

“That’s not true! Why would I keep coming back to you, if I didn’t want to?”

Arthur holds his hands to his head, exasperated and tired and confused. He is shaking and crying uncontrollably, now.

“I won’t hurt you too, Merlin.” Arthur’s words are broken and interrupted by unyielding sobs. His skin is on fire, and his confessions are stuck, choking in his throat. “I killed, I killed those druids, and they’re dead because of me, and I ruined things. I ruin things. I ruin things. I’ll ruin you. And I can’t. I can’t ruin you, too. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

Arthur must have collapsed onto the floor at some point, because he is on his knees, as if begging for forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. His head is buried in his own chest, hands clutching at his hair, trying to claw himself apart. Somewhere far away he feels his chest aching from the position, but he can’t focus on anything. He can’t even breathe.

Distantly Arthur feels arms wrap around his collapsed body. He lets himself be pulled into Merlin’s chest, mostly because Arthur has no strength left in him at all. He sobs and sobs into Merlin’s tunic, confessing over and over again, stuck on some pathetic loop. He lies broken in Merlin’s arms, unraveled there on the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Arthur apologized again and again, each one accompanied by a hiccup and a whimper.

Merlin didn’t say anything as Arthur broke down. He only held Arthur, arms strong and safe, hands softly petting Arthur’s hair as he weeps into Merlin’s chest.

Eventually Arthur’s sobs fade, and he can regain his breath.

“It’s okay, darling. It’s okay.” Merlin’s voice is a whisper, but it’s safe and reassuring. It pulls Arthur out of the darkness that has engulfed him. “It’s okay. You are so loved. How can you not know how loved you are?” Arthur can only hiccup in response. “I haven’t told you enough. But I’ll remind you until the day I die, darling. You are so loved. You are needed, here.” At some point Arthur must have grabbed onto Merlin’s tunic, because he realizes that his hand holds a fistful of the fabric in a steel grasp. “You make me better. You make everything you touch better.”

Arthur finds himself shaking his head silently against Merlin’s grasp.

“No? You don’t believe me?” Merlin pulled Arthur closer to his chest, if that were possible. “Take your cane, for example.” Merlin’s voice was soft, but not a whisper. But Arthur could tell the words were meant for his ears alone. “I made it for you, and it was pretty nice looking. But you next to it, wearing Camelot’s colors, standing tall? You make that cane better. You make things more beautiful all the time.”

“You,” Arthur sniffles, “You made the cane?”

“Yeah, I did. Took me a little while. I had a lot of days off, while you were asleep. Plenty of time to get it right.” Merlin explained. “I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared as when you were stuck in that bed. I stopped breathing the moment I saw you slumped in Gwaine’s arms on that horse and I didn’t start again until you walked to your desk, twenty-one days later.” Arthur felt choked at this, and could only listen. “You kept having nightmares, and I couldn’t pull you from them. You would sniffle and even call out sometimes. And I would just sit there, useless, working on a cane. I kept talking to you. Sometimes I thought you could hear me, but once you woke up I knew you hadn’t.”

“What did you say?” Arthur whispered. Please, please, please, he thinks.

“Told you all my secrets, is all.” Merlin ducked his head onto Arthur’s, talking into his hair.

“You won’t tell me about them now?” Arthur asked.

“You know I trust you with my life, don’t you? More than anyone else in the world. I worry now that maybe you don’t have any idea at all how desperately important you are to me.” Merlin took a deep breath, resting his chin on the top of Arthur’s head. “Anything I don’t tell you is because I believe that it’s just better for you that you don’t have to carry it. It’s not because I don’t trust you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Merlin.” Arthur half-whined. Now that he was more calm, he was able to truly appreciate the position he was in. This is more than a hug. This is everything he’s never known to dream of. Arthur is fully huddled against Merlin, whose arms wrap around him without any plans to let go. It feels like a piece of Arthur has been refastened, sitting like this, held by another person. Held by the person he trusts the most in the world.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Merlin answered him. Quiet surrounded them, but Arthur didn’t mind. He thought for a moment.

“It’s okay. If you think it’s better for me not to know, I believe you.” Arthur paused. “But you’ll tell me one day, won’t you?” He felt Merlin nod above him.

“I promise.” Merlin swore.

“Okay.” I love you. I love you like the stars love the moon. I love you the way the flowers love the ground and the water and the sun. I love you in every breath I’ve ever taken, and in every breath I’ll ever take, forever. You are a part of me, and you have been since the day we met. I love you more than I’ll ever be able to fathom and far more than I’ll ever be able to say. “I trust you.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin, finally, who is smiling softly. It is more than enough. This is everything Arthur has ever needed.

Merlin shows no signs of releasing him, and Arthur tucks his head back into his friend’s chest. They stay like that for a very long time.

Chapter Text

Merlin is still holding Arthur when there is a pounding at his door. They’d been sitting there for a long while, each basking in the warmth of the other. There is something so wonderful about being held and told that everything is going to be alright. Arthur doesn’t know if there’s a word for it.

But when the heavy knock nearly breaks down his door, Merlin gives Arthur one last squeeze before pulling back, helping Arthur slowly rise to his feet.

Merlin opens the door to Uther’s furious face, anger showing red in his cheeks.

“What could you have possibly been doing that caused you to miss the entirety of dinner?” Uther spat. By the time he’s finished talking, his eyes register Arthur in his still dirty tunic.

If Uther were a more observant man, he’d have also noticed Arthur’s tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes. Although Arthur can’t remember ever having cried in front of Uther before, so perhaps he just doesn’t know what to look for.

Is it a good thing if a father does not recognize the face of his own crying child?

“I apologize, father, I was…” Arthur trailed off. What possible explanation is there, for missing an entire dinner, still standing, in a now useless tunic?

“He was yelling at me for spilling on him. Really letting me have it, really—” Merlin rambled out. Uther turned around to face him.

“Did I speak to you, servant?” Merlin went quiet at this. Uther turned back to his son, who was staring wide at the conversation. He does not like the way Uther looked at Merlin. He didn’t like it one bit. “Come, Arthur. It’s time you and I have a long overdue conversation.” Uther commanded, and then left the room, expecting his son to follow.

“Stay here, I’ll be back.” Arthur whispered to Merlin as he passed. Merlin nodded and went to go sit on the bed, which brought a smile to Arthur’s lips. He thanks the stars that Merlin and himself are okay now, and closer than before.

Arthur walks alongside his father.

“I apologize, Father. He is so incompetent that I must have lost track of time.” Arthur lied, the words falling off his tongue unnaturally. Even thinking of Merlin in a bad light makes him want to beg forgiveness.

“Don’t lie to me, Arthur.” Uther answered him, more calm than Arthur had ever seen him. “Do you think me a fool?” Arthur shook his head.

“No, Sire.” The back of Arthur’s mind began to itch, as they walked down the stairs.

“No?” Uther questioned. “Are you sure?” Arthur’s hair stood on end, although he couldn’t explain why. He hadn’t been scared of his father in a long time. “You missed an interesting conversation, at dinner. Very interesting. Very…Educational.” The men turned another corner.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Arthur answered dutifully. “Would you care to fill me in?” He watched as a smile crawled its way onto Uther’s face.

“On their travels here, King and Queen Stephan passed a druid camp. A surviving camp. They sent a few of their scouts out, and found word of a few more.” Arthur’s heart simultaneously stopped and began pounding profusely. He hoped his face looked detached.

“Oh?” Arthur asked. Uther’s smile seemed to split his face, so wiry and thin.

“They sent the scouts back to their castle, to gather enough knights to burn all the camps at once. They should be only dust by now.”

The impact of Uther’s words is enough to make Arthur nearly fall. He can feel his blood pumping through him. He can hear the beating of his own heart.

Surely he is lying?

Surely they haven’t found the camps.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

Please no.

Arthur thinks of Elrand. He thinks of little Melian, and her sister.

They’re not…They can’t be…

“You know the strangest part of the whole ordeal?” Uther said, voice still too casual, smile still sitting on his lips. “Almost every camp spoke of you, Arthur.”

No, Elrand, please be alive. Please, please, please.

“After being…Pressed, of course. But knowledge is power. Even you understand that, no matter how foolish you are.” Pressed. That means torture. They weren’t just slaughtered. They were tortured. Arthur feels his knees buckle, leans desperately on his cane to stay upright and walking.

“They spoke of ‘The Once and Future King.’ Imagine my surprise to hear that grand title used for my own son.” Uther said, finally. “Not me. My foolish son. They think you their King, Arthur.”

Arthur tears his eyes away from his father’s deranged smile when he stops walking, as they arrive at their destination.

Arthur wishes he’d been paying more attention to their route, because as soon as he looks, it all clicks into his place.

Arthur is facing the great hall, now hopelessly empty, save for the father and his son.

“Do you know what that is, Arthur? It’s. Called. Treason.”

In one swift move, Uther has kicked out Arthur’s cane from underneath him. Arthur falls onto his stomach before his brain can contemplate what’s happening.

“The druids, calling my son their King.” Uther kicked into Arthur’s ribs, luckily above where his still-healing wound. Arthur can only gasp in response, breath lost on him.

Uther uses his foot to turn Arthur onto his stomach. Arthur rolls.

“How could anyone call you their King? Look at you.” Uther’s foot lifts into the air, slamming down on Arthur’s chest, onto his healing bruises and stitches.

Arthur cries out, and his brain finally catches up. He tries to shuffle backwards, into the room, away from Uther.

“King Stephan said they found several camps. They were in places you and Sir Leon claimed you had already cleaned out.” Uther catches up to Arthur easily, slamming his foot down again. Arthur’s vision blurs for a moment, but he shakes it off.

He has to stay awake. He has to focus.

“You didn’t kill anyone, did you? I’ve always known you were useless. But this? Insubordinate. Incompetent. Cowardly.” With each insult, Uther’s heavy boot slams back down onto Arthur’s chest. Arthur tries to shift onto his stomach, trying to protect his wound and crawl away, but Uther easily kicks him over, face first. Arthur’s nose cracks, and he screams out in pain as blood rushes from his face, matching his now reopened chest.

“And now the druids say you are the one true King of Camelot. That’s treason on more than a few counts, I’d say.” Uther reaches down and picks Arthur up by his still-dirty tunic, Arthur limp.

Move. Move. Please, Arthur thinks, I have to move.

Arthur easily could’ve won, in a fair duel.

Perhaps that is why Uther didn’t want one. He wanted to kill him, here, where no-one could witness or stop him.

Gods, Merlin is still in his room, sitting on his bed!

Please, please, please, Arthur thinks.

Uther’s hand wraps around his throat, holding Arthur by his neck against the wall, feet off the ground.

Arthur finally manages to lift his arms, swatting wildly at Uther’s face and arm. Uther only laughs in return.

“You were never going to be King, Arthur. Do you really think I’d leave my legacy to you? A coward and a fool?”

Black spots begin to dot Arthur’s vision.

“Do you really think I’d let you rule this Kingdom to ruin?”

Arthur can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t—

“A monkey in a crown, blubbering after his own manservant, sparing druids. I hardly even think you my son. You have failed me, Arthur.”

Arthur’s eyes roll to the back of his sockets and he feels his body stop responding.

In the darkness he sees now, he can make out the thirty-eight druids. Thirty-eight faces, burned into his memory forever, coming to watch him die.

He sees Elrand, and Melian, and the once-happy faces of their camp.

He sees Merlin, and Morgana, and Gwen, and his knights.

Their faces are made only of colors now, but they are here to accompany him. They are here to watch as he chokes, as he dies, here in the great hall.

Except then Elrand steps forward. She puts a hand on his cheek, then softly puts her wrinkled forehead against his.

“You are forgiven, Arthur Pendragon.” Her whispers echo through him. “You have suffered enough.”

He wants to nod, he wants to thank her. He wants to weep at her feet. But Uther’s grip tightens against his neck, and then the dark is just the dark.

There is nothing left to haunt him, now.

He doesn’t want to give in to the darkness, though. He wants so badly to go and tell Merlin that he loves him. Needs to go apologize to Morgana. He must go check on the druids, he needs to know if they really are dead—

And then his air returns to him, and Arthur falls to the floor, gasping. He blinks his eyes open just in time to see Uther’s body thrown against the wall. Uther has a look of shock on his face, as he should, because nothing is holding him there. Arthur turns his head in excruciating pain, to glimpse who had saved him.

There, in the middle of the room, arm outstretched, face furious, stands his brave savior.

Morgana.

Morgana stands, wider and more proud than she has in Uther’s presence in years. All this time he has forced her to be soft, and beautiful, and nothing more. But now she stands here, hair messy, cheeks puffy, stance strong and unyielding. She stands here, more powerful than Uther has ever been. More powerful than Arthur will ever be.

Morgana glances down at him.

“Are you alright?” Arthur can only nod.

“My daughter, please…” Uther begs from where he is stuck against the wall. Morgana snarls.

“You’d have me killed without a second thought, and you beg my mercy?” Uther whimpers.

“You have always been softer than me, my Morgana. You are more merciful.” Uther said, as if logic would save him. Morgana’s hand turns, and she speaks quietly, and Uther’s body floats toward her.

“You took a child and you killed everything that made her special. You made me obedient, and quiet, because that’s how good little girls should be. You called me daughter and threw me in the dungeons like a peasant in the same breath. I wouldn’t stay silent by threat so you took up a whip and carved it into me. You sliced at a little girl to shape her into something perfect, until there was nothing left. I spent my nights suffering, bleeding out into my sheets, while you dined and laughed in this very hall.

“I grew up alone, and scared. But I learned my lessons, didn’t I? You made sure of that. I changed everything I was for what you wanted me to be. And still, over nothing. Back into the dungeons I went. A hair out of place, if I looked down for too long, if I glanced the wrong way, if I forgot to sit straight. Or, more realistically, if your drink was too cold, or soup too hot, or if you were in a bad mood. It didn’t really matter what I did, did it? I think you just needed someone quiet to take your anger out on. Someone who wouldn’t tell.

“Except now I’m all grown up, Uther. And I’m not ashamed of my scars. I’m not afraid of my mind. I’m not embarrassed of my body. And I’m certainly not scared of you.” Morgana is only about two feet away from Uther now. “And I want you to know something. Even if I didn’t have magic, it was always going to end here, like this. Because if I was ever merciful, you certainly ripped it out of me.”

That’s when Morgana flicks her wrist, and Uther’s neck snaps.

Chapter Text

Morgana scrambles towards Arthur, leaving their father’s dead body on the floor behind her.

“Arthur! Are you alright?” She grabs his shoulders as she kneels beside him. Arthur fights to keep his eyes open.

“I’m so sorry Morgana, I’m so sorry.” Arthur repeated his apologies over and over again, his voice hoarse.

“You didn’t know, Arthur. I didn’t want you to know.” Morgana explained, as Arthur reached his weak arms around her for a hug. Morgana fell into it easily, half-crying, half-laughing. Arthur almost started laughing himself.

He’s never felt relief like this before. It’s as though he’s only been breathing with one lung, and had never even realized. Uther had never been his protector, had never been his teacher, or equal, or friend. Uther had never been his father. The only thing Arthur lost tonight was a King.

“I’m so proud of you, Morgana.” Arthur felt like he had to make sure she knew that this was okay. This was more than okay. This was not an assassination. This was not a murder.

This was justice.

Morgana hugs him tighter in gratitude, then pulls back.

“Gwen’s gone to fetch Merlin. Let me take you to Gaius?” Arthur nodded at her suggestion, hearing his own wheezing.

On the way, Arthur tries to keep his mind from going fuzzy while thinking ahead.

“We’ll send King Stephan and Queen Aviana on their way tomorrow morning. In two weeks we’ll send out letters announcing Uther’s death.” Morgana nodded.

“You are the King, now.” She said quietly. Arthur had one arm over her shoulders and the other entirely dependent on his cane, unable to walk without either.

“Then I suppose it’s well overdue for some change around here. Don’t you think, Prophet and Advisor of the King?” Arthur had decided on Morgana's new role the moment Uther’s body had hit the floor. It was almost more influential and important than the King himself, because nothing can be done without their advice and counsel. Coincidentally, Uther had never had an advisor. And, of course, Morgana would use her magic however she pleased in the role. That bit he made up, but he was sure she understood its meaning.

Morgana smiled widely, relief flooding her features.

“That’s Prophetess, to you, Arthur.” Morgana joked.

When they arrive to Gaius' chambers, Morgana calls out for him.

“What—What happened to him?” Gaius asked as he helped Morgana lift Arthur onto his table. Morgana only shakes her head. Gaius’ eyebrow raises but he asks no more of it, instead looking Arthur over, tending to each of his wounds.

Merlin bursts through the door with Gwen on his heels.

“Arthur!” He called out, reaching the table in record time. Merlin cups Arthur’s face, looking him over.

“It’s okay, I’m okay, it looks worse than it is.” Arthur tried to console him, but his voice came out rough and raspy. Merlin’s eyes only got wider and he looked to Gaius for his opinion. Arthur watched Gaius nod.

Even so, Merlin holds his forehead to Arthur’s. Arthur treasures it.

“I can’t believe I let you get hurt again, I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m so sorry.” Arthur wants to kiss him on the forehead. And honestly, he admits he might have, if Gaius wasn’t there, standing over them both. But Arthur decides in this moment that he wants to. He wants to tell Merlin, he wants to kiss his cheek and his forehead. He wants Merlin to feel as loved by Arthur as Arthur feels by Merlin. Arthur has almost died, twice. And what if he dies, final and forever, and Merlin never knows? How could Merlin, brave and strong, hold him in his arms for hours, and Arthur not be brave and strong in return?

“It’s alright. I’m fine, really.” Arthur reassured him. You are my home. I live in this castle, but it’s you that brings me rest and refuge. You have drawn lines around my heart, and now my soul is only a reflection of you, and the footprint you’ve left on me.

The night goes by slowly. Gaius and Merlin work to resew Arthur’s torn stitching, which is much more painful now that he’s awake for it. Morgana and Gwen rest in the corner, refusing to leave Arthur’s side until Gaius proclaims him better. Merlin, when not at work with Arthur’s wounds, sits in a chair beside him, grasping his hand in the firelight.

Eventually the stitching and patching is done, but Gaius advises against moving Arthur back to his own room. Arthur agrees to stay and Gaius offers him a sleeping tonic for the pain. Arthur accepts, although he isn’t sure he’ll drink it.

Gaius retires to his quarters, and only the four remain in the main room.

“I…We saw the dead body.” Merlin looked to Arthur as he spoke, perhaps awaiting a confession.

“It was me.” Morgana called out from the corner that she and Gwen were cuddled in.

“Oh.” Merlin replied.

“You better thank the Gods she was there. I was totally useless.” Arthur joked, letting Merlin know where he stood on the whole situation.

“You better thank the Gods she was there, because if I’d seen you in this condition, he’d be dead by my hand instead.” Merlin responded. Morgana half-laughs in return.

The mood of the room is somber, but not sad. It’s relief, not grief, that hangs over their heads.

“I’m proud of you, love.” Arthur heard Gwen whisper in the corner. “Never doubted you for a moment.” Arthur smiled at this. Morgana whispered something in return, more quietly. Arthur closed his eyes.

“Morgana, could I ask you a favor?” Arthur called, after a while of silence.

“Always.”

“Uther told me…He said the druid camps were burned. The ones we saved. I supposed he'd had no reason to lie, since he was going to kill me anyway, but…” Arthur’s throat burned. He was hoping against hope that the druids were still alive. That maybe they’d only discovered one camp. He felt Merlin’s hand intertwine into his hair. Arthur felt calmed by it immediately, though the dread of the dead camps still weighed heavily on his mind.

“I’ll ride out in the morning.” Morgana answered automatically.

“You can if you like, but I was hoping you’d have my knights go. I need someone to run the castle while I heal. I am in no condition.” Arthur offered. Morgana seemed to think for a moment.

“Alright, I’ll stay.” She decided.

“It’s probably for the best,” Arthur consoled her, “If it’s true, I doubt they buried the bodies. The knights will have an awful task ahead of them.”

“Yes, that’s…I’m not sure if I could handle that.” Morgana admitted.

“That’s alright. I couldn’t either.” He responded quietly. He thought for a moment, then added, “I’ll have to repeal the ban on magic. I’ll begin the draft in the morning.”

“Won’t that cause problems in our alliances?” Gwen spoke up.

“I’m not sure. I might have to renegotiate terms of treaties, but surely it’s nothing worth going to war over.”

“Unless you’re Uther, of course.” Morgana cackled. Arthur heard Merlin snort next to him.

“Oh, yeah. He’d definitely go to war over it!” Merlin giggled. Arthur felt the mood brighten, a bit.

“I’m really alright. You two should go to bed. Especially you, Morgana. A heavy weight lies on your shoulders, come tomorrow.” Arthur said. Morgana grumbled and had full intentions of ignoring him, but Gwen dragged her away, agreeing with Arthur. Arthur made a joke of how Gwen had always been the smarter of the two, and Morgana stuck out her tongue.

“Not going to tell me to go to bed?” Merlin teased beside him, hand still playing with Arthur’s hair.

“Oh, I know there’s no convincing you.” Arthur teased back. “Plus, it’s not exactly like you’ll have to work much tomorrow, seeing as I’ll be stuck in bed once again.” He added.

“Hey!” Merlin defended, “I work hard always, thank you very much! Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.” Arthur snickers.

“Sure, sure.”

“It’s true!”

“Does that mean you need to go to bed, then?” Arthur tried.

“Oh, not a chance.” Merlin responded. “You’re stuck with me, I think.” Arthur smiled in response.

What a blessing it is, to be stuck with you, he thinks.

“Thank you.” Arthur said eventually. “For holding me earlier. For not letting go.” Merlin cups Arthur’s cheek in his hand, stroking it.

“Are you doing okay? Tonight was very eventful.” Merlin asked him softly. Not in the way he was trying to change the subject, but clearly in the way that he cared and wanted to check on Arthur’s well-being.

Arthur thought for a moment. Is he okay?

He started the day planning to be an accessory to his own murder. He had broken down, and had been held in Merlin’s arms. He’d almost been killed at the hands of his father, who’d insulted him to no end. Until of course, it did end. Morgana had saved his life, and confessed the horrors hidden in her childhood, and killed his father.

Is he okay?

Arthur thinks he probably shouldn’t be. He maybe shouldn’t feel so safe and loved as he does, tonight. He worries terribly for the camps, but those were out of his control, in the end. They won’t be anymore, if even a single one still lives. From this day forward, they’ll be safe in Camelot.

Is he okay?

Arthur thinks he is. He is safe, and his family is here, beside him. Morgana is maybe more happy now, and safe with her Gwen, in the castle. Arthur feels a sense of calm wash over him, too. He’ll finally be able to weed out the Knights. He’ll finally be able to implement a better tax plan for his farmers. He can finally work for his people without being chastised by his father.

Yes. He thinks he will be okay. He doesn’t say this, though.

“I think you were the first person to give me a hug. I think you were the first person to hold me at all.” Arthur said finally.

“I didn’t know that.” Merlin answered him, sounding sad on Arthur’s behalf. “I suppose I should have guessed, though.”

“I like them. Hugs. I hug Morgana now, too. But yours are my favorites.”

“Well,” Merlin responds, and Arthur can hear his smile, “You’d better expect them a lot more often, then.”

“Gladly.” Arthur said, in a way that sounded more like a promise. In a way that almost sounded like a confession. In a way that almost sounded like I love you.

They fell into silence for a little while, Merlin petting at Arthur’s hair and holding his hand, until Arthur remembered something.

“You were right, by the way.” He said.

“I’m always right. You’ll have to be more specific.” Merlin joked.

“I heard it, when Uther was trying to kill me. The things he was saying. They’re things I say to myself all the time. Things I’ve never spoken or written down, and yet he said them word for word. Because they had been his thoughts. Not mine.” Arthur confessed.

“He’s the only one who’s ever thought a bad thing about you.” Merlin responded, voice sounding sure. “He managed to convince you of it all, but it’s not true. Everyone else sees how wonderful and competent you are. Everyone in Camelot loves you. Even the kitchens were telling me today how adorable you looked asking for a plum.” Arthur rolled his eyes, even though Merlin couldn’t see.

“Well, where are you getting them from, then?!” He exclaimed. Merlin only laughed in response.

An itch at the back of Arthur’s mind told him to think about it. To really think about it.

Where had Merlin gotten the plum?

There was something else, too, something that had been bothering him. The cane.

Because he treasured the cane, he’d spent quite a lot of time admiring it. (The same applies to its creator.) It has no seams, no rough edges. The gemstones are genuine. Where had Merlin gotten real gems? And how had he even crafted it, while staying at his bedside?

What else?

The bath, he supposes. The soup. They always remain at the perfect temperature. They never burn Arthur, but never go cold.

Where had Merlin gotten the plum?

Like getting out of a bad deal. Isn’t that what he’d said to Gwen, all those days ago? That he was dreading the journey to the druid camps?

And in that same conversation, hadn’t he said something else? Arthur tried to remember.

He’d said he had to protect Arthur.

Actually, Merlin said that a lot.

He apologized profusely each time Arthur has gotten hurt, as if him being there would have changed anything.

Would it?

Where had Merlin gotten the plum?

Arthur took a deep breath as it all clicked into place, that itch at the back of his mind finally ceasing. Merlin is not all that complicated or perplexing. Arthur just hadn’t been paying attention.

“Are you magic, Merlin?” Arthur asked, opening his eyes and turning to look at Merlin. He tried to make out his face in the dark. He could hear the moment Merlin’s breath stopped.

“Yes.” Merlin confessed.

“Alright.” Arthur responded, closing his eyes again.

“Is that it?” Merlin asked, sounding confused.

“I mean, it doesn’t really change anything, does it? You’re still my favorite person in the world. As long as you keep giving me plums, that is.” Merlin barked with relieved laughter.

“Sure. Plums for the rest of forever.” Merlin promised.

That sounded a lot like I love you, to Arthur.

“Will you…Can I see?” Arthur heard himself asking.

“When you’re better.” Merlin answered him, chuckling. “Although now I suppose I could heal you while you’re awake.” Merlin seemed to think for a moment. “No, it’ll probably be easier when I’m not nervous. I won’t risk any mistakes on you.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll have to heal quickly, then, so I can see.” Arthur reassured.

“You’d better, you prat.”

Chapter Text

When Arthur arrives at the druid camp, he knows immediately he is far too late.

He had needed to know if those who once showed him such kindness still lived. They had shown him such hospitality and grace, and he had told them they were safe.

Clearly, he’d lied.

Uther had been right when he guessed: All that remains of this place now is ash.

It is worse this time, to see the remains of what once was. This time, he did know what they looked like as they smiled, how they sounded when they laughed. He knew how the children played as the sun set and how the adults chatted in the wind.

Arthur’s eyes fill with tears for the lives that once lived here, and looks up at the sky as he walks. How could he have allowed this to happen, as he remained safe in his castle?

Arthur trips over something, and looks down to see the tiny arm that had obstructed his path and gasps in horror.

He had just stumbled over the body that used to be Melian.

Little Melian, with her long braids and her freckles and her crooked teeth. Arthur sinks to his knees beside her.

Her braids seem to have been ripped out of her head, patches of hair still dotted across her scalp, stuck together with dried blood. She has cuts all over neck and arms, and bruises accent her face the way her freckles used to.

This wasn’t a quick death.

Arthur looks closer to realize she is missing fingers, and that there are long scrapes on her arms where her skin had been sliced off. They wanted her in pain, but not enough to die. They had tortured this little girl, in the impossible case she had known anything at all.

Arthur wonders if she had screamed in their minds, the way she had spoken to him before. He hopes so. He hopes that little scream haunts the minds of her killers forever.

The more Arthur looks at Melian, the worse shape he realizes she is in. Her face had laid on one side, and when he gingerly turns it, he finds that an eye has been carved out of its socket.

Arthur wants to scream. Who possibly decided that this little girl had to die like this? Who decided she had to die at all?

Melian, who was sweet and trusting and out-going. Who had long braids and pale gold eyes and who barely reached Arthur’s knees. Melian, who managed to make him laugh when he was at his worst.

Arthur can’t spend another moment looking at her, each second he continues to look he only sees more of the horrors that she suffered in her final moments.

There are no other bodies immediately near her, which means that she didn’t just die scared. She died all alone.

What of her sister? And her friends? What of Elrand?

Arthur needs to look. He has to know.

Arthur faintly wonders where his knights have gone, as he doesn’t see them beside him.

It doesn’t matter what they’re doing, does it? They’ll all have to come together to bury these people anyway.

Eventually Arthur finds Elrand’s body, mostly by process of elimination, because she is almost unrecognizable. Elrand’s corpse lies on a bit of mud, completely disfigured and deformed. Arthur wants to throw up, but finds the bile only gets stuck in his throat.

Each of Elrand’s limbs seem in the complete opposite direction of what they should be. It feels familiar to Arthur, although he can’t place where from.

Elrand had been face down in the mud, and when he slowly shifts her remains, he sees she has no face at all.

It had been carved off.

Elrand, who was named after the stars, died looking at the ground.

You did this, Arthur Pendragon. You left us here to die. It’s Elrand’s voice, talking to him in his mind, the way only druids can.

You left us here to suffer. That was Melian’s much smaller voice, an angry echo in his head. She sounded bitter and sad. As she should, considering what he had allowed to happen here.

You did this. Another voice chimed in now, one he didn’t recognize.

You did this. Another, a man’s, this time.

You did this.

Why would you let this happen to us?

You did this.

We died because of you.

You did this.

This is your fault, young Pendragon.

You did this.

There are so many voices in Arthur’s head now. They are drowning him from the inside out.

The voices bounce around inside his skull, each one added making it feel heavier. He already sits on his knees beside Elrand, but Arthur struggles to remain upright.

You did this.

Arthur clutches his hands to his head. He tries to scream, but the voices swallow it easily.

You did this.

It’s just him, and his ghosts, now. They live within him. They are never leaving.

You killed us all.

When Arthur is finally shaken out of his nightmare, he doesn’t gasp for breath or jolt upright. He just cries and cries, lying on his back. He sobs there on Gaius’ table, where he had been the whole time, Merlin hovering over him, trying to wipe away tears that never seem to stop. Merlin doesn’t ask what it was about, he just holds Arthur lightly as he shakes and weeps.

Arthur doesn’t calm down for a long time.

But Merlin sits with him, holding him, making him feel safe. Arthur isn’t sure he is deserving of that kindness, but he accepts it anyway.

Eventually his whimpers are a little more settled, and he can actually make out the soft repetitive words Merlin has been whispering to him.

“It’s alright. You’re okay, darling. Everything’s okay.” Arthur revels in it in a way he probably shouldn’t, and finally sniffles once and looks to his dearest friend.

“Has Gaius said I’m allowed to move yet? I have to go, Merlin, I have to—”

“You are not going to those camps, Arthur.” Merlin cut him off.

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Arthur began, but Merlin refused to let him finish.

“I know that’s what you were just dreaming about. I know you’re worried.” Arthur lets his exasperation lay plainly on his face, and Merlin cups his cheek. Merlin continues, softer. “The knights left at dawn. They’ll be home as soon as they can to report back to you.” Merlin did not state the very obvious fact that Arthur is in no shape to be riding on a horse or sleeping on the ground. “What good could possibly come of seeing it all in person?”

Arthur doesn’t really have an answer for that, so he only looked away.

“C’mon, Gaius said you’d be alright to move to your chambers if I helped and you used your cane.” Merlin said.

“You know I’m in charge, right?” Arthur pouted.

“Yes, of course.” Merlin agreed, but a cheeky smile slid onto his face. “C'mon, let’s go.” He commanded, as Arthur nodded. Arthur stopped, and his eyebrows furrowed as Merlin made him sit up.

No, Arthur is not in charge at all, is he?

That’s alright, he consoles himself, he has an entire Kingdom to rule now. Merlin not included, clearly.

Slowly, Arthur and Merlin sit the former upright. Merlin helps him regain his ability to use his cane, balance somehow even more difficult than before. It’s rotten, after having made so much progress prior, to see it wiped away in a night. He’ll be on this cane for weeks to come.

It’s not that he doesn’t love the cane. He does. For several obvious reasons. But he misses training the knights, and misses walking at a respectable speed, and especially misses being able to defend himself.

Although Arthur is almost glad he couldn’t, last night, when he passes a smiling Morgana walking tall beside Gwen.

For one, he thinks dimly, he would have spared his father. He would not have had the courage to be so finite. He is grateful that Morgana was there, to do what obviously had to be done. For another, Morgana deserved to face her demons and win. With considerate ease, no less. Morgana deserves to be happy in a way most people can never understand. In a way only those who grew up being loved on condition can.

“Arthur!” Morgana almost knocks Arthur down with her hug. “Look at you, up and walking.” She pulls back as Gwen goes to hug him, in her much softer way. Arthur has never had a hug from Gwen before. He decides he likes those too. Maybe Arthur just likes hugs in general.

What a lovely thought.

“Yes, yes, stop fawning over me. Clearly I’m unkillable.” Arthur teased. Everyone cackles.

“Only because I’ve been saving your royal arse! And Morgana. We’ve been doing all the work!” Merlin snorts. Gwen and Morgana look sharply at Merlin, who is still laughing, and then to Arthur, eyes-wide.

They seem to wait a moment, expecting a reaction. Merlin finally stops laughing to see their struck expressions.

“It’s alright, he figured it out all on his own.” Merlin calmed them, patting Arthur on the arm, which made the girls look more surprised than Arthur would like.

Wait.

“You two knew?” Arthur asked them.

“Gwen told me.” Morgana shrugged. Arthur looked to Gwen.

“Gwaine told me.” Gwen said, raising her hands in surrender.

“Wait, GWAINE knows?” Arthur demanded, but there is a smile on his face. The girls shrug, and Merlin clearly tries to lead him away from this educational conversation, but Arthur stays rooted to the spot.

“Oh, honestly Arthur,” Morgana said finally, “I think you’re the last person to not know.” Arthur whips his head to Merlin, who is looking sheepish and more than a little red. Arthur’s mouth is open, but he makes sure it is in the shape of a smile to make sure Merlin knows it’s fine with him.

“It’s Gwaine’s fault!” Merlin blurts finally. “He figured it out and told Gwen, who told Morgana, who told LEON of all people, who then of course told Percival. And Gaius always knew. It is not my fault!”

Arthur bursts out in laughter, Morgana and Gwen quick to follow. The tips of Merlin’s ears go red but even he starts giggling. Arthur’s heart soars with fondness, both for Merlin and for the family he feels within this space. Eventually the laughing subsides and Arthur complains how his incompetent manservant still hasn’t served him his breakfast, making Merlin roll his eyes and drag him along.

“Morgana,” Arthur called as he walked away, “When you find the time, could you meet me in my quarters? I seek your counsel.” He doesn’t miss the bright smile that lands on his sister’s face, nor the quiet squeal of Gwen as she clutches Morgana’s arm in support.

Good. That’s good. That is something lovely.

Merlin drops Arthur off in his quarters before running along to gather his breakfast. Although, Arthur finds himself asking, if Merlin can summon a plum from thin air, why does he bother going all the way to the kitchens for Arthur’s breakfast?

Either way, it leaves Arthur alone to his thoughts.

He worries deeply for the druids, and wonders if he should take heed of his dream, in more ways than one. Should he presume the druids dead? He doesn’t want to. He wants to picture Melian playing in the firelight and Elrand looking to the stars. Furthermore, should he blame himself for their deaths?

Arthur worries over it so much that he doesn’t register Merlin entering the room, breakfast tray in hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Merlin asked gingerly, as he sets Arthur’s tray on his desk. Arthur finds himself nodding.

“Do you think me a bad person, Merlin?” Arthur asked finally, clenching his jaw.

“No.” Merlin’s answer is absolute and immediate. Arthur tries to decide on what else he wants to say as Merlin opens his curtains and goes to sit on the rug, facing toward Arthur.

“If they are dead because of me, I…” Arthur trailed off. How would he ever live on, after that?

“How would it be your fault, Arthur?” Merlin asked him. Arthur slumped into his hands.

“I let them die, Merlin.” Arthur sighed.

“How?”

“I should have moved them!”

“Where? Uther said they found several camps. You only knew the location of the one. You protected them. You fooled Uther into letting you go and seek them out, only so that you could apologize and treat them with dignity and respect. How are their deaths now on your shoulders? I’m not trying to be harsh. I just want to understand.”

Arthur thought for a moment, trying to come up with an argument. Why is it his fault? How is that even a question? Of course it is his fault! It is always his fault!

“I just think you were about as helpless in the situation as you possibly could’ve been. You couldn’t walk on your own, you hid the camps to the best of your ability, Stephan and Aviana were already on their way when you were still unconscious.” Merlin continues to push.

It is always his fault.

It doesn’t matter how or why. Those deaths should be on his shoulders.

They should.

They should, right?

Arthur has trouble convincing himself.

“I’m not saying you’re a perfect man, Arthur. If you want to blame yourself for the events at the first camp I understand. I don’t agree, but at least you were awake and around for that one. This one had nothing to do with you, as far as I can see.” Merlin finished. Arthur swallowed.

“I keep watching the druids die. All the time. Every night. Always in new, twisted, awful ways. I saw their camp last night, and it felt so real, Merlin.” Arthur confessed in a breathy whisper, looking down at his plate.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t imagine being haunted the way you are. I’ve killed, and lost sleep over it, but not like this.” Merlin said. “Have you gotten any proper sleep at all, since the first druid camp?” He asked.

For a moment Arthur isn’t sure. Perhaps for a moment in the bath, with Merlin humming behind him.

“At the druid camp, with Elrand, and my knights.” Arthur realized aloud. “They all seemed so safe and happy and I was there to protect them, and I slept so soundly.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Merlin looks on the verge of tears as he gets up and hugs Arthur. Arthur is still sitting at his desk, but he leans his head against Merlin’s stomach and wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist, welcoming the hug. Yes, a place that Arthur found safe-haven in could be ash now. “I’m so sorry, darling. Maybe…maybe they’re okay.” Merlin doesn’t sound sure.

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to forgive myself or not.” Arthur mumbled into Merlin’s tunic. “I don’t know if I should ever be able to live without their ghosts to haunt me, without the memory of it all.” Merlin doesn’t seem to have an answer, and instead just runs a hand through Arthur’s hair.

Arthur truly does feel torn.

Is he supposed to forgive himself? Is it his fault? What is, and what isn’t? Arthur isn’t sure he’ll ever know.

Then again, perhaps that is grief. Perhaps that is what it is to blame. Perhaps it’s all a little gray, in the middle. Maybe someone needs to take responsibility for it all and Arthur is the only one willing to carry the weight. Besides, wouldn’t he grow lonely, without their shadows to keep him company?

Arthur pulls away and drags his hands across his face, trying to sober himself up from the pull of his thoughts. He needs to focus on getting better, and becoming a King, and drafting a repeal of the ban on magic, and a hundred other things.

His ghosts are welcome to have his sleep, Arthur decides, but his days must be spent on the living.

Chapter Text

Arthur spends the following five days keeping busy without really having to try. He worked closely with Morgana trying to fix the mess of Camelot that Uther had left for them.

The first day, Arthur had to announce the passing of his father. He called it a heart attack. Only Gaius ever saw the body, and he did not want the Kingdom to assume some grand scheme had been hatched to overthrow Uther. In fact, if Uther had just treated his children with respect, he’d still be alive and well. So, Arthur decided easily, heart attack. Funeral arrangements were made that Uther did not deserve and coronation plans were made that Arthur did not deserve.

On the second day, training the knights had to resume without Leon or the formerly Crown Prince of Camelot, and so Arthur elected Elyan to step forward. Sir Elyan is younger than most of the knights, but he has a kind heart and moves swiftly with the sword. Leon and Percival are close with him, and if Arthur’s friends trust the man, so does Arthur.

Morgana and Arthur work throughout the day to revise new tax plans and repeals of unfair laws. They decided they had to wait to officially repeal old bans until Arthur was more settled in as King, though the drafts of such could begin immediately. As much as the ban on magic offended them, they could not overturn Uther’s reign so quickly without consequences from The Council, although as of that morning Morgana directly oversees them all.

They sift through years of spotty records of prisoners that have been rotting in the dungeons, and must decide who should stay and who deserves freedom. They begin reanalyzing the system of Camelot entirely, Arthur suggesting the appointment of a Court Sorcerer. Originally his idea had been for Morgana to fill that role, but she turned it down.

“I have always been more than my magic, and I will prefer to help your reign with my mind.” She had said.

They let the idea sit for a while.

On the third day, Arthur began feeling restless. His nightmares had not ceased, and he felt the panic under his skin always. Always, waiting to hear if the druid camps survived. Always, waiting for the return of his friends and his knights.

He oversees training more intently, and slowly begins the process of weeding out his more unfaithful knights. Anyone who laughed on the day of the first druid camp is no longer welcome to yield a name of respect in Camelot. Sir Frederick had fallen into a spit of outrage when he found himself gathered along the few others Arthur was sure he could do without. Victor and Theodore stand beside him, along with Thomas, the guard that had always known of Morgana’s torture and had helped without issue. Arthur wanted them all to die, but the best he could do now is renounce them.

“You can’t just…strip our titles!” Frederick had argued. Arthur cocked his head to one side.

“No?” Arthur asked in return. “Well then, it’s a good thing you’re here to remind your King of his duties.” He pretended to think for a moment. “Oh, no, wait, I can just strip your titles! So I suppose you are not needed after all.”

“How dare you?” Frederick challenged. Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Your father—”

“Is dead.” Arthur cut him off, before standing from his father’s throne chair, raising his chin high. “My father is dead. I am now your King, and you will obey as such, knight or not. Speak another word out of turn and it’ll be banishment instead.” Arthur’s voice sounded strong and sure and maybe a little frightening. He watched Merlin raise an eyebrow from where he stood to the side.

Frederick had not said another word, and the former knights left the castle soon after. Arthur wanted to rid more knights, but knew he had to train more first, so as not to leave the castle unprotected. A few at a time would have to be enough.

Merlin teased him, later, for the serious tone he had used.

“You’re almost scary, as a King!” He’d said. Arthur gave a little ‘hmph’ and pouted out his lip.

“I am always scary!” Arthur argued, folding his arms. This made Merlin laugh from where he sat, polishing Arthur’s sword by the fire. Arthur sat at his desk, admiring the way the flames accented Merlin cheekbones and the dot of gold in his eyes that sparkled when he laughed.

“Right, right. Whatever you say, darling.” He laughed. In the past four days, Merlin had used that nickname seven times. Seven! Arthur had been counting. He cherishes it each time, feeling its weight and softness dust his shoulders each time. Arthur went back to his writing as he spoke.

“When did you start calling me that?” He tried to sound nonchalant, even though his heart was pounding with please, please, please. “And don’t bother insulting me again, I asked Gwen and she said you’ve never called her such a name.” Arthur teased lightly. Merlin had long since apologized for his brashness that awful morning, and Arthur had forgiven him wholly and without pause. He didn’t mind that Merlin had misspoken, and his forgiveness was laced with ‘I love you’ like thread between his teeth.

Merlin blushed immediately, and him ducking his head down did not hide the tips of red at the ends of his ears.

“I…I would say it sometimes when you were asleep. When you were unconscious.” He said shyly. “You seemed to calm down a little more when I was calling you that or petting your hair. It didn’t always work, because you were always having those nightmares, but it did sometimes. And I guess now that you’re awake it’s hard for me to shake it.” Merlin admitted to the floor.

“That’s okay. I don’t mind.” Arthur tried to reassure him. Arthur wants to tell him of the way he treasures that term of endearment. He minds it in the way a bee minds honey, or a flower minds the sun. Arthur loves it so much it makes him feel sick, makes him ill with want and hopelessness and helplessness. It is a longing that is killing him, living each moment if only so that he could hear Merlin call him something beautiful again.

“Well, good.” Merlin said finally. “Have to find some way of reminding you how loved you are, darling.”

And for a moment, it’s like an epitome of the entire night sky has landed in Arthur’s throat. He wants to say, I would choose you over and over, forever. I would relive this moment always, if only you would be here too. Don’t you feel like our lives are meant to be intertwined? That this entwinement between us is fatefully significant, and necessary, more-so than the air itself? You say my name and I remember what it is to be alive but you call me darling, and I want to knit it into my bones.

But the words refuse to leave the back of Arthur’s mouth. Eventually, he coughs, and looks back down to his desk.

“Good, alright, yes.” It came out as more of a stammer, but his words are still wrapped in please, please, please, and he hopes Merlin can hear the heartbeat in his voice. Arthur risks a glance up to see Merlin smiling down at the sword, and Arthur thinks that is probably good enough.

They stay in the comfortable silence for a long time. The past few days, Merlin has refused to leave Arthur’s side until dismissed, seemingly content to polish a sword for hours. Arthur appreciates it. Merlin helps with revisions of policies, and reminds Arthur to eat, and is just there to keep him company in general. They both stay up, far into the night, talking and working, until Arthur is too exhausted to keep his eyes open.

Eventually Arthur looks up from his scribbling.

“Will you show me your magic?” He asked. Merlin looks up, startled, but his eyes are soft.

“If you’d like.” Arthur nodded. Merlin waved him over, and Arthur went to sit across from Merlin by the fire.

Merlin murmurs something to himself as he looks directly at Arthur, and Arthur can feel the moment that his heart stops beating, because Merlin’s eyes are gold.

They’re gold, bright and rare and absolutely gold, and Arthur wants to drown in them.

How could Arthur have gone his whole life without knowing what true beauty looks like?

Arthur realizes slowly that Merlin’s gold eyes are not the bit he’s supposed to be focusing on, as his mind finally catches up and registers that the fire beside them has come to life. It doesn’t roar, but instead seems to breathe. Merlin’s hand moves softly and the fire licks out, spitting out a few flames into their own shapes. Birds and butterflies of beautiful hues of orange and red dance around them, the light and warmth feeding Arthur in a way he hadn’t known he was hungry for. The fire spits out tiny fairies and snowflakes and even small dragons, all dancing around the men in wide circles, at all levels, surrounding them, wrapping them in warmth and orange and red. Merlin breaks into a smile as he watches his fragile creations swim and dance around them, and as beautiful as they are, Arthur’s eyes get stuck on their creator. Merlin is smiling, widely and freely in a way that Arthur worries he doesn’t see enough, and his gold eyes focus on his figurines of fire. Arthur wants so badly to hold his hand, and to see if Merlin feels the flames under his skin too, the way Arthur does.

Instead he just sighs dreamily, and basks in Merlin’s gold as his friend’s gaze lands on him.

“You’re lovely.” Arthur whispered. Merlin blushed and snorted and looked down.

Eventually Arthur goes back to his desk and Merlin returns to polishing the sword, humming quietly.

On the fourth day, Arthur spends most of his morning looking out the window to see if his knights are riding back into Camelot.

No such luck.

He paced more and more the longer the day went on. How could it be taking them so long? Why have they not returned?

Merlin must have appeared beside Arthur at some point, because he places a steady hand on his shoulder.

“They will be home soon, Arthur.” Merlin sounded much more confident than Arthur felt.

“It’s just hard for me to focus on it all, when I’m still wondering.” Arthur admitted, eyes still focused on the window. “They can’t be dead. They just can’t be.”

Merlin squeezes his shoulder, and then places a hand on Arthur’s elbow, tugging at him slightly.

“C’mon. I know how we should spend our day.”

Merlin leads Arthur out of the castle, letting him rest when he needs to, as the new King is still healing from his many wounds.

Soon, Arthur finds himself and his friend wandering down to the lower town.

“We’re going to town?” Arthur clarified. Merlin nodded.

“No-one to stop you now, hm? The people should see the kindness of their new King. They all adore you, but going to say hello now will show them your heart.”

Arthur can’t show them he respects them! A King should not respect tools, he should only use them!

Arthur stops walking.

No, those aren’t his words. Those are not his beliefs. That is his father, still drilling into his mind, even now.

It happens more often than Arthur would like to admit. So he doesn’t say anything to Merlin about it, and instead only continues their walk into town.

The first place Merlin pulls him into is the stone mason’s shop.

The door squeaks open, and Mr. Jameson stands, looking surprised.

“Well, good morning, Sire!” He seemed less nervous than the last time they spoke. Arthur finds himself grinning without meaning to.

“Good morning, Mr. Jameson! How are you on this fine day?” Arthur heard himself say.

Mr. Jameson tells Arthur about his busy morning, and about his wife, and his newborn baby, who has been doing very well. Arthur feels a little like he’s floating above his body, hearing this man talk excitedly, while Arthur is somewhere far away.

“But anyway, Sire, I am pleased to have you personally in my shop once again. We were all so worried to hear you had fallen ill.” Mr. Jameson looked genuinely worried.

“Oh, well, thank you. I’m getting much better now.” Arthur reassured him. I’m strong, he wanted to say. I’ll be strong for you, and your wife and your son, and your friends. I will keep you safe and prosperous. I promise.

“What can I do for you, Sire? Another stone, like last time?” Mr. Jameson asked, and Arthur saw Merlin’s eyebrows furrow out of the corner of his eyes.

“No, no, just stopping by. I won’t bother you with anything today. I only wanted to stop in and check on how the baby is faring.” Arthur hoped this would convey his appreciation of the man, and it seemed to, as Mr. Jameson smiled so widely that it looked as though it would fall right off.

“Oh, thank you Sire! Thank you! We really are quite well!” Arthur nodded. “Oh! Here,” Mr. Jameson moves to the back of his shop, disappearing for a moment before reappearing with a small stone ring in his hand. He holds it out, “Take this, if you would, Sire. As a token of good luck.”

Arthur looks down at it. It’s smooth and a pale white-gray and small, detailed flowers note the sides. Arthur recognizes them immediately, and looks to Mr. Jameson.

“I took a bit of inspiration from the stone you commissioned. I engraved it for you when we were all praying for your wellness. I assumed you like those flowers, to have asked for them specifically.” Mr. Jameson said, eyes looking hopeful and nervous and kind. Arthur reaches out and takes the ring gently, looking it over once more, before slipping it onto his finger. It fit his pointer finger perfectly.

“Thank you, Sir. This is beautiful. I do not deserve such kindness.” Mr. Jameson looked a little struck at Arthur’s words. “We must be on our way,” Arthur reached to his pouch and took a few coins out, “But please know you have my thanks.” Arthur handed Mr. Jameson the gold in a firm handshake, and left beside Merlin with a wide smile on his face.

“You gonna tell me about that?” Merlin asked, gesturing to Arthur’s new ring, once they had returned to the main path.

“These are the flowers of the druids.” Arthur explained, holding his ring out. “Commonly used in their medicines and herbs and such. I doubt he knew that, of course, and just thought I liked them. Which I do.”

“Oh.” Merlin said. “Well, it suits you.”

They walked around the town for a while, and Arthur was given many gifts. People had given him things before, of course, but these all felt terribly personal, and each person claimed to have made it for him after he’d arrived at the castle unconscious.

The whole ordeal made Arthur want to cry and thank them all profusely.

Arthur made sure to stop by the jeweler, and asked her to make a small charm bracelet as his latest commission. He wanted the bracelet to be silver, and to have several charms. A small crown, a star, a frog, a goblet, and a swirl of golden. He was hoping it would be enough to show Morgana a bit of anonymous congratulation at her new title. She certainly deserved some appreciation.

Merlin smiled like a fool as they left the jeweler’s shop, after being told it would be delivered to the castle in a few days’ time.

“Stop that.” Arthur teased him. Merlin raised his hands in surrender.

“I haven’t even said anything!”

“Oh, hush. I hate it when you give me that look.” Arthur lied. Merlin seemed to know he was lying, too, and his grin only widened.

“Sorry darling. Can’t help it, when you’re being all sweet and soft.” Merlin teased him, looking almost surprised that the words had left him at all. Arthur wanted to hold his hand.

“Fine, fine.” Arthur said, hearing the shake in his own voice. As an afterthought, almost like a compromise, he added, “Do you want anything, before we go? Anything you like.”

Merlin’s eyes did a few quick blinks as he processed Arthur’s question.

“Um. Bread. Gaius said we’re out of bread?”

Arthur buys him the bread. And if he also bought a few bouquets of Merlin’s favorite flowers and a little golden pin as well, he certainly didn’t see anything wrong with that. Merlin looked a bit like he was going to fall over, which mostly just made Arthur giggle and want to buy him more things.

“Here you are, darling. Bread as promised.” Arthur said with a grin, handing Merlin his many gifts. Merlin blushed all the way to his ears, but attached the golden pin to his neckerchief anyway.

The trip took most of the day, and Morgana seemed very at peace when they returned to the castle. Arthur tried to apologize at first, but Morgana quickly reassured him that she could more than handle it.

Which is something, isn’t it?

Like Arthur could have two things.

Like Arthur could rule the Kingdom, and go on walks with Merlin.

It felt like an almost illegal revelation.

He still had nightmares that night, but he fell asleep with a smile on his face all the same.

Chapter Text

On the fifth day, Arthur’s knights finally returned to Camelot.

They rode through the gates in stride, and the moment Arthur spotted them, he and Merlin rushed down the stairs to the front of the castle.

“Slow down, Arthur! They’ll come to us!” Merlin shouted after Arthur, who was half-running half-stumbling on his cane toward the entrance. Arthur can only shake his head as he continues forward.

Please, please, please.

Gwaine dismounts his horse faster than the other two, and runs toward Arthur, who stands with Merlin far away from the crowd.

“They’re alive!” Gwaine yelled, arms outstretched toward the sky and a huge lopsided smile sitting comfortably on his face.

“They’re…?” Arthur trailed off as he felt himself take a deep breath. Merlin put a hand on his shoulder. Arthur covered it with his own free hand, the other holding steadily on the cane.

“They’re alive.” Gwaine said again, and Arthur half-laughed at the rush of relief he felt.

“Every single camp lives, Arthur.” Leon said as he joined them. “Elrand contacted each that she knew of, all alive and well.” Arthur is nodding and smiling like a madman, but he couldn’t stop if he tried.

“Melian says hi.” Percival smiled as he joined the merry group of men. Arthur moved his hand from Merlin’s, still resting on his shoulder, to cover his heart as he smiled. They’re alive. They’re all alive!

Merlin gave a quick hug to Gwaine as Leon clapped Arthur’s shoulder.

“And look at you! Last we saw you, princess, you were napping on Gaius’ table.” Arthur noticed the hint of worry in Gwaine’s voice.

“Yes, yes, I’m alive, and I’m King, and Merlin has magic, and Morgana does too. A lot of changes have come to Camelot while you four have been on your little stroll.” Arthur teased, trying to cheer his friend up. Gwaine bursts out laughing as Leon and Percival’s mouths drop.

“About time you figured it out, princess!” Gwaine teased back.

“I didn’t know about Morgana.” Leon half-questioned, and Percival nodded in agreement.

“Better to discuss these things in private.” Arthur said, as a passerby walked near.

They walked inside together, and Arthur was glad to be sat down after his awful, rushed trek down the stairs. The group sits at the otherwise empty great hall table, and Arthur stops for a moment before realizing he is now meant to sit at the head of the table. It doesn’t feel right, but he does it anyway.

“Merlin, would you fetch Morgana, and Gwen, too, please?” Arthur turned to his friend as he spoke. Merlin smirked and nodded, but sat down to the left of him. Arthur gave him a questioning look.

“She’s on her way, and has Gwen with her.” Merlin answered, looking all too pleased with himself.

Morgana and Gwen enter, bright smiles on their faces.

Morgana immediately goes to shake the hands of Gwaine, Leon, and Percival.

“I am so glad to hear they’re alive. Thank you. Thank you.” She said as she looked at each of them, before taking her seat to Arthur’s right. Gwen sat beside her.

“How did you—” Gwaine began, but Arthur smiled as an idea struck him.

“Like Melian!” He said. Merlin raised an eyebrow, “You’ve been talking in your minds!” Arthur finished. He feels excited to be a part of the secret, in on the joke. Morgana and Merlin laugh and nod.

“So, you’ve got magic too, then?” Leon said to Morgana, more in confirmation than anything else. She nods in response.

“Indeed, Sir Leon. And I’m not sure if Arthur got the chance to tell you, but I’m the one that killed the King.” She stated it. She didn’t sound guilty, or apologetic. She just sounded factual. Gwen seemed to look to everyone, her own expression almost defensive.

Gwaine let out a whoop. The whole table turned to him.

“What?” Gwaine shrugged, “He was the worst.”

“Off his rocker.” Percival added.

“And trying to kill Arthur, right? That’s how you ended up back on Gaius’ table?” Leon questioned. Arthur nodded. “Why?”

“He said that they had found the druid camps we claimed to have burned, and that they tortured the druids, and that the druids called me their Once and Future King.” Arthur explained. Merlin made a small gasp beside him.

“You never told me that bit, Arthur.”

“Which bit?”

“Your title! I didn’t know you knew it.”

“I didn’t know you knew it, either.” Arthur shrugged.

“I’m magic, clotpole. Of course I know it.” With this, Merlin cuffed Arthur over the head.

“Except that he was lying.” Leon spoke up. Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Must’ve been, since the druids are in fact alive.” Morgana chimed in.

Arthur slowly shook his head, not lifting his eyes from the table. His mouth fell into a straight line.

The druids are alive.

How?

How did Uthur know the camps they had claimed to burn still lived? No Camelot troops had left or returned to the castle. Leon and Arthur would have been informed.

Uther had said he had been told the information at dinner.

“No. I think he thought it was all true.” Arthur said finally, after the table looked to him for his response. “He had been informed by King Stephan and Queen Aviana at dinner.”

“But why would they lie?” Merlin asked beside him. Arthur doesn’t know.

What cause would they possibly have to lie?

“Why had they come to the castle that night at all?” Arthur returned his question with another. “Why leave their castle virtually unprotected for a single feast?”

The whole table went quiet, thinking for a while.

“You were supposed to die, Arthur.” Morgana said finally. “In my premonition, it hadn’t been Uther’s hand around your throat. You were choking, gasping on the floor.”

“So maybe my drink really might’ve been poisoned?” Arthur said, mind spinning.

“And when Merlin spilled your drink, they knew they needed a new plan.” Gwen added. Arthur nodded.

“So they lied?” Percival asked. “But how would they know Uther would try to kill you?”

“I mean,” Merlin half-laughed, “Everyone knows Uther has no sense when it comes to magic. He’d kill anyone in association.”

“Except it wasn’t about magic. He was upset that they considered me King.” Arthur almost whispered, feeling all too embarrassed. His hand went to his collarbone and neck, rubbing it thoughtfully. “He said he was never going to let me have the throne.”

The table fell silent again. Maybe in pity, but Arthur hoped everyone was just trying to figure it all out. He feels Merlin reach for his hand under the table. Arthur takes it with gratitude, and feels warm all over when Merlin gives it a little squeeze.

“How did they know we were lying?” Leon asked eventually. “About the camps? If they had found them as proof, why do they still live?”

More questions, but no answers.

“Do you think he was charmed?” Morgana said quietly. “Perhaps they charmed him to believe his own doubts of you. Used his own mind against him.”

“That makes the most sense of anything.” Gwaine said, nodding, and Morgana sighed in response. Her shoulders slump and she puts her hands on her face, as though to wipe away exhaustion.

“Are you alright?” Arthur checked.

Morgana put her hands back at her sides, but her posture didn’t return.

“I wanted to kill him, Arthur. Not some lazy charmed version. I wanted to beat him, and I wanted him to know it was me, and why it was always going to be me.”

“He knows, Morgana. And he’s dead. You’re safe and you’re the most important person in this castle now.” Morgana looked up from her lap at Arthur’s words. “He deserved to die, and by your hand. He hasn’t been in his right mind for a very long time anyway.”

Morgana nodded.

“And plus. It couldn’t have been that hard to turn him against me, could it? Surely not much was changed at all. A tiny nudge.” Arthur added, a half-smile on his face. Morgana pursed her lips, clearly trying to hide back a smile.

“You’re right.” Morgana said.

“I’m surprised you…Didn’t hurt him more.” Merlin said, then seemed surprised he spoke at all.

“Certainly could have.” Gwaine added, “No one would have blamed you.” Arthur realized the knights didn’t even know the depth of Morgana’s pain. But even the assumption of Uther’s parenting and Morgana having to hide her magic was more than enough of an excuse.

“Would’ve been harsher if Arthur hadn’t been in trouble, I think. But I’m glad it was quick. I was so angry at him for so long. And I always thought I was going to hurt him back, the way he’d hurt me. But in the end, I just wanted it to be over. He had to die, and I had to go check on my idiot brother.” Morgana said, seemingly lost in her thoughts, before turning with a small smile toward Arthur. Arthur smiled back, grateful.

“So if that King and Queen tried to kill you, they know by now they failed, don’t they?” Merlin asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” Morgana replied, “I told them that you and Uther had fallen ill, that following morning, which is why neither of you could escort them out. I bet they knew I was lying, but probably assumed Arthur dead and Uther grieving or planning.”

“Ha!” Arthur squaked out. “So we may still have the advantage. The letters of Uther’s death have not yet been sent out.”

“But in order to gain control of the Kingdom, they’d need both you and your father dead.” Leon said. “Why have one kill the other? What purpose does that serve?”

No-one had an answer to that. Each new question made the full picture more and more blurry. Their plan seemed to serve no purpose at all.

“Alright,” Arthur said after a while, “Let us depart and think on it. We’ll reconvene to plan our strategy, but we need a better grasp of their plans first.” Everyone nodded. “Before you all take your leave, a few announcements are in order.” Arthur squeezed Merlin’s hand one last time before letting go so that he may talk with his hands above the table.

Everyone looked to Arthur, a few surprised faces looking at his stoic and thoughtful expression.

“Firstly, Leon, I no longer have the time to train the knights each day. You will now act as Commander of the troops, and lead their training as you see fit. You will be able to appoint your seconds as you so choose, although the two men beside you are the best I know.” Leon broke out into the biggest smile Arthur had ever seen him wear, and his wide eyes turned to his friends.

“Thank you, Sire.” Leon bowed his head as he clearly tried to reign in his excitement.

Leon had been the obvious choice as Arthur’s replacement. He had a steady head, and would be loyal to his last breath. He was perhaps less talented of a swordsman than Gwaine, but would have more professionalism when Arthur needed him to. Percival seemed content to be a knight at all, and did not long for advancement the way Leon did.

“Gwen. I have no intention of removing you from Morgana’s side, but I think your days as handmaiden are done, if you don’t mind. I would hope for you to help her in any and all documents and doings, as Aid to the Advisor of the King. Does that sound alright?” Morgana and Gwen showed equal excitement. This had been Morgana’s suggestion, and Arthur readily agreed. It was rare for servants to be able to read and write, as such talents would be wasted in the position, and her talents had been wasted long enough. Gwen is kind but also deeply thoughtful, and Arthur valued her opinion. There was no longer a need for her to be disregarded as a servant.

“Also, everyone sitting at this table is considered my equal, and should be considered as each other’s. No one is above another, and as such there is no need to refer to me as my title. I trust each of you with my life, and your opinion holds much weight with me. Everyone here has my utmost respect and trust. Do not take this lightly.” Everyone seemed in awe. Arthur had not planned this moment, or that speech, but it felt right. These are his advisors and chamberlains, these are the reasons Camelot would not be led to ruin. Each of them, keeping it upright, stopping him from making any bad decisions. The Protectors of Camelot, even from Arthur, if need be. “Also, and this is important, if you ever can’t find me, ask Morgana. She’s always second in charge.” His voice was light, as if teasing, but it is true. Morgana is wise and powerful, in more ways than most, and her leadership would guide them well.

Morgana smiles deeply, looking down at her lap as an embarrassed blush climbs into her cheeks.

The whole table seems proud and content, and Arthur bows deeply to them after they all stand.

Merlin walks beside him as Arthur returns to the throne room.

“No new special title for me, then?” He said cheekily.

“Not yet.” Arthur responded simply.

“Yet?” Merlin asked. Arthur looked to his dearest friend.

The truth is, Arthur had no idea what title to give Merlin. What title should he give his oldest friend, without allowing Merlin to distract him in court? Arthur doesn’t know. And does Merlin even want a new role? Does Merlin want to climb rank, further into royalty? Does he want to be busier, further from Arthur? His chores must be tiring, but if Merlin doesn’t dust Arthur’s shoulders he doesn’t know what he’d do.

Of course, there is another reason. Arthur wants to court Merlin. He feels the want itching in his fingers, where Merlin had held them under the table. Arthur wants to court Merlin, and spoil him, and make his life easy forever. Arthur wants to court Merlin, and he wants to marry him, and name him the Consort to the King.

But Arthur doesn’t know what Merlin wants. And nowadays, he really is too afraid to ask. What if Merlin says no? What if Merlin does not love Arthur the same, does not need him the same? What if Merlin says yes, so that he doesn’t hurt Arthur’s obvious and delicate feelings? What if Merlin says yes, because Arthur is King now, and Merlin feels he has to? What if Merlin says yes, and they are happy, and then they have a child one day, and that child dies because of Arthur?

What if that dream comes true one day?

“No. Not yet, darling.” Arthur answered eventually, reaching his throne and sitting down. Darling. Arthur wants it to mean something. He wants it to mean everything. He wants to say it like I love you, hidden in the pauses of every sentence he’s ever spoken.

But he also doesn’t. He doesn’t want the pet name to be anything more than a quick chastise. A tease between friends. A story of worry while Arthur had slept and Merlin had stayed. Because if that word carries more weight, then Merlin might still get hurt, because of Arthur.

And that’s something Arthur would never risk.

So, no new titles for Merlin.

Because Arthur doesn’t yet know how to keep Merlin close without letting him come any closer.

Chapter Text

The night of his friends’ return, Arthur’s dream is very different.

It’s scary, but not in the obvious way it always had been. Tonight, the dream invites him.

He walks through Elrand’s camp. Everyone is dancing and laughing by the fire, safe under the stars. The flowers are blossoming at their feet, softening the fall of children running too fast.

He steps carefully, looking around for danger. He doesn’t find any.

Come play, friend! Melian appears at his side as her tiny voice bubbles through his mind.

Arthur shakes his head, although a small smile rests on his face.

She’s safe. They’re all safe.

Arthur continues walking through the camp, although he doesn’t know what he’s looking for.

He doesn’t, until he finds it, that is.

Only a few steps behind the camp, he finds them, as he was always meant to.

Thirty-eight dead bodies, piled on top of each other. They are more decayed, now, than they had been. The eyes of each corpse are more sunken, jaws slack and open.

The flowers that litter the ground inside the camp clearly began out here, petals and leaves growing out of ears and noses and open mouths.

Thirty-eight dead, decorated bodies. The flowers are clearly a second layer, the ash still covering them. Always.

Does the ash haunt them, the way they haunt Arthur?

He hopes not. They do not deserve to be haunted.

He hears the distinct sound of bones breaking as a flower shoots through a cheekbone. A lily of the river. They are beautiful, but poisonous. Arthur would know them anywhere, and hates that it springs out now, white petals covered in ash and long dried blood.

Arthur watches, rooted to the spot, as ivy crawls out of the bodies, spreading and threading through itself like veins. Roses begin to grow, too, and its thorns cut the already mangled and mutilated corpses.

Thousands of flowers surround him now. They stretch their way through those that were once living, reaching out for Arthur, trying to pull him in.

Arthur tries to move. He tries to run. He cannot.

The vines already have his ankles, and sunflowers emerge to wrap around his wrists. More flowers, begonias, maybe, grab him and tug him down, and the ropes of greenery pull him toward the mound of corpses. He tries to scream out, maybe to beg, but fistfuls of flowers invade his throat. He is choking on them, being buried by the flowers and the bodies that surround him now.

Come play, friend.

Merlin is the one to shake Arthur awake, and Arthur has to take a moment before he has the strength to open his eyes.

“Darling, it’s alright, it’s okay, you’re alright.”

He feels Merlin’s breath on his face, can smell his hair. He feels the dip in the bed to the side of him.

When Arthur blinks his eyes open he finds Merlin’s face only a few inches from his, talking softly, trying to reassure him. The sun already streams in through his open curtains, breakfast already sat at his desk.

“Oh, hey, there you are.” Merlin said, a small smile on his face. He pulls his head back lightly, though Arthur wishes he wouldn’t.

“Hi.” Arthur said, voice rough and tired. His eyes drooped a bit, and Merlin gave him a pitiful look.

“Bad one last night?” He asked gingerly. Arthur nodded, then dragged his hands over his face, covering his eyes.

“Count to three, would you?” Arthur requested. Three more seconds. He could have three more seconds of daylight to dwell on it, three more seconds to find peace and solace, and then he would have to be up and ready to face the day. Arthur’s eyes were still closed under his hands, so he didn’t see Merlin nod.

“One.” Arthur thought of the druids. Of the flowers. Of being buried alive by bodies. “Two.” Arthur took a deep breath. It’s alright. It’s okay. It’s alright. Everything is okay. “Three.”

Arthur opened his eyes again and in one swift move pushed himself to an upright position. Merlin had to jerk back to avoid Arthur’s head hitting him.

“Thank you, Merlin. I know you seem to do that a lot.” Arthur said, reaching for his cane.

“Oh, it’s really no trouble.” Arthur stood up quickly, trying to fully reawake. Merlin stood up with him, and watched as Arthur walked to his desk. “Are you alright?” He asked, after Arthur had sat down.

Arthur didn’t answer. He didn’t feel like answering. He didn’t know the answer.

“We’ll need another meeting today of everyone in attendance yesterday. I’d prefer it just after Leon finishes with training. Would you let everyone know?” Arthur asked, looking up from his plum to Merlin’s face. “Please.” He added.

Merlin’s shoulders slump but a small smile still finds its way onto his face.

“Sure. I'll leave now to let everyone know and return with water for your bath?” He asked, eyebrow raised. Arthur gave a swift nod before turning to his breakfast and the many pieces of parchment that sat on his desk.

Time flew by, and soon Merlin returned, two pails in hand.

“Can I ask you something?” Arthur said, as he finished with his breakfast.

“Of course.”

“Why do you still carry up the water? Why go fetch my breakfast tray?” Arthur asked. Merlin looked confused. Arthur held up what remained of the plum. “If you can conjure it from nothing, why not do everything that way?”

“Oh.” Merlin looked surprised, thinking for a moment. “Habit, I suppose. And energy, perhaps. You’re always nearly getting killed, I’d rather save my magic for that.”

“So it is limited?” Arthur didn’t know why he was asking. He just wanted to know more about Merlin.

“No, not…limited. Not really.” Merlin poured the pails, then went to sit on Arthur’s bed. “I was born with magic. It’s not something I always mean to do. It is sort of always just there, under my skin, a piece of me. I’m not sure I could ever really run out of it.”

Arthur nodded, interested, glancing back to his papers only to hear Merlin murmur something to himself. Arthur looked back up in time to see Merlin letting his outstretched arm fall back to his side.

“What was that for?” Arthur asked.

“Heating the water the way you like. It’ll stay like that ‘till you’re done.”

“Would you do it again?” Arthur found himself asking.

“What for?”

“I missed it the first time.” Arthur’s voice sounded almost like a whine.

“I only heated the water, darling. It’s not all that impressive.”

“But I missed it!”

“Missed what?” Merlin asked.

“I missed your—” Arthur cut himself off, looking back down to his now empty tray. He swallowed, then continued despite his best efforts. “I missed your eyes. They turn gold. It’s the best part.”

Arthur did not look up, so he did not know what to make of the silence that followed.

Then, finally, eventually, “Thank you. You’ll see them all the time though, if you pay attention. I really use it for most of my chores.”

Arthur had felt like he was falling through an abyss, in the silence, so he was glad that they could just move on.

“Sounds pretty lazy to me.” Arthur teased.

“It’s called being resourceful!” Merlin teased back.

Merlin helped him into the bath, then went to go pick out his clothes as Arthur washed himself.

Absently, Arthur wondered if he should move to the King’s quarters. That is technically his title now, afterall. But he doesn’t know if he could ever feel safe or relaxed there, sleeping somewhere his father had slept.

The same feeling overcomes Arthur when he sits at the head of this table in the great hall for the conference with his knights and advisors. How could he sit where Uther had sat, eat where Uther had eaten?

He also doesn’t like the feeling of everyone else looking only to him. The man at the head of the table, the man in charge. It’s off-putting, when he considers these people to be his equals.

“Nothing about their attack makes sense.” Leon said, as the meeting began. “I’ve thought it over, and there is no political gain for them from only you dying.”

“Well, I’d never take the throne.” Arthur responded.

“But why would they care if you took the throne or not?” Gwen chimed in.

“Perhaps to reassure Uther’s position on it.” Gwaine answered, sounding unsure.

“Surely they knew Uther would die eventually?” Gwen asked again. “What would be the point of any of it?”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. Leon was right. Nothing about it made any sense at all.

“What should we do, then?” Merlin asked. Arthur was glad to hear him contribute. His opinion matters just as much as everyone else’s, if not more.

Arthur thought for a moment. The whole table went quiet, thinking.

“We should invite them for another grand feast. Ask their audience with the King. No further details. Mysterious, irrefusable. Hopefully when they arrive we can have the advantage of surprise and understand the truth.” Arthur said finally. “Thoughts?”

Soon, everyone had helped to craft the perfect letter. A request of attendance for King Stephan and Queen Aviana. A hidden demand. Signed by the King of Camelot. The perfect letter. The perfect trap.

They would only have to wait, and see if their trickery worked.

Chapter Text

A week flies by. Arthur sent his quickest scout to deliver the message, and to accompany the visiting royalty in his return, to further pressure them into a quick arrival.

During this time, Arthur works tirelessly. He and Leon begin the training of several new, worthy knights to replace a few of Uther’s shifty ones. Leon promotes Gwaine and Percival to be his seconds, and Elyan to take the duties that were previously Gwaine and Percival’s. Arthur and Morgana continue their work of sorting through unfair laws. Morgana shows Arthur her magic and works more closely and freely with Merlin and Gaius to refine and perfect it.

And, of course, Arthur does everything he can to get better. He is sick of his cane, of needing help. Arthur needs to be ready for whatever this visit brings.

By the end of the week, he can go quite a few steps without the cane. But Gaius forbids him from lifting a sword.

It’s annoying how bossy Gaius is, considering Arthur is his King. But Gaius must know that he is more than safe considering how protective Arthur is of Merlin, and therefore of anyone he cares about.

More quickly than expected, the end of the week arrives. And with it comes the carriage of King Stephan and Queen Aviana, who Arthur does not greet upon arrival. Instead, Leon and Morgana escort the royalty to their chambers, and Arthur waits. The scout makes his report, looking a little tired and sounding more than a little dazed. Arthur notes it, then tells him to rest.

Leon and Arthur work closely to have guards posted at every entrance, more-so than usual. These are intruders in his home, and they are certainly expecting someone else. Morgana will sit with them at dinner tonight, magic at the ready should it be needed. Merlin and Gaius had prepared a truth potion that would be in the glasses of their visitors. (Arthur is so glad to have magic on his side. His father was a fool.) Arthur had tried to convince Merlin to stay somewhere safe, but he wouldn’t hear it. So, Merlin will be there too, standing off to the side. Leon will block the main entrance after their visitors enter the great hall, and Percival and Gwaine will block the service entrance.

If all goes well, they’ll finally know the truth of the attack, and the intentions of the potential traitors.

When dinner arrives, he waits until Merlin comes up to fetch him.

“They are sat at the table. The guards are each posted in their positions. We’re ready for you.” He said. Arthur nodded, grabbing his cane. As a last thought, he grabbed the dagger from under his pillow and stuck it into his boot.

“Don’t tell Gaius.” Arthur said, a secret smile crossing his face. Merlin gave a small smile in return.

“Nervous?” Merlin said. Truthfully, Arthur couldn’t decide. It was a strange feeling, having an enemy in your home, not knowing for sure what their intentions are. But he also felt protected. He had far more power on his side tonight than them. He was sure it would be enough.

“Should I be?” Arthur answered.

“No. You’ve got me looking out for you this time. No one will lay a finger on you.” Merlin dusted Arthur’s shoulders as he spoke, then stepped back and opened his door. “Ready?”

Arthur nodded, and followed his friend through the hallway, down the stairs, and waited a moment before turning the corner to the great hall.

Arthur takes a deep breath, then pushes forward. He turns, passing Leon on his way, who gives him a reassuring nod, and enters the room.

Arthur hears Queen Aviana’s audible gasp as he enters, quickly covered by a cough.

“Good evening King Stephan, Queen Aviana. I trust your travels went smoothly?” Arthur said, walking confidently, taking his seat at the head of the table without hesitation. Aviana’s eyes seemed to bug out of her head. Morgana wore a coy smile.

“Good evening, Sire.” She answered, failing to cover the shakiness in her voice. “You look…well?” It sounded more like a question. Arthur only gave a single swift nod. “And will your father be joining us this evening?” Arthur understood the question she was really asking.

“Unfortunately not. But then, I’m sure you were only expecting one guest at this table tonight weren’t you?” Arthur’s voice is eerily calm. Aviana looks a bit like a frog, with her wide eyes and tucked mouth. Stephan seems to have no interest in the conversation at all.

“Sire, I’m sure I. I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Her words are higher-pitched, now, and clearly she is nervous. Arthur is almost glad she is so easy to read. “Why don’t you have some of your drink?”

“Sure.” Arthur said evenly. “Merlin?” He called, without taking his eyes off Aviana.

Merlin walks over, just as confident as Arthur, and places a few leaves into Arthur’s drink. Merlin had enchanted them before, to shrivel up in the case that it touched any poison or spell.

The leaves shrivel.

Arthur looks down at the glass, then back up at Aviana, an eyebrow raised.

“A bold move. Perhaps not the one you should have made, Aviana.” Arthur purposely does not use her title.

“That isn’t…That wasn’t me! I would never!” Aviana begins to stand up. Merlin’s hand lands on her shoulder in record time, forcing her to return to her seat.

“Sit.” Arthur commanded. “How about you have some of your drink?” He copied Aviana’s words, in almost a mocking tone. Aviana looked around, clearly visibly worried about what might be in the cup. “Drink.” Arthur said again, more demanding this time. Aviana reached a shaky hand to her glass.

“I really don’t think—”

“Drink.”

Finally, seeing she was out of options, she held the glass to her lips, and sipped at it. Arthur looked to Merlin. Has she had enough? Merlin seemed to understand what Arthur asked because he nodded.

“Why are you here, Aviana?” Arthur asked.

“You asked me to come.”

“Why did you come before?”

“To celebrate.” Aviana seemed to be biting her tongue, dancing around the complete truth.

“Celebrate what?” Arthur tried to keep his voice calm. Aviana seemed to shake her head, mouth shut tight. “Celebrate what, Aviana?”

The fight seemed to leave her.

“Celebrate my marriage to King Uther!” She exclaimed. Merlin’s eyebrows shot up while Arthur’s furrowed. “He was mine, I had him! I finally tricked him! How did it fail? How do you still live?”

Aviana seemed more unhinged by the moment, chest rising and falling too quickly, hands shaking, eyes far too wide. Arthur did not want to reveal his cards just yet.

“Got lucky.” Arthur responded vaguely.

“What do you mean, you had him?” Morgana finally chimed in.

“He was mine, you idiot! I finally had dosed him enough to make him think it was all his idea. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t. It was mine.”

“What was your idea?” Arthur asked. Aviana laughed maniacally, and Morgana and Arthur exchanged looks.

“He was going to marry me! I thought he wrote to marry me!” Arthur eyebrows furrowed even further and he looked to Stephan, who continued to stir his soup without really eating it.

“Aren’t you…otherwise engaged?” Morgana asked, the confusion on her voice matching Arthurs’. Aviana continued laughing.

“NO!” Her voice bellowed, blowing out every candle in the room. When Merlin relit the candles under his breath, Stephan was gone.

“Where did he go?” Arthur asked, reaching for his dagger as he and Morgana stood up, ready to defend themselves. Morgana immediately held out her arms slightly, clearly in preparation for a spell. “Where did he go!”

Aviana kept laughing.

“He was never really here. Just a shiny something to pretend with.” She explained, eyes crazed.

“A trick?” Morgana asked.

“You have magic.” Arthur breathed. Aviana cackled.

“So does she, hm? Not enough.” With that, Aviana yelled out a spell and magical iron chains wrapped around Morgana’s fists. Iron wrapped around the chests of each of the servants, too, including Merlin, pinning them against the wall. At the same time, the doors barred themselves.

Morgana struggled against her chains. Arthur heard the knights banging on the barred doors. He needed to buy time until they could get in.

“So Stephan was never here?” Arthur asked. Aviana shook her head.

“He found out about my magic, banished me from his Kingdom. But that’s okay. It’s all okay.” Aviana started cackling again. Arthur wished she would stop. “I only had to intercept a few letters, and pretend he was here with me, and poison Uther’s drink.”

“With what?” Arthur pressed. He glanced toward the doors. A little longer.

“I would only have to get his heir out of the way, and then he would be forced to leave his kingdom to me!”

Arthur shook his head.

This is honestly the worst plan he’d ever heard. It’s messy and risky and not well planned in the slightest. And based on her mad laughter, he thinks he knows why.

“You’re insane.” He admitted aloud.

“NO.” She flicked her hand and Arthur was forced to sit back in his chair. “I’m desperate. There is a difference.” Aviana moved his glass to sit directly in front of him.

“It seems it’s your turn to drink.” She loomed over him, and Arthur found himself rooted to the spot. His hand began reaching for his drink of its own accord. From her confession, he could assume it is just a love potion, but even so…

“No, I don’t think so.” Arthur looked up from his chalice to see Merlin, free from his binds, standing with his head tall. Arthur glanced at the iron belt that had held him to find it completely bent the opposite way, as if ripped apart. Merlin looked eerily calm, head tilted so slightly. His eyes went gold as his hand outstretched and he muttered something to himself.

Aviana flies back, away from Arthur. The candles in the room seem to brighten even more, as Morgana’s chains fall away and the servants are freed from their cage.

Aviana lands on her knees, but rises quickly and fires a spell at Merlin. The walls shake as she pulls stone from the floor to throw at him.

Without missing a beat, though, Merlin stops the stone midair, and with another word from him, it is carved into chains. He shoots them back at Aviana, but she dodges. She steals the light from the candles around her, forming a fireball to throw at Merlin. Merlin’s eyes somehow go even more gold than before, and he moves his arms dramatically as the fireball moves around him. When it reappears from behind his back, however, it is the neck and head of a dragon made of flame. Its jaw opens and bares its teeth of fire as it chases Aviana.

Aviana screams and ducks to the floor as the dragon passes over her, giving Merlin enough time to make his stone cuffs wrap around her wrists and ankles. The dragon disappears and Merlin murmurs another spell. The fire returns to the candles and the bars disappear from the doors, Merlin relaxing his arms at his side.

Arthur loves him.

Merlin looks to Arthur sheepishly just as the guards enter, and Arthur bows to him.

“My gods.” Morgana breathed out, standing beside Arthur. “That’s the most clever magic I’ve ever seen.” Arthur readily agreed.

“Beautiful.” He whispered. He heard Morgana snicker.

“Him, or the magic?” She asked. Arthur rolled his eyes and elbowed her, and walked towards Merlin, trying to clear the now busy room and take charge once again. He can revel in his awe of Merlin later.

“Those are made of stone, can she escape them?” He asked his dearest friend and protector. Merlin shook his head.

“I enchanted them with some engravings. She won’t be able to do magic as long as she wears them.” He explained. Arthur tried to shake off his wonder again.

No time right now. Arthur’s mind was racing with it, though, and it was hard to think of much else. He tried nonetheless.

“Alright, take her to the dungeons.” He commanded his knights. Leon stood beside them, and Arthur nodded to him that he should escort them down. “Leave those cuffs on, she won’t be able to use her magic.” He turned to Gwaine and Percival, who had arrived at his side. “She seemed to be working alone, but scout the perimeter just in case.”

“What of King Stephan?” Gwaine questioned.

“Only an illusion, it seems. We’ll have to write to the real King, to see what he wants done with her.” Arthur said, thinking aloud. His men nodded.

Morgana was beside Merlin, though neither of them spoke. Soon the room began to clear, each knight having specific orders so Arthur could make sure the ordeal was truly done. Morgana and Merlin seemed to be giggling at the floor when he arrived at their side. Merlin gave Morgana a sidelong glance and she only nodded.

“What’s going on?” Arthur asked as he joined them.

Morgana and Merlin burst out laughing in response.

“What?” Arthur asked again, and their laughing doubled. “Oh, stop that!”

They ignore him. Arthur rolls his eyes, leaving this haunted hall to head toward the throne room. He finds Merlin at his side, still giggling to himself.

“Always following me around.” Arthur teased. Merlin rolled his eyes.

“That’s literally my job!” Merlin defended. Arthur chuckled.

“Excuses, excuses.” Arthur responded, then paused. “Thank you, by the way.” Merlin shrugged.

“It’s my job.” He said again. Arthur shook his head.

“No, it’s not. It’s just you being kind and helpful and loyal and—” Arthur cut himself off. And I love you, because of those things and a million more. “And you didn’t have to. I didn’t even know you could! Morgana says you have the best magic she’s seen.” Arthur turned to look at his friend, who was now blushing profusely and looking at his shoes as he walked.

“Supposedly, I have the best magic anyone’s ever seen.” Although the words could have been a brag, Merlin himself sounds unsure as he says them. “It’s all a great big prophecy, you and me.”

Arthur’s heart skips a beat. Maybe because the idea of fate tying them together is reassuring. Maybe because he likes the way Merlin says ‘you and me.’

“Oh?”

Merlin nodded.

“The druids, they call you the Once and Future King. Not just for them. For everyone. You’re destined to bring peace and prosperity to all of Albion.” Merlin paused for a moment. “They call me Emrys. I am destined to protect and guide you.”

Arthur lets that sink in. Emrys. The other stuff is important too, of course, but Merlin has another name and it’s one Arthur has never heard or said, until now.

“Emrys.” He tried the word out on his tongue, then looked to his strange sorcerer. “Suits you.”

Merlin’s eyes widened for a split second until he looked anywhere but at Arthur, red racing up to the tips of his ears.

“Do you believe in that prophecy?” Arthur asked. Merlin’s opinion was the only one that really mattered on the subject.

“I’m not sure. I think you are already a great King, and you will grow to be even better. At the very least, the prophecy is an excuse to be by your side, so it’s good enough for me.” Merlin admitted quietly.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Yes, I don’t mind that at all.” Arthur said, matching Merlin’s tone with a small smile. “Plus, I clearly do need your help.” This made Merlin laugh.

“Yes. Clearly.” The men arrived at the throne room, and Arthur went to sit on the stairs leading up to the throne, rather than the chair itself. Merlin sat beside him. Arthur waved for his guards to leave them.

“I figured out you were a sorcerer from the plum, and the cane, and the bathwater. Small things. But you’ve been using your magic to save me, haven’t you? All this time?” A sheepish smile crossed Merlin’s face.

“A little.” Arthur gave him an incredulous look.

“C’mon, no need to be shy about it now.”

“Well, firstly, I’m a warlock. Not a sorcerer. Born with magic, remember?” Merlin’s voice was soft and maybe a little nervous. Arthur nodded. Merlin took a deep breath.

Then he explained.

It was almost four years worth of stories and explanations and honesty, and it took a while, and Merlin probably forgot half of it. But he went on and on, a list neverending, a debt that could never be repaid. Merlin, risking his life for Arthur’s, again and again and again. The main theme of each story was Merlin’s selflessness, although Arthur doubts that's how he means it to sound. But it wouldn’t matter, because it is the most true thing in the world.

Merlin, playing the fool and the scapegoat to avoid his secrets being found out. Merlin, solving mysteries before anyone else even held suspicion. Merlin, risking his magic being revealed every day, in front of anyone, for the sake of Arthur’s protection. Merlin, jumping in front, risking capture, drinking poison.

These things combine with the moments in time Arthur already had memorized, pictures of Merlin already painted. Merlin, burning the candle light staying by his side while Arthur rants or writes. Merlin, looking over his writings and proposals. Merlin, giving him his first hug, and never seeming to let go. Merlin, holding him when nightmares visit.

Merlin. Always Merlin.

When he finished talking, the pair sat in silence for a long time. Arthur was trying to resist the urge to reach out and hold his hand.

“I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t tell me for so long.” Arthur said finally. Merlin is the one to grab his hand, forceful with its reassurance.

“You loved and respected your father. I didn’t want to force you to make a choice. Your shoulders already carry too many burdens, darling.” Merlin said, his free arm wrapping around Arthur’s neck and pulling the blond’s head to his chest.

Arthur felt very warm all over. From the hug, from the confession, from the I love you sitting on his tongue.

“It wouldn’t have been a choice.” Arthur mumbled. “You could say anything and I could not abandon you.” It sounded more like a proposal and a promise than Arthur meant it to be, but the words had already left him by the time he realized.

“But then I saw how torn up you were about Morgana. I didn’t want to cause you more pain.” Merlin continued.

“Is that why you looked so sad?” Arthur felt Merlin nod above him.

“I was excited to finally tell you, and then thought it would only hurt you, and I was just…disappointed. But you gave me a day off and I had time to get over it. It ended up not mattering much, in the end, but yes. That was a hard day.”

“I’m glad you don’t have to bear it alone anymore. You don’t need to keep secrets from me, Merlin. I would never judge a single one.” Arthur could hear Merlin’s heart in his chest, where his own head lay.

“I know. But to be honest? Being by your side makes everything...easier.”

That sounded a lot like I love you, to Arthur.

I love you. I promise.

Eventually they had to get up, because Merlin had chores and Arthur had kingly duties, but for a while they just sat there, breathing easier in each other’s presence.

For the first time in a long time, Arthur could hear his father’s voice in his head, and in the same moment realize it was his father’s, and not his own.

I am not a blubbering fool, Arthur decided. I have just loved wholly and honestly, and that is enough.

It is only when they stand up that the most obvious idea hits Arthur.

“You should be the Court Sorcerer!” Arthur blurted. Of course! Of course, it was always going to be Merlin. Protecting and advising him with his magic, the way he always had. Emrys, the Great Warlock.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Merlin trailed off.

“Oh, I should have thought of it sooner, I’m sorry I didn’t. But you have always been the thing that guides me the most. And my best protector, too, it seems. You were meant to have your magic on display, not hidden in the shadows.” Merlin still looked uneasy. “Please just think about it?”

Merlin nodded, and Arthur smiled. He felt his heart beating in his chest, to the same beat he had heard Merlin’s. His heart always beats for Merlin.

Chapter Text

Arthur is embarrassed.

It’s the sort of embarrassed that he feels deep in his bones, in his gut, in his chest. Not the nice kind, not the kind in his cheeks when Merlin gives him a compliment.

No, this is only a step-down from humiliation, and it would’ve been fully, had it not been for everyone else giving him all sorts of excuses.

Gaius had finally given Arthur the all-clear to rejoin training. Arthur had been so excited, overjoyed to be able to hold a sword again! He’d felt bare without it. He also had simply missed training, very dearly. He wouldn’t be able to attend all the time now that he is King, but he certainly should be allowed to stop in and challenge his knights to see how they’re coming along.

Arthur had been so excited to see the new recruits in action, too. To see the energy on the field now that the worst of Uther’s knights had gone.

At this point, it had been a little over two months since he’d been on that field, and that is far too long. A whole week had passed since he stopped using the cane! It now sat against the fireplace, where he could admire it from his sitting chair. But if he didn’t need the cane, then that means he is all better. And if he is all better, then that means he should train and wield a weapon.

Gaius had said to be gentle, to go easy. He had warned that Arthur may feel dizzy.

But it was worse than that. Because one match in, with only a few swings passed between him and a newbie, Sir Boyon, the world started spinning.

Arthur tried dropping his sword, but the sky and the ground must have switched because he threw it upwards instead. The handle hit his helmet, because of course it did, which made him stumble back. Boyon immediately reached out an arm to catch Arthur. Leon, as attentive as ever, was only a second behind him.

But both were too late. Arthur had already hit the ground, without Boyon having landed a single swing. He looked like an idiot. He felt like a fool.

Not a fool.

Not a fool, he corrected himself. Just someone ill. Just someone who needs a little help.

Weak.

No, that’s not really any better.

Merlin had been watching, too, the way he always did. It made it all so much worse. They had just been teasing each other, and laughing, and Arthur had felt so strong and sure. And Merlin had dressed him in his armor for the first time in a long time, and it made Arthur a little dizzy, but it didn’t matter. It hadn’t mattered, because Merlin had complimented his blond hair and Arthur thought he could do it.

He thought he was ready.

Instead, he’d come out here and made a fool of himself in front of everyone.

Leon is the one to pull him up from the ground, Arthur’s grip tight on his wrist.

“Are you alright, Sire?” Leon asked.

“Fine.” Arthur answered gruffly, and Merlin appeared beside him. Because of course he did.

Merlin tries to grab his arm, to help steady him probably, but Arthur whips it away.

“I’m fine, alright?! I can do it myself!” Arthur snapped. He ignored the look of shock on Merlin’s face and stumbled away. He missed his cane.

So, yes, Arthur is embarrassed. Not just that he fell. Not just that he couldn’t do it. But Arthur had truly thought he could. It’s more embarrassing by far how hopeful he’d been. How excited.

How foolish.

No, no, not foolish.

Anything else. How ridiculous.

Arthur had been ridiculous.

He stomps back to his quarters, ignoring the pounding headache from the effort. Why can’t he do this? It’s been ages since his father’s attack, even longer since the arrow. Why can’t he just be better?

Arthur struggles to take off his armor on his own. It takes longer than it should. When he is finally done, he looks to the mirror, lifting his shirt slightly, revealing his scar twice sewn. It’s more healed now, but he can still trace it easily and hate it just as much. Why can’t he just be better?

Arthur sits at his desk, holds his head in his hands.

He just wants this to be over. He just wants to be better.

How will Camelot ever think he is strong enough, if he still looks so weak? If he still feels this weak?

A timid knock sounds from his door. Arthur does not lift his head.

“Come in, Merlin.” He called out. The door opens slowly. Arthur’s eyes are closed but he can tell Merlin is just standing in his doorway. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Arthur means it, although he doubts it looks like it. He still sits, hunched over his desk, elbows on the table, head in his hands, eyes closed. He hasn’t moved to acknowledge Merlin at all. He hears Merlin’s quiet footsteps pitter-pattering against the stone floor and he wonders if Merlin is just going to do his chores and ignore Arthur in return.

Instead, he feels arms wrap under his arms from behind him, and Merlin’s chin atop his head.

“I wish you could see yourself how I see you.” Merlin said quietly. His voice was soft, but not quite a whisper. Arthur sighed. Merlin did not let go. Arthur appreciated it.

“I’m so tired, all the time.” He said finally. “Between the nightmares and the cane, I just feel…” Arthur trailed off. For a moment, he doesn’t want to say anything at all. He doesn’t want Merlin to keep seeing all these broken shards that used to be his whole self. Two or three years ago, all they did was laugh and tease and make fun of each other. Arthur was more carefree then. But he was also sheltered. Selfish. Arthur likes himself better now, but he feels like he has lost those parts of himself. Where did that kid go? When did he grow up and become King?

“Weak. I just feel so weak and tired and sick.” Arthur said finally. He feels himself wanting to cry, but no tears come to him. Merlin holds him tighter. Arthur wishes he could be better, for him. Arthur wishes he were more.

“I suppose I can’t convince you to get back into bed? Or to take one of Gaius’ sleeping tonics?” Merlin answered.

It all just makes Arthur feel worse. It's morning. He only just got up. He feels like a helpless child, being coddled. He should have just lied, so that Merlin wouldn’t know. As if Merlin didn’t already know how splintered and torn Arthur really is.

Arthur pulls away.

“I’m fine.” He said, using the corner of his desk to help himself stand, walked a few steps, then realized he had no place to be. “You can go.”

“What?” Merlin looked stunned.

“I have to get some things done.” Arthur pushed, eyes on the ground. “Take the day off.”

“Have I done something to upset you?” Merlin asked. Arthur could feel his gaze on him, but didn’t look up to meet it.

“No.”

“You don’t have to do this all on your own. Let me help.”

“I don’t need any damn help.” His answer was quicker than his own mind. He’d barely registered what Merlin said before he was pushing him away.

Arthur feels like a wounded animal. Why does he keep snapping at Merlin? Why does he keep biting the only hand that feeds him?

A pause stretched between them. Neither moved.

Arthur hears Merlin take a deep breath.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Merlin said softly, taking a step toward Arthur. “Just let me take care of you.”

Arthur felt himself shaking his head as Merlin took another tiny step forward.

“You’re enough. You’re more than enough, exactly as you are. You are not going to get better right away. But you are going to get better.” Arthur stood very still as Merlin stepped right in front of him, cupping Arthur’s cheeks faintly, dusting his thumb over Arthur’s cheekbone.

Arthur nearly whimpered. Does Merlin not see? Does Merlin not know?

Can Merlin not see how truly broken Arthur is? Something has been cracked inside him for such a long time. And some days it can be shelved away by hugs and comforting words and friendship, and some days it can’t. But it doesn’t matter, because this is Arthur, always. Fragmented and lost and not enough. Arthur is the smashed and shattered version of who he used to be. He can pretend to be okay, he can pretend to be King, but he will always just be the scared, split, lost little kid. Waiting for the stars to save him.

Does Merlin not know how in love Arthur is? How desperate for this contact, for this showcasing of friendship or love or anything at all? Arthur’s world is spinning, always, and it’s only centered and still when Merlin is beside him, or holding him like this, or holding him at all.

These are the two truths of Arthur. Is Merlin so blind that he cannot see them? Does he not understand how helpless Arthur is?

Arthur does not want to kiss him. There is no please, please, please. He wants to run away.

He feels seen in a way he never should’ve been.

Arthur’s head bows low.

“You always act all alone in the world.” Merlin’s hands don’t leave his face, even though Arthur is looking at his own feet. Merlin’s voice is soft but sure. It feels a little like a blanket, keeping Arthur warm and safe. “And maybe everyone else is too busy to pay any attention. But I’m not. I have always just seen you.” Arthur closes his eyes, trying not to cry. He doesn’t know why he wants to. Is he relieved or desperate or happy or scared or something else entirely?

“I am going to be here with you through it all. I will always be here. You are not broken, Arthur. You’ve just taken a lot of hits.”

Arthur feels his anger and confusion draining away with every word of reassurance, replaced with relief and the exhaustion he’d been ignoring all day.

Merlin plants the lightest feather of a kiss on Arthur’s forehead.

“Please. Lay down, darling. I’ll wake you for the meeting in a few hours.” Merlin begged, and Arthur nodded.

He lets himself be led over to his bed, where Merlin gently strips him of his overlayers, lifts the blankets, and tucks him in. Merlin pets his hair down softly.

“It’s alright. You’re okay. You just need rest.” Arthur wanted to argue, but the fight had already left him. He only sniffled in response. “Is there any chance you’d take a sleeping tonic if I brought you one?” Merlin tried. Arthur shook his head. “Okay. Get some sleep, darling.” Merlin gave his hair one more gentle pet, then left his side to close the curtains.

Arthur turned on his side and huddled into a ball after he heard his door close behind Merlin.

Eventually he fell asleep like that, folded into himself, praying that the nightmares would leave him alone, just this once.

They didn’t.

But it didn’t matter, because Merlin is there to wake him in the afternoon, and hold him as he wakes from the horrors of his slumber.

Merlin helps dress him for the meeting, and for the first time Arthur can really think about the fact that Merlin kissed him.

Merlin kissed him.

Merlin kissed him.

Merlin kissed him.

Granted, it was only on the forehead. When he was basically dead-walking. But it makes Arthur’s heart swim circles all the same.

“Feeling any better?” Merlin asked, as he dusted Arthur’s shoulders.

“A little.” Arthur nodded. “I feel like it's all always there, though. Like I can function through it, but everytime something goes wrong, it breaks me.” He admitted. Merlin nodded.

“You’re very brave to function through it. But remember Morgana is supposed to be ruling while you’re healing. No-one would judge you if you took the time you needed to get better.” He said. Then, quieter, “And no-one would think less of you if you took something to sleep better. Everyone needs rest.”

“They wouldn’t haunt me if I didn’t deserve it.” Arthur answered, his voice stiffer than before. Merlin’s shoulders slump and he looks down.

“Your mind doesn’t always tell you the truth, Arthur.”

Arthur shook his head.

“I just…” Arthur swallowed, then sighed. “I don’t want to be late for the meeting.”

Merlin walked alongside him.

Arthur did feel a little better.

Chapter Text

Gwaine, Percival, Leon, Gwen, and Morgana are already sitting at the table when Merlin and Arthur arrive, discussing what is to be done.

The letter from King Stephan had arrived that morning, Arthur unbeknownst. Stephan wanted the disgraced Queen to be returned to him as his prisoner.

Mostly, those at the table were deciding who should be sent to deliver her.

“Oh! Arthur. About time.” Morgana teased lightly, interrupting the discussion.

“Blame Merlin!” Arthur said back. Everyone chuckled, and Merlin rolled his eyes. Arthur still feels all carved up inside. From the nightmares, from the desperation and depression hiding under his skin, from The Kiss last night. But Arthur tries to look stronger than he feels, and hopes his voice comes off as teasing and light.

Arthur takes his seat. Everyone had left the seat to his left completely empty. Merlin took it without hesitation, seemingly not noticing. But Arthur does. He appreciates it.

The group fills Arthur in on the deliverance from King Stephan. Merlin’s knee bumps his rhythmically.

“I’ll have to go.” Arthur said. Immediately, everyone shook their heads and disagreed. Arthur held up a hand. “The terms of our treaty must be renegotiated. The repeal of the ban on magic is necessary, but it is not without risks. I must speak with King Stephan, in person, and discuss what is to be done on his side as well.”

The table goes quiet.

“You’re not well enough, Arthur.”

It was Leon that had spoken up, quiet but not timid. He was speaking the truth.

Merlin hold’s Arthur’s hand under the table.

Arthur takes a deep breath. It’s true. He couldn’t even lift a sword. He is weak, both in mind and body.

“We don’t have to leave immediately.” Arthur offered. “We’ll depart in two weeks time, by which I should certainly be in better shape. Morgana, you’ll stay behind and tend to the castle. Leon, we’ll need many knights with us for my protection and for security against Aviana. Who can you spare without the risk of the kingdom?”

Leon offered to leave Sir Elyan in charge here, so that himself, Gwaine, and Percival could be by Arthur’s side, along with more than a dozen knights.

“Do you trust him so?” Arthur asked, of Elyan. Leon spoke as Percival and Gwaine nodded.

“Very much. He is a good man and a strong leader. He was the one to lead and train the knights after your attack, when we had to check that the druids still lived.” Leon confirmed. Arthur nodded.

“In the next two weeks I’d like to know him better, to see that I agree.” Arthur approved. Leon nodded in agreement of this idea.

More was discussed. Merlin would obviously be accompanying the party, Morgana set to rule the castle and the Kingdom in Arthur’s absence. A few more details are ironed out. The whole table still looks uneasy with the idea of Arthur leaving at all, but he senses they know he is right.

The treaty must be renegotiated, or they risk war.

The following two weeks are busy. Arthur spends hours each day with Gaius, working to rebuild his strength. By the end of the first week, Arthur can properly swing a sword without collapsing.

It’s a start.

One day, in their training, Gaius turns to him.

“I hope it is not improper, Sire, to ask how you have been feeling?” Gaius sounded more tentative than usual.

“A bit dizzy, here and there, but I’m doing my exercises all the same.” Arthur answered, confused. Gaius shakes his head lightly.

“No, no, I mean…” Gaius trailed off. Arthur raised an eyebrow. “I have seen it many times in patients recovering from such debilitating injuries.”

“Seen what?” Arthur asked. He suddenly feels very defensive, although he still doesn’t know entirely what Gaius is asking.

“It can only be described as a sense of hopelessness, I believe. A feeling of drowning.” Arthur eyes widen as Gaius, of all people, reads his mind. Gaius’ voice is gentle, and without judgment, but Arthur feels naked all the same. “It’s very common, with injuries like this. And injury of the mind accompanies it.”

“Why?” Arthur finally croaked out.

“It’s an awful mix of things. When you are on bedrest, you lose your ability to exercise, to take part in hobbies, to have time spent under the sun. Being confined to a bed can be very isolating, Sire.” Gaius paused, then continued, “And it can’t help that someone you placed trust in was the one to put you in this position. I'm sure you have many things on your mind, Sire, but these combinations are not good for one’s heart.”

Arthur thinks all of this over. He hasn't been able to train with the knights, or go on journeys, or go hunting. He couldn’t go help confirm the druid’s status because he’d been stuck on his bed. He felt useless, embarrassed, and very helpless. And yes, it had been his father that put him there. At least, the second time.

And even before, Arthur had been trapped in his grief. Ever since that first camp, he hasn’t slept well or felt alright. As though everything had been off-balance.

Perhaps that is why he had felt so light and so much better when he and Merlin had gone into town. He’d gotten plenty of exercise, and was out in the sun, and he was with the one person who makes the world seem steady. And obviously it was a secret hobby that Arthur enjoyed giving people gifts. Especially to Merlin.

“So, when my leg gets better, I’ll start to feel better?” Arthur asked hopefully.

“Usually it does help. But it’s important that you are eating enough, drinking water, exercising, being social if that suits you, and getting plenty of rest.”

“Those things are actually important?” Arthur felt dumb. What does eating have to do with one’s mind?

“Very, Sire. I highly recommend you find ways to plant these routines into your life, daily. I know you are a very busy King, but these will help keep you well.” Gaius raised an eyebrow as he finished, as if warning Arthur that if he didn't take care of himself, Gaius would come and make him. It’s a funny thought.

Arthur looked down.

“I haven’t been…sleeping well.” Arthur admitted.

“Well that would certainly slow down the healing process! No wonder you weren’t ready for training when I had thought!” Gaius exclaimed. Arthur felt dumb again. “Your body needs sleep to heal properly.”

Gaius moved away from him, toward the bottles of potions and tonics that lie on his shelves.

“No, no, no, I don’t need any drink for it.”

“Sire—”

“I’ll sleep on my own.” Arthur stood up, a little too quickly, but ignored it and made for the door. “I’ll take care to heed your advice, but I don’t need any tonics. I’ve made up my mind.”

“Sire,” Gaius called out for him. Arthur turned to look at the man. “Your body will take much longer to heal without proper rest.” Gaius walked toward him. “This is the weakest tonic I have. Probably won’t even do much. One sip at night. It might at least make you more at ease.” Arthur looked down at the small glass bottle Gaius had pressed into his hand.

“Thank you.” Arthur said. Gaius bowed as he stepped back.

On the way back to his quarters for the evening, Arthur passes the bottle between his hands, examining it. Debating it. It’s a small, long-sided rectangle. Dark orange-brown stained glass, slick corners. It feels heavy in his hand. Weighted. Arthur wonders if that is only his conscience, curling itself on his palm.

Suddenly he hears arguing carrying down the hallway, and soon spots the shadows that carry them.

As they turn the corner, it’s clear that it’s Morgana and Gwen. Arthur quickly hides the vile in his pocket, somehow feeling embarrassed and ashamed because of it.

“Arthur, tell Gwen that Royal Advisors are perfectly capable of doing their own laundry!” Morgana exclaimed as they arrived beside Arthur. Gwen practically stomped her foot in annoyance.

“No, tell Morgana that that is what servants and handmaidens are for!”

Arthur squinted his eyes at them.

“Didn’t I already promote you?” He asked Gwen. Gwen, hands on her hips, gave a curt, obvious nod.

“She won’t let anyone do it! Says she doesn’t want to inconvenience anyone!”

Morgana rolls her eyes but doesn’t disagree.

Arthur looks between them, a small smile on his face.

“Don’t want anyone taking Gwen’s old place, hm?” He teased. Morgana blushed immediately, and Arthur knew his guess was right. Gwen’s arms immediately fall to her sides, and her eyes widen as she turns to Morgana.

“Is that true?” Gwen asked softly. Arthur looked between them, feeling like he should probably go anywhere else. “Morgana?”

“Yes, alright?!” Morgana admitted. “You and I are so close because of it and I tried to like Elizabeth and she just does it all wrong and I’d rather just do it myself and complain about it than actually replace you.” Her words are rushed and she blushed profusely, fingers uselessly playing with a bit of string.

“Oh, love.” Gwen reaches out to hold Morgana’s nervous hands. “I know you’re not replacing me. Just as I wouldn’t replace you.” Morgana’s shoulders seem to relax and she has the ghost of a smile.

“But Elizabeth always hangs my dresses on the wrong side.” Morgana whined.

“You can tell Merlin to do it.” Arthur interrupted, because he’d begun to worry that they forgot he was still standing here. Morgana turned to him, smiling in full. “I’m trying to convince him to be Court Sorcerer, so maybe if we give him enough chores he’ll let me promote him.” Gwen laughed, but Morgana nodded.

“Oh, he would be so good at that! Why doesn’t he want to do it?” Arthur shrugged in response. In the pause that followed, Gwen turned fully to Morgana.

“I’ll show her how to do the dresses.” She said, and cut Morgana off when she opened her mouth. “And the bath. And the tray.”

Arthur tried to think about replacing Merlin when he becomes Court Sorcerer. He probably couldn't stand anyone else to do those things for him.

“Promise?” Morgana asked quietly.

“Yes, love, I promise.” Gwen reached up on her toes and gave Morgana a kiss on the cheek. Arthur raised an eyebrow as Morgana went back to tangling her hands.

“I’m off to my room. If I have to watch you two another second I might be sick.” He teased. Gwen rolled her eyes, but Morgana only smiled.

“Now you know how we feel whenever you and Merlin are near each other!” She joked back, laughing, which made Arthur want to leave even faster.

“Or, even worse, not together!” Gwen chimed in. Both girls doubled over in laughter, and Arthur could only shake his head and deny. “Merlin this, Arthur that!”

“Disgusting, the both of you! Honestly!” Arthur called, as he continued down the hall. “Barely suitable for the public!”

The girls only laughed in return.

When Arthur arrives at his chamber, Merlin is already there, waiting for him, adjusting the fire.

“Hello.” Arthur called to him, somewhat awkwardly, nervous from the tonic, heavy in his pocket.

“Hello. Want to see a new trick?” Merlin called back to him. Arthur gives an excited nod when Merlin turns to look at him, standing from his spot by the fireplace.

Arthur loves Merlin’s tricks. He loves seeing Merlin’s magic, and Merlin’s golden eyes, and Merlin’s sneaky smile.

Alright, maybe it’s just Merlin that he loves. All the same, his stomach flips and his grin widens as Merlin murmurs something and the fire bounds from the fireplace to his hands, in three separate fireballs. Merlin’s eyes are that perfect light gold as they always are when he does magic, but there’s something so special about seeing them in the firelight. It feels a bit like being given a secret. Or holding hands under the table.

Merlin focuses, and then begins to juggle the fireballs, murmuring something after a few seconds and adding a fourth fireball to the mix. It’s terrifying and wonderful and it all sort of makes Arthur want to faint.

Merlin shoots him a huge, lopsided smile, then murmurs a word and the flames return to the fireplace.

There’s something about Merlin playing with fire that makes Arthur feel safe. If Merlin were scared of fire, it might mean he was also scared of Arthur, deep down. Scared of the pyre. But he’s not, and the realization of that warms Arthur in a way the fireplace won’t.

“That was amazing! Be my Court Sorcerer?” Although one half of the words was an exclamation and the other a question, they all dance off Arthur’s tongue at once, in a single dangerous sentence. He had meant it as a compliment, but as soon as the words leave him, he realizes how selfish it sounded. He hadn’t meant to say be mine he had meant to ask as King to a servant, if he would rise up in rank. But it doesn’t matter, because Merlin is already staring at him like he understands it the first way and not the second way and the second way is the right way, and the whole thing is ridiculous. Fool, coward, fool, coward, fool.

No, no, not fool. Not fool. Silly. That’s all. Just a little misunderstanding.

Not coward. It is not cowardly to refuse to force himself on someone of a lower position.

“What would that entail exactly?” Merlin has his head cocked to one side, and has taken a step forward. Arthur doesn’t know what Merlin’s face is supposed to mean, cannot recognize the expression he wears now. Merlin’s voice sounds different, too, lower-pitched, and slower, and Arthur thinks he must have made him nervous.

Arthur takes a step back so that Merlin doesn’t feel trapped, and is even more confused by the look of hurt that briefly crosses Merlin’s face.

“Well, you would be an Advisor, like Morgana, but with magic strategy and…stuff, rather than regular…ruling…stuff.” Arthur is tripping over his words, trying desperately to recover from each misstep and only making it worse each time.

Merlin looks down at the floor for a moment. Arthur watches his shoulders rise and fall.

When Merlin looks back up, he is smiling, but not like he was only a few minutes ago. Arthur curses himself for upsetting his friend.

“Sure. Yeah. Why not? Court Sorcerer.” Merlin doesn’t sound as enthused as Arthur had hoped he would be.

“You don’t…you don’t have to.” Arthur tried to backpedal. How had this happened within two minutes of being in the same room? Arthur looks down at his shoes, anxious and embarrassed. “I just thought you should be the one in charge of how we deal with reintegration of magic in Camelot, and our bridge to the druids, and just. You know a lot more about magic than I do, and I trust your opinion more than anyone, and you’re the smartest person I know—”

“It would be an honor, Arthur. I’d love to do it.” When Arthur looks up, Merlin is smiling, properly this time, and his cheeks are dotted with pink. Arthur is glad for whatever he said to cheer Merlin up.

Without really thinking about it, Arthur closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Merlin’s neck, pulling him into a hug. Merlin is a little bit taller than him, so Arthur’s head rests just under his neck. Merlin hands wrap around his waist automatically, and Arthur revels in it.

Arthur feels for a moment like maybe he should just tell Merlin he loves him.

He feels his love boiling over in the safety of being in Merlin’s arms. Feels it in the comfort of Merlin’s chin resting on his head. Feels it in the peace of hearing Merlin’s breathing so near him. He feels it in the tips of his fingers, which can’t help but play with the ends of Merlin’s hair.

Don’t you know that when I think of want, I think of the way you hold me? And that when I think of need, I think of you? Don’t you see it?

And then Arthur thinks of Merlin’s strange reaction to even the slightest, accidental approach of it and thinks better. No, best not.

Better to just leave it, and stay in this moment, feeling a little bit empty but safe in the hug.

Eventually they pull apart, even though Arthur would rather jump in the fire than ever let go, and Merlin begins to move around the room, finishing his nightly chores.

Arthur writes at his desk for a while, until Merlin is done, and then goes to have Merlin change him into his night clothes.

“Can I wait a while, to start as Court Sorcerer?” Merlin asked timidly.

“Of course.” Arthur answered. “What for?”

“I’m not sure. I guess maybe I don’t feel ready.” Merlin said. Arthur nodded. He wanted to hug him again. He doesn’t.

“Okay. Well, hey, you can’t be sworn in officially until I repeal the ban on magic anyway. I plan to, after I speak with King Stephan. How about we check in after that, to see how you’re feeling.” Merlin nods, smiles gratefully. Arthur crosses the room to his bed as Merlin folds his day clothes.

“What’s this?” He asked. Arthur turns to see him holding his sleeping tonic. He’d forgotten it in his pocket.

Shame washes over him, a drowning that is different from the usual.

“Oh, uh, I…” Arthur’s tongue feels heavy. Is it always this hot in the room?

Merlin seems to see his discomfort, because he crosses the room to return the bottle to Arthur.

“It’s okay, darling. You don’t have to tell me.” Merlin pats Arthur’s hand as it closes around the tonic.

Arthur nods, setting it on the table. Climbs into bed.

“It’s a tonic. Gaius said it will help me sleep better.” He heard himself saying. Merlin tucks him in as usual, but there is a look of pride on his face.

“Oh!” Merlin answered. “Will you…are you going to use it?” He asked timidly.

“I haven’t really decided.” Arthur said honestly. “Do you think I should?”

“Yeah, I do. I know it all makes you a little nervous, but you’ve done so much for the druids. I think you deserve sleep more than you deserve penance.” Merlin whispered, petting his hair. Arthur felt his shoulders relax automatically with the affection.

“I’ll…I’ll try it. I don’t know if.” Arthur sighs. “Just this once. Just to see.”

Merlin nods, and hands him the bottle, opening it for him. Arthur takes a small sip and hands it back. He doesn’t mind the taste as much as he thought he would.

Merlin closes it and returns it to his bedside table. He smooths down Arthur’s hair a little more.

“Okay?” He asked.

“Minty.” Arthur responded.

Merlin smiled. He bent forward and kissed Arthur’s forehead.

Again.

Arthur has gotten two different kisses from Merlin. Two!

“Get some sleep, darling.” Merlin said as he pulled away, then went to blow out the last candle.

Arthur wants to ask him, how? How? How is Arthur supposed to sleep now that his skin is buzzing and his stomach is rippling like a lake interrupted by a thousand stones?

But he doesn’t ask, because why would Merlin keep kissing him and then not addressing it? Is this something he does with everyone? Is this something normal people get all the time? Is this what it feels like to be blessed with the privilege of touch? Arthur doesn’t know. But it certainly is a privilege.

“Goodnight.” Arthur’s voice is rough, deep in his throat, stuck under the ‘I love you’ hiding above it.

Merlin leaves, and eventually Arthur falls asleep, thanking every single star for letting him exist at the same time and in the same place as Merlin.

Tonight, Arthur’s nightmare is different.

He walks through a forest of druids, hanging by their throats from the nooses attached to the branches. They look like lamps, decorating the forest, in all different sizes and ages.

But tonight, it feels as though Arthur is looking through a window at them. Like they’re real, but further away. Like they can’t touch him, like he can’t kill them. It feels as though he is just here to watch.

It’s not good, to see thousands of dead bodies swinging from the branches of a forest. It’s not pleasant. But it’s better than being buried alive.

When Arthur wakes up, he feels a little more refreshed than usual. His body doesn’t ache, there are no tears on his face. But he still dreamed of them. Remembered them, as he should.

It feels like a good compromise.

Chapter Text

The morning that Arthur departs for the venture toward King Stephan, he feels better than he has in weeks. He’d been doing his best to follow Gaius’ advice, and the tonic doesn’t make the nightmares go away, but it does make them tolerable. Arthur has been training with the knights, lightly, trying to regain his full strength and skill. He’s been taking walks throughout town every day, hoping the sun would help him heal. Even Merlin caught on and reminds him to drink water, often refilling his flask after even a sip using his magic.

It works. Or at least, Arthur feels better. Well-rested, stronger, ready for the journey.

He is already awake when Merlin enters his chamber.

“Good morning!” He called, dropping the breakfast tray at Arthur’s desk and opening the curtains.

“Good morning, darling.” Arthur called back sleepily, stretching his arms with a yawn, enjoying the sunlight that lands on his skin.

The sunlight also lands on Merlin. It’s the sort of early-morning, painting-perfect sight that makes Arthur feel dizzy. Merlin’s dark strands of hair, lit up like the stars have buried themselves in the curls. He wears the sunlight like a crown, and golden rays surround him as though it is he that commands them.

“What?” Merlin asked.

Arthur wonders what it must be like to be so beautiful. Does Merlin know how the light makes his dark blue eyes shine just bright enough for the golden specks to be made out? Does he know that it makes his cheekbones look sharper, more defined? That it makes him look somehow older and wiser?

“Have I got something on my face?” Merlin begins pawing at his nose.

Arthur wishes he could just tell him. Compliment Merlin the way Merlin so frivolously compliments him. But each word would be so weighted. ‘You are such beauty it makes me want to weep’ cannot exist without ‘please, please, please.’

“No, no, sorry.” Arthur answered finally. He began to get up.

“Nervous about today?” Merlin asked, as Arthur sat at his desk.

“Honestly? I’m looking forward to being out again. I feel I’ve been on bedrest for far too long.” Arthur admitted.

It’s true. He is looking forward to riding on his horse again, and being accompanied by his closest friends, and camping under the stars. The weather has been getting cooler though, the leaves beginning to change their color.

“Don’t forget to bring extra layers to sleep in. I don’t want to have to hear you shivering all night.” Arthur said. Merlin rolled his eyes.

“I would never forget. And I don’t shiver!”

“Oh, yes you do! And it keeps me up half the night. Might as well pack three more neckerchiefs, too, so I don’t have to hear about your neck getting cold.” Arthur is fully teasing now, and tries hard to disguise his grin.

“Well maybe we should just start giving the warmest blankets to the servants, then, if it bothers you so much.” Merlin teased back. Arthur pretended to think for a moment.

“No, that can’t be. Ridiculous.” Arthur answered.

“No, no, the more I think about it, the more sense it makes!” Merlin continued, making Arthur glare. “After all, I’m mostly bones. You are naturally more warm!” Arthur immediately understood what he was implying.

“Merlin!”Arthur half-yelled. “I’m fighting fit!”

“Mhm, mhm, plenty of meat and muscle to keep you warm. I think I should have all your blankets. Only proper solution.”

It’s nice, this chatter. The teasing. With all the drama and the action and the recovery of the recent, Arthur had begun to miss it. He had worried that this part of their friendship was gone forever. He’d thought that maybe Merlin had seen him cry one too many times and thought he could no longer handle being teased. He worries Merlin thinks of him as weak.

But this. These old jokes between them.

It’s the intimacy of being known. The wonder of Merlin understanding what will make Arthur laugh and what will make him growl.

Arthur loves him, all the time, always. But there is something in the teasing. In the cuffs on the head, in the screeches, in the arguing. Arthur loves him in the layer of friendship, and kinship, and understanding. It’s not shiny, or magical but a sort of calm. A hopeful, quiet, calm.

In his father’s shadow, Arthur’s life has always felt like some sort of debt, waiting to be paid. Nothing, no matter how small, was his own. His needs were not a necessity. Nothing was ever really his, not really. More like he’d always been borrowing it, stepping on a rug that may be ripped out from under him at any moment.

Merlin has a knack for doing the opposite, Arthur thinks. Not just between the two of them. Merlin makes everyone feel welcome, and loved, without condition or variation. That’s why everyone who meets Merlin instantly loves and trusts him. Merlin seems to love unapologetically and intensely. Wholeheartedly, to everyone that crosses his path. He just gives off that feeling; Merlin feels a lot like home.

(Which is why Arthur knows Merlin does not return his favor. Merlin loves honestly and deeply. If he loved Arthur, more than everyone else, more than as a friend, Arthur is sure he would know. But this makes Arthur sad to admit to himself, so he tries to avoid thinking about it too much.)

Eventually, breakfast ends, and Arthur is dressed, and Merlin makes a comment about his belt loops, and Arthur smacks him over the head, and both men grin.

A short while after, Arthur leads the long party into the woods, heading for King Stephan.

Beside him, as Arthur always prefers, is Merlin. Directly behind them is Gwaine and Percival. Leon is further back, directly in front of the horse that carries Aviana, who sits in shackles. It will be a harsh journey for her, but a carriage would be too slow. Sixteen guards accompany the party, both for Arthur’s protection and for defense against Aviana should anything go wrong. The guards were chosen by both Leon and Arthur. They were chosen because they are skilled fighters, and because they are all fond of Merlin. Should his magic be needed, Arthur could depend on their loyalty.

It’s nice to be on his horse again. As soon as Arthur had begun mounting her, she started whinnying her excitement. Gwaine had made fun of the duo, but Arthur just kissed her forehead and re-brushed her mane. He was equally excited.

Merlin keeps glancing over, though, whether they are talking or not. About once every few minutes. It’s becoming annoying, because Arthur knows why he’s doing it.

“Stop that.” He said, after the one-hundredth time.

“Stop what?” Merlin asked defensively, glancing over at him once again.

“Stop checking on me! I’m not going to break, Merlin.” Arthur snapped. It was quieter, though, because he was hoping Gwaine and Percival wouldn’t hear and decide to agree with Merlin. Arthur is sick of everyone looking at him as though he were made of glass.

“Alright, alright.” Merlin said. Stared ahead for thirty seconds. Glanced at Arthur again.

“Stop it!”

“Look, we can always go back. I’m strong enough to protect you. We could just get you back to the castle—”

“I’m fine, Merlin.” Arthur cut him off. This conversation is more tiring than the horse-riding.

“Are you sure? Because—”

“I said,” Arthur’s words are calm. He doesn’t want to snap at Merlin again, the way he had on the field after he fell. “I’m fine. I promise. I’ll let you know if I need a break.”

Merlin nods, and seems a little more at ease after that.

It’s only a few hours later when Arthur’s back and chest start aching. Not in the normal long-journey way. It hurts to remain upright.

Merlin notices immediately, because of course he does.

“Are you alright?” He called as quietly as he could.

Arthur shakes his head.

“Hurts.” He answered.

“Want to stop?”

Arthur shakes his head again. His head is starting to pound from the pain, but it’s only late afternoon! They can’t set up for the night this early, and waste so much daylight.

“Okay.” Merlin said. He pulled his horse to the side and let the party pass him. Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand what Merlin was doing.

Once Merlin is behind everyone, he seems to talk to a knight for a moment, before tying his horse behind the knight’s. He dismounts the mare, then walks around the party back up to the front.

“Do you mind?” Merlin asked, as he sped-walk beside Arthur.

Arthur shot him a confused look.

“Letting me up?” Merlin asked again. Still confused, Arthur obliged, slowing his horse enough to help Merlin mount it, who swung to sit behind him.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked.

“Making you rest.” Merlin answered, taking the reins from Arthur. “Lean back.”

Arthur obeyed, falling back into Merlin’s chest. The tension on his back immediately lessoned, but his embarrassment grew. What must the other knights think of how this looks?

“Shh, calm down, darling.” Merlin whispered, seeming to sense Arthur’s hesitation. “It was Leon’s idea. You aren’t to be alone on your horse for more than you can handle. All the knights seemed relieved to hear that you’d be safer, and in less pain.” Arthur relaxed at Merlin’s words. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Arthur leaned his head back further, to get more comfortable, finding a perfect spot in the crook of Merlin’s neck.

“Is this okay?” Arthur asked, hesitant. Arthur feels like he can breathe much easier but also that he cannot breathe at all. It’s wonderful.

“Perfect. Just rest, darling. I’ll look after you.” Merlin said back. Arthur nodded. He closes his eyes, but sleep doesn’t really come. It would be hard to fall asleep on a horse after all this time of riding with such attention. But it’s nice to relax for a moment, and it does wonders for the pain he’d been feeling.

“Thank you.” Arthur whispered.

They’ve had hugs before. But never like this. This is more than Arthur deserves probably, and certainly more than he ever thought he would have. And it’s awful, because now for the rest of his life, he’ll be wishing to hold Merlin this close again. This close, always.

Chapter Text

The sun has already begun setting when the party stops for the night. The servants set up the camp, helping to build a fire. As King, Arthur is supposed to have a tent. But he refused it, because he prefers to sleep under the stars, and be able to watch over Merlin with ease. Not that Merlin needs his help. But it’s just easier to rest knowing Merlin is safe.

Arthur is glad that they are finally stopping. Merlin’s help was incredible, but it will be nice to lay his back flat against the sturdy ground, and try to rest awhile.

Of course, he won’t be resting right away. They traveled far today, and would’ve stopped right on the camp of the dead had it not been for Leon’s navigating, purposeful in avoiding it.

However, since they are opposite the other camps, rather than toward them as before, they are much closer to it tonight. Must be only a ten or fifteen minute walk, Arthur thinks. Gwaine volunteers to be on watch first, shooting a knowing glance toward Arthur. Percival also agrees to stay up with him. In a party of this size, and with a prisoner, there must be two knights on guard at all times. Arthur waits until everyone else seems asleep to begin moving.

“No, no, no.” Gwaine said. “Sit back down and go to sleep.”

“What?” Arthur asked.

“You are still healing! You can’t go off on your own now, when you can’t…” Gwaine trailed off, clearly not wanting to insult him. Percival looked between them, confused.

“Sorry? Why would you be leaving?” He asked. Arthur clenched his jaw. He doesn’t feel like having this conversation.

“I’m going, and that’s final.” Arthur growled.

“No, you’re not. And if you feel like fighting me for it, you can. I will not let you be put into danger. You aren’t just a prince now. What happens to Camelot if you die?”

“Nothing is going to happen! I’ll be close enough you could even hear me yell out, there is nothing to worry about.” Arthur whisper-yelled. Gwaine only shook his head. Arthur got up anyway. Gwaine stood up with him. “Move, Gwaine.”

“Absolutely not. These forests are dangerous at night, and you are not well enough to defend yourself. If I need to knock you out, I will.”

“You wouldn’t.” Arthur said, even though he knew Gwaine would. Gwaine only raised an eyebrow. He looked away for a moment, toward the ground behind Arthur. When he looked back, he looked much more calm.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. I guess you can go.” He said, face guarded.

“What?” Arthur asked. Why the sudden change?

“You’re my King. I apologize if I overstepped.” Gwaine said. Arthur narrowed his eyes. He looked around. Percival only looked confused, and everyone else seemed to be asleep.

“Alright.” Arthur said slowly. “I’ll return shortly then.” Gwaine nodded and stepped aside, returning next to Percival.

“Sorry, we’re just letting the King go off on his own?” Percy asked. Gwaine nodded.

“Looks like it.” He said.

Arthur grabbed his sword and dagger. He left the horse behind, but took the flowers he’d stored in his satchel.

He nodded at Gwaine, then left for the camp.

The flowers he had packed were in the language of flowers. It felt like a more formal apology. The druids are one with the land, and he felt bad poaching flowers when he had already had a hand in killing everything else that once lived there.

As he walks, he grips his sword in his hand. The trek is short, but the longest he’d walked on his own. Usually, Arthur prefers Merlin by his side.

The trees are thin above him, and he can make out the stars watching him overhead. He wonders if they will ever forgive him for his failures, in the way that he can never forgive himself. Not really. Arthur remembers seeing Elrand in his mind, when his father had choked him, remembers her forgiveness. But that was only his mind, trying to give him peace in a moment of fear and hardship. A trick. Elrand had never actually said those words, nor should she, because Arthur is walking to a graveyard that is entirely his fault.

A branch breaks on the ground behind him.

Arthur whips around, holding out his sword in defense. He is probably about ten minutes from the camp now.

“Who’s there?” He called out to the darkness.

No-one shows themselves. He checks the ground, looking for an animal that may have been scurrying around, but hears nothing.

“Come out!” He called again.

Nothing. Arthur takes a step toward where he had heard the sound, as quietly as he can.

Then another.

One more.

He turns swiftly, to face behind the trunk of a large tree.

Nothing. He lets out a ‘hmph’ and returns to his path. Checking every so often to be sure that no-one was around.

Except, Arthur didn’t feel alone. He felt as though he were being followed. All at once, he decided he’d need to test his possible assailant.

He walked quickly, made many twists and turns, a little off his path, then hid quickly behind a large tree and listened.

He heard the rustle of footsteps, trying to follow his now unpredictable path, and took the opportunity to jump from his hiding place to face the enemy.

Except it’s not an enemy.

“Merlin!” He screeched. “What are you doing here?”

Merlin jumped, eyes wide, clearly surprised to have been caught.

“Oh, just, wandering. Funny seeing you here!” He answered, cheeky smile on his face.

Arthur only narrowed his eyes, annoyed. Gwaine had clearly sent him.

“Why are you glaring at me?” Merlin asked, feigning ignorance.

“I’m hoping you’ll spontaneously combust.” Arthur answered, turning on his heel. “C’mon, might as well stop following me like a lost dog. You’re really no good at being quiet, are you?” Merlin chuckled at this, but caught up to his side easily.

“Where are we going?” Merlin asked.

“Gwaine didn’t tell you?”

“No. Didn’t really ask.”

“But he sent you to follow me anyway.” Arthur said.

“Not really. He saw I was still awake, and he let you go. I think he just knew I’d follow you naturally.” Merlin clarified. “I think it’s part of my charm.”

“I think it’s infuriating.” Arthur scoffed.

“Oh, c’mon, you love me.” Merlin teased. Arthur was still a little upset about being followed, and certainly didn’t know how to say ‘I love you’ as a joke.

“I hate you.” Arthur lied, trying to walk quick enough to leave Merlin behind altogether.

“Why? I’m lovely!” Merlin argued. This made Arthur smile, despite himself. Merlin quickly caught up, and together they walked toward the camp.

“What are the flowers for?” Merlin asked. Arthur shrugged. Merlin let it drop.

Arthur, for his part, focuses mostly on the stars, and the way they guide him to the camp.

Arthur begins to recognize the trees, the familiar feel of the ground beneath him. Arthur feels torn. He wants Merlin beside him, but feels like that is a selfish request, here of all places.

Quietly, he unsheathes his sword and lets it drop onto the ground, removing his dagger to leave beside it.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked.

“Paying my respects.” Arthur answered. There is a beat of silence as Merlin realizes the purpose of the trip.

“Do you want me to stay with these?” Merlin’s voice is gentle, suddenly understanding exactly where they stood.

“Up to you. Just be quiet, please.”

Arthur walked further into the camp, surprised to realize that Merlin decided to stay behind beside the weapons. Arthur finds the headstone, decorated with long-dead flowers. He kneels in front of it, letting his head bow.

“Hello, again.” He said, voice laced in sorrow and shame.

Arthur silently places the medium-sized bouquet in front of the stone. He had taken his time at the flower shop in town, gathering the correct flowers. White lilies, the flower of sadness, thought to help restore peace in the soul. He hopes it brings peace to the souls buried here. Purple hyacinth, to express his regret. Yellow chrysanthemums, for sorrow and respect for those lost. White zinnia, for remembrance. Arthur hoped to convey that these souls would not be soon forgotten. That he would always rule with them in mind, making decisions in their respect and memory. It’s not enough, it will never be enough, but it is the most he can do.

“Your friends are safe, and under my protection. I won’t…you won’t be hurt again. I won’t let it happen again. I promise.” Arthur whispered. He’d thought he wouldn’t cry here, having been so calm last time, but as he speaks he feels the tears well up in his eyes, the world becoming blurry with it.

“Magic will be safe in Camelot, now. I’m sorry it wasn’t soon enough.” His voice is shaky, matching the trembling in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

His breaths are heavy, weighted with his regrets. It feels almost repetitive, apologizing each time he comes here. Does it matter to them, if he is sorry? It certainly will not bring them back to life. What use do they have, now, for his regret? Why does he keep coming here?

“I’m sorry.”

Arthur knows the answer as soon as he asks the question. He does not want them to be alone. They died, scared and begging, and that’s his fault, and it’s far too late to repair it. But he can come here, and deliver them flowers, and convey his respect and sorrow, and hope they know. He hopes they know that they mattered, that they are missed, that they will not be forgotten.

“I’m sorry.”

Arthur’s father was a demon of lies laced with loss. He was something rotten ruining the batch, a map doomed to lead in circles. He was an old man, who stole luck from others as if he would run out of it. He killed. He tortured. He destroyed. Arthur tries to bury it, has since the day his father died. Tries to sweep the truth in the closet, under the borrowed rugs, leave it in rooms long locked. But his father’s weapon was his venom, and Arthur worries that the venom runs in him too.

“I’m sorry.”

If he forgets these deaths. If he forgives himself. If he allows himself to sleep peacefully, will he grow old and venomous? Will he kill, and torture, and destroy? Will he wear his father’s hand-me-down anger?

“I'm so sorry. Please, please, I…”

Arthur doesn’t know when he starts crying, but he tries to keep his sobs quiet, head buried in his hands, so that no tears sully the ground. He will not disgrace them with his presence.

Except he can’t calm down. He can’t stop crying, can’t stop remembering. He buries his palms into his eyes, trying to stop the images flashing through his head. The child, screaming for his mother, stabbed through the back. The woman sliced through her neck. These aren’t his nightmares. These are reflections of the massacre that occurred here, truths he will never forgive himself for.

He weeps for them, digging his hands so deep into his skull, so harsh on his eyes, that the black turns to colors and the colors turn to white.

After a while, he forces himself to go quiet, to take deep, ragged breaths. His head still hangs low, his hands sitting uselessly in his lap.

He hears Merlin behind him.

“I killed them. They’re dead because of me.” Arthur whispered. “I come here, as if apologizing enough will bring them back. But nothing will. They’ll be buried here, forever, because of me.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, only sits down next to Arthur. Puts a hand on top of Arthur’s two unsteady ones. Waits for Arthur to look up.

Eventually, he does.

“Grief can destroy a person.” Merlin said finally. “I think,” He said softly, “You were meant to be hurt by this. To sit with your pain for a while. Maybe as a punishment. Maybe so that you would shed an old skin. You have grown so much, aged so quickly. You are much wiser than you have ever been before. It did not come with the crown, Arthur. It came with the loss. But I think this has taught you all it can, and you have said all you can. I think this will drown you, now, if you let it.” Merlin does not look at him, but at the headstone.

Arthur doesn’t know what to think of his speech. Is this not meant to haunt him, always?

Shouldn’t it?

“I can still feel it. The magic here.” Arthur’s head whips toward Merlin.

“Wha…Really?” He asked. Merlin nods. His grip tightens on Arthur’s hand. Merlin’s free hand goes to the ground, and his eyes flutter closed.

The wind picks up suddenly, more than it should, and the leaves seem to fly upwards from nowhere.

“Merlin?” Arthur looked around, speaking slowly.

“Shh.”

Merlin’s eyes fling open again, eyes more golden than Arthur has ever seen before.

Then Arthur hears a giggle.

His head snaps in the direction of it, and sees the once empty field lit with golden, shimmering outlines of people. As if fireflies were lighting up a memory.

He sees a young boy, running, arms outstretched, giggling, his mother chasing after him.

Arthur gasps a shaky inhale, his eyes already beginning to water. That’s the little boy, the one that died atop his mother.

Arthur looks around closer. He knows these faces, knows these people.

These are the druids he sees each night.

He hears laughter, and joy, and life. Life, in this camp of the dead. Watches a young couple dance slowly in the moonlight. Arthur can’t look away, can never look anywhere else.

A woman sits quietly at the base of a tree, and Arthur can see her magic dancing on her fingertips. She looks up suddenly, right at Arthur. Tilts her head.

She gets up, walks toward Arthur, who still kneels on the ground. Arthur’s eyes widen.

She matches his pose, sitting on the opposite side of the headstone.

“I know you.” She said simply. Arthur is horrified. Knows he deserves whatever she does or says next. But she surprises him. “You saved my children.” She reaches out, cups a hand to his cheek. Arthur’s tears spill over as he looks at her, more confused than he ever has been. He tries to shake his head, as if to disagree, but the woman cups his other cheek, holding him still. “Your eyes hold too much sadness for someone so kind.”

It’s as if she stamps a memory into his mind, and all at once Arthur is no longer sitting by the grave. He can smell smoke, feel ash in his throat, can taste his own blood. Arthur is watching a recount, and he knows right away it is through the eyes of this woman, the day of the attack, and this is how she died. He is on the ground, and he can see two boys, neither over eighteen, huddled in a bush. He watches someone in shiny armor step toward them, sees the boys back away in fear. Except, instead of attacking, the knight’s sword clatters to the ground, and he holds out a small pouch.

“I am so sorry.” The man says. The boys only stare at him. “Please, you have to run. I’ll try to get anyone else out that I can.” Arthur watches the boys grab the pouch and run East, as fast as they can, to warn the next camp. Arthur feels the relief of this woman, the gratitude in her last breath, that someone spared her children. Arthur watches the knight turn around, and realizes that it was the Prince of Camelot. That it was him. Arthur’s eyes close, as she dies, there on the ground.

When he opens them again, he is lying on his back, but he already knows that he has returned to the present.

“Arthur?” Merlin shook him. “You, you collapsed!” He exclaimed when he saw Arthur’s eyes open. He pulled Arthur up and into his arms. “She, she, touched your head, and then…”

And Arthur is laughing. He’s laughing and he’s crying and he’s been stripped bare.

Arthur calms down, and thanks the headstone, and apologizes, and they begin their walk back, because Merlin tells him they’ve been gone far too long.

“What was that? The gold dust?” Arthur asked, on the way back.

“I’m not sure.” Merlin answered honestly. “I just, felt the magic, in the ground. Like it was dancing.”

“Was that woman real?” Arthur continued.

“Looked real to me.”

That was enough to make Arthur want to bawl again, but he swallowed it. They have almost returned to the campsite.

When they arrive, Gwaine is pacing.

“About time!” He exclaimed. “Where have you two been?” Arthur would laugh, but he can see the deep-rooted worry in his friend’s usually carefree eyes.

“I’m sorry, Gwaine. I didn’t mean to worry you.” Arthur said sincerely. This seems to calm him. He runs a hand through his hair, looks at Percival, sighs deeply.

“Lay down, both of you. I don’t want to hear another peep ‘til morning.” Both men nod. Arthur gives Gwaine a pat on the arm, as a silent thank-you for sending Merlin after him. Gwaine nods. Both Percival and Gwaine go back to their positions on the other side of the camp, talking quietly to themselves.

When Arthur lays down, he looks to the stars.

Thank you for letting Merlin exist by my side, he thinks. I could not live without him.

When he closes his eyes, he sees the golden dancing of the druids.

Arthur can’t fall asleep, though, because he can practically hear Merlin shaking and thinking.

“Be quiet, Merlin.” He whispered.

“What?” Merlin scoffed, “I haven’t even said anything!”

“Then you’re thinking too loudly.”

“Am not!”

“Yes, you are!” Arthur’s whispered accusations were really just a way to tease Merlin, probably, a way to avoid saying goodnight. “And I can hear you shivering from there.” He added.

“Only because your royal arse decided to steal the warmest blankets.” Merlin said.

“That’s not true!” Arthur defended.

“It is. You’ve stolen them all, and now your poor servant is going to freeze to death!”

Arthur opens his mouth to call Merlin a coward. But it’s not very funny, is it? That’s not something someone should say to those they love. He has never called Merlin a coward in spite, but he has never said it in love. He wonders, not for the first time, how many insults he’s thrown at Merlin, because his father had thrown them at him? He takes a moment to promise the stars he’d never call anyone that again.

“We can share it, if you want?” Arthur heard himself offering.

“What, really?” Merlin asked. Arthur grimaced, what had he just done? He shut his eyes in a grimace. “Well, c’mon, scoot over then.” Arthur blinked his eyes open to see Merlin looking over him with a crooked smile on his face. “Hurry up, I’m freezing to death!”

Arthur followed his instructions and moved over, lifting the blanket so that Merlin could crawl underneath. Within seconds, Merlin was underneath it and beside him, breathing heavily.

“Oh, this is much better.” Merlin said, but Arthur can’t really focus on that because Merlin is facing him, mere inches away, both men laying on their sides toward each other.

These are Camelot’s small, travel blankets. They’re coarse linen, and not altogether very warm. Nothing like the warm wool coverlet Arthur has on his bed in the castle. And yet here Merlin is beside him, under the thin, scratchy blanket, so close to Arthur that Arthur can almost hear his heartbeat.

How is he supposed to breathe properly when Merlin is this close to him, and smiling like that, and falling asleep like he trusts him with his life?

Arthur’s shellshock must read on his face, because Merlin raises an eyebrow.

“Come on now, Arthur, at least pretend to lay down.” Merlin teased. Arthur nodded numbly, and found himself sinking down. Except Merlin is still taller than him, even laying down, so Arthur is almost cuddled into Merlin’s chest, and has to tilt his head back to look at Merlin’s eyes, who is looking down at him. Merlin smiles softly at him, and Arthur can feel himself melting.

“Do I insult you too much?” Arthur asked, after a while.

“I don’t think so.” Merlin said, closing his eyes. “Unless you mean it.”

“I don’t.” Arthur felt rushed to say. Merlin nodded. “But it wouldn’t be true, even if I had meant it. I’d be making a liar out of myself.”

Merlin didn’t open his eyes but smiled a toothy grin.

“I mean it. Everything you’ve done…I know now. For me, for Camelot. For the Kingdom you’re helping me build.” Arthur said. It feels important to say this. Even though the words are weighted. Merlin’s eyes open, and he looks at Arthur earnestly, as if in waiting. “But even if you hadn’t done it, even if you didn’t have magic, I’d still think so highly of you. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.” Arthur’s heart is beating fast and he’s sweating more than he should and he feels like he is going to explode. “And I…”

Say it. Say it. Arthur, say it. He tries.

He can’t.

“Just, thanks, is all. For staying by my side all these years. I know it can’t have been easy.” Arthur finished finally. Annoyed with himself, he turned onto his back rather than continue facing Merlin. Although the stars’ judgment is almost worse.

“It’s not hard to be by your side. It’s the easiest thing in the world.” Merlin answered him quietly, then turned to lay on his back as well. Arthur smiled.

Both men lay looking at the stars for a while, Arthur greeting each star in his mind, going over the events of the day. Mostly, he is trying to work up the courage, to find the words. By time he does, he looks to Merlin to see him already soundly asleep. He looks to the moon to realize he’s been up half the night. At some point Gwaine and Percival must have switched shifts, because two other knights stand guard now.

Arthur listens to the sound of Merlin’s steady, slow breathing, treasuring it.

“You’re everything important to me.” Arthur whispered, even though he knew the words wouldn’t reach Merlin’s ears. “I tell the stars about you. I don't know how to explain it better than that.”

And eventually he falls asleep, glad he finally said the words that had been eating at him, even if Merlin didn’t hear.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Chapter Text

When Arthur awakes the following morning, he knows before he even opens his eyes that Merlin is no longer beside him. For a moment, he wonders if he had dreamt the whole interaction.

No, his dreams never look like that, anymore.

Did Arthur dream at all last night? He can’t remember. It must’ve faded in the morning fog, and as he blinks his eyes open, the final remnants of golden outlines of the pictures in his mind slip away.

A few men already move about the campsite, but most are still asleep, and Arthur can tell it’s only a little past dawn. Arthur spots Leon and Merlin engaged in conversation, but they’re far enough that he can’t make out what they’re saying.

Arthur sits up, brushing the sleep from his eyes. He looks to Merlin again, and sees he’s looking back with his huge smile. The kind that makes Arthur smile too, before he even knows why.

“Heads up!” Merlin called, not nearly quiet enough for the half-asleep knights. Leon immediately chastises him, but Merlin ignores him and throws something in Arthur’s direction. Arthur has to lean back with outstretched arms to catch it.

A plum.

Arthur makes a point of silently cheering which makes Merlin laugh on the other side of the campsite, then bites into it.

It’s the best way to start the morning.

Halfway through the plum, Arthur feels awake enough to stand and join Leon and Merlin.

“Good morning!” He said excitedly as he reached them. Arthur can’t help it, he woke up feeling so refreshed. Like the world makes sense in a way it usually doesn’t.

“What’s got you so chipper?” Leon asked, a small, almost teasing smirk on his face. Arthur chooses to ignore it.

“Finally slept well.” Arthur answered, taking a seat beside Merlin.

“Hm, wonder what caused that.” Leon chuckled. Merlin rubbed the back of his neck, smiling at the ground.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Merlin said abruptly. Leon seemed to sit up a little straighter, as if physically switching into a more serious mode.

“It’s another day of travel. I’m hoping to reach Serpent’s Pass before nightfall. If we can make it past that before we make camp, we should reach King Stephan by the afternoon on the following day.” Leon explained. Arthur nodded along, they’d already chosen and looked over their route, deciding it to be the fastest way of travel.

“Serpent’s Pass?” Merlin drawled out, thinking for a moment. “I feel like I’ve heard of that before. It’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“Maybe. More commonly known as Dead Man’s Fields?” Leon tried. Merlin shook his head.

“Bad feeling?” Arthur asked. He knows by now to trust Merlin’s intuition. Even before he’d realized about the magic, he found his life was a lot easier if he gave up trying to ignore Merlin’s ‘funny feelings.’ Looking back, it’s almost laughable how blindly trusting he’d been, to never even question where those intuitions came from. Merlin shakes his head again.

“I’m not sure.” Arthur watched him think deeply for a moment, then seemingly give up and shrug. “Maybe Gaius has mentioned it. Just sounds familiar, is all.” Arthur nods.

“Alright. How long should we let the knights sleep?” Arthur asked Leon. He knew Leon had already planned out the morning. That’s part of the reason Arthur respects him so much. He’s loyal, and strong, yes. But Arthur can tell he takes his job as a knight more seriously than most, and weighs each decision carefully, mapping out plans, remapping, planning and replanning. That intellect, decisiveness, and sincerity has not gone unnoticed by Arthur.

“I’d give them another half hour. I’m hoping this fog will clear by then.” Leon said. As always, Arthur agreed immediately with his plan.

“Alright. But I’m going to wake Gwaine. I’m hoping we can hunt something suitable to wake the knights with some excitement.” Arthur said. Leon raised an eyebrow. “And I’ll bring Merlin for my protection?” Leon’s expression didn’t change. “And Percy?” He added. Arthur felt as though he were asking permission. Leon smiled and nodded.

“Find me some deer, will you? I’m starving!” He teased. Arthur rolls his eyes. Both men know they’ve long since chased away any deer nearby.

“C’mon, Merlin. Let’s go wake Percival.” Arthur stood, then held his hand out to help Merlin up. Merlin took it, and Arthur felt the familiar bolt of lightning up his arm as Merlin held him. He let go regretfully.

“Can we scare him?” Merlin asked, with a sneaky smile. They arrive at Percival’s dead-asleep body. Arthur chuckles quietly, and nods. Both men kneel on either side of him, and lean their faces over his.

“Wake up, Percy.” Arthur said, in a sickly-sweet voice. Percival’s eyes snap open, and he nearly jumps when he sees Merlin and Arthur hovering over him, who begin cackling.

“Oh, get off!” Percival said, but he’s laughing just as hard as Merlin and Arthur. “Oh, oh, oh, let’s do Gwaine!” He whispered excitedly, looking at his still asleep friend.

This turns out to be not nearly as fun, because Gwaine turns out to scare very easily, and sleeps with a dagger gripped in his hand. The trio only just barely get away in time, as Gwaine swings wildly.

“Oh!” He said as he fully awoke, after having already been standing. “Oh. Uh, sorry.” He said, more sheepish.

This still made Merlin giggle, and even Percival chuckled. Mostly Arthur just felt bad, almost like he’d just exposed his friend. But Gwaine has always been good-natured and quick to forgive, and wraps an arm around Arthur’s shoulders.

“So, why would you imbeciles wake me so early?” He asked, not a hint of anger in his voice.

“Up for a bit of early morning hunting?” Percival asked in return, having already been filled in on the plans.

“Always!” Gwaine answered with his easy smile.

Merlin leads the way, after the other three stop to grab crossbows. They decide to leave the horses behind, knowing Leon would only be upset if they went too far.

Merlin and Percival are up ahead, laughing, while Gwaine and Arthur take the rear.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked, quietly, knowing they weren’t entirely out of earshot. Gwaine nods.

“Fine. Just for safety; Been doing it since I was young.” Gwaine answered.

It’s sad to picture a small, young, fresh-faced Gwaine sleeping with a dagger. Protecting his food, maybe, or perhaps guarding his mother. Gwaine is funny and quick, but each time he mentions his past, Arthur finds himself feeling like he will never understand Gwaine at all. A man that’s been through so much, and carries so much on his shoulders, and yet finds joy in everything.

“I apologize nonetheless.” Arthur said. Gwaine smiled again, as if he’d already forgiven all three of them. Which, knowing Gwaine, he already has.

“How were you to know? It was still hilarious, too, especially since I didn’t actually cut anyone!” Gwaine laughed. This made Arthur smile, albeit a little more softly. Gwaine seemed to notice this. “It’s alright. Promise.”

Arthur nodded.

Ahead of them, Percival stops, holds up a hand. Arthur and Gwaine stop immediately. Percival points his crossbow, fires, and leaves the group. When he returns, he has a good sized turkey. Arthur and Gwaine quietly cheer, not wanting to scare the other game. Merlin groans about how killing things is bad. Arthur ruffles his hair in response and otherwise ignores him.

One more turkey later, the men decide they should probably head back to camp, before Leon decides to chastise them. Merlin makes a joke about how Leon and Gaius have the same disappointed voice. Everyone laughs.

They’ve just turned the corner, really, when the bandits jump out.

The first thing Arthur notices, or has time to notice really, is the way Merlin lightly grabs Arthur’s wrist, pulling him gently to stand behind him. Gwaine and Percival are on either side of the King, but Arthur draws his sword anyway.

Except it doesn’t matter.

All eight of the bandits go flying upwards and backwards, as if the wind has turned on them. Each continues until a tree stops them, and once they hit the bark, they drop to the ground.

Merlin takes a few steps forward, his focused eyes scanning the trees.

“I think that’s all of them.” He said finally. Percival and Gwaine give Merlin a pat on the back, but Arthur can only stare. Glance from the bodies to his friend.

“Wow.” He said eventually. Merlin raises an eyebrow. Arthur tries to shake himself back into reality. But it was so impressive, so quick, that it is as if Arthur was the one to fly back.

Exactly how much power does Merlin wield?

“You could do that this whole time?” Arthur tried to tease, but it came off a little too surprised. Merlin shrugged with a smile.

“It’s much easier to protect you when I don’t have to focus half my energy into hiding it.” Merlin answered.

On the way back to the campsite, Arthur wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, holding tightly to him.

The only thing Arthur can really think is how exciting it is to know a whole new side of Merlin, all these years later.

Chapter Text

After the previous day of travel and rations, the men are overjoyed for the feast of turkey stew, prepared and eaten as quickly as possible. Leon keeps badgering everyone about running behind schedule. All in all, it’s a nice morning.

When they finally set off, Arthur and Merlin lead from the front, as always.

They haven’t really spoken about last night. Which is fine.

It’s fine, really, because why would they?

Arthur had only been a good friend to Merlin. Merlin had only fallen asleep next to him.

It’s fine.

Except that despite the cool morning, Arthur is sweating. Maybe not so much on the outside. But it feels like his body is dying from the effort. From the want to talk about it and ask what it all means and does Merlin feel anything too?

Instead of addressing it, though, Merlin is teasing Arthur about how he had a bit of trouble mounting his horse this morning.

“I mean, really, saying she was tired?” Merlin finished. Arthur rolled his eyes and smiled from the fondness of their teasing.

“Merlin, are you always such an idiot? Or do you just like to show off around me?” Arthur countered.

“How dare you!” Merlin squealed in return.

“Someone had to shut you up! You’ve been going on for ten minutes!” Gwaine chimed in. Arthur laughed. Merlin crossed his arms.

“I can’t believe you’re on his side!” Merlin said to Gwaine. He shrugged in return. Merlin looked to Leon, who rides beside Gwaine.

“No, no, no, don’t look at me. I am not a part of this.” He said, raising his arms up in surrender.

“Ha! Can’t defy the King, Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed.

“Ugh. You have your entire life to be a royal prat. Can’t you just take today off?”

The day is cool, and the fog has long since lifted. It would even be a calm and comforting trip, if Arthur could stop himself from glancing at Merlin. He tries to focus on the trees, getting thinner, and the sharp mountains beginning to surround them. It doesn’t work. Merlin is much more interesting to look at.

Arthur is also counting his blessings for another reason: He feels fine. More than fine, in fact, even though they’ve spent hours traveling today. Every once in a while Merlin will lean over and ask how Arthur is doing, but the truth is his back is in no pain at all.

He secretly wishes it would hurt a little, so he could share a horse with Merlin again, but he doesn’t want to waste his friend’s time if he isn’t actually in any pain.

“How is Aviana?” Arthur asked Leon, around midday.

“She hasn’t caused any problems. Whatever sanity she had, she left in the Camelot Dungeons.” Leon answered. Both men turned to look at her. She is staring off into nothing, fingers trembling. But she doesn’t speak, which is more than fine with Arthur. “We’re making good time today.” Leon continues, “We should reach Serpent’s Pass shortly.”

“Any funny feelings?” Arthur whispered to Merlin. Merlin shook his head.

“I dunno. I can’t…place it. I wish I’d known the route before we left, I might’ve researched it.” He answered.

“You’ll be informed from now on. Sorry, Merlin.” Leon whispered, apparently content to listen in on their conversation. Merlin chuckled and nodded.

“How is it already late afternoon?” Gwaine spoke up. Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed, and he checked the sun. He is right, the sun is already half-past setting. But how can that be? It was only midday a moment ago!

“That can’t be right.” Leon said.

“Arthur,” Merlin started. Arthur held up a hand to stop the party. Merlin hadn’t even said it yet, and already Arthur agreed. “I think we should go back.”

The sun is turning almost a hot red now, even though it is not low enough to be sunset. How can this be?

“Leon?” Arthur questioned.

“I agree, we’ll find another route. Especially so if Merlin thinks we should, Sire.” He answered. Arthur led the party in a quick circle, so that he was at the head, but facing the direction they’d just come from.

Arthur did not want to alarm the other knights, but he and Merlin led a much faster pace, hoping to get far enough away.

Except they weren’t getting away.

Arthur slowed his horse.

“Why’d you stop?” Merlin called to him, from ahead.

“Didn’t we just pass this rock?” Arthur said pointing. Merlin raised his eyebrows.

“I’m…I’m not sure.” He answered.

“Surely we can’t be lost,” Gwaine said, “We’ve only been going straight.”

Merlin shakes his head.

“Something’s wrong.” He said, then dismounted his horse. Everyone’s eyes followed him as he went to examine the rock, and the dirt surrounding it.

When they all look back up, the setting sun is back in front of them.

“Wasn’t that just behind us?” Percival chimed in, from where he was near the back.

“What should we do?” Arthur asked Merlin. Merlin just kept shaking his head.

“I…I don’t know. I don’t even know what’s going on!”

“We have to get out of here.” Gwaine said.

“No,” Arthur shook his head, “It’s clear the forest isn’t letting us. We might as well continue forward, and see what’s changing our path.” Arthur cleared his throat, then spoke loud enough for the rest of the knights to hear his command. “We’ll continue on our original path. Draw your swords, stay vigilant.” Everyone nodded, drawing their swords. Arthur helped Merlin remount his horse, then turned back to his friends. “Ready?” He asked.

Arthur and Merlin took the lead, heading towards the now deep maroon, almost purple, sun.

“Looks a bit like a plum, doesn’t it?” Arthur joked with his friend.

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked.

“The sun, looks like a plum.” He said again. Merlin gave him a quizzical look. Should he not have said anything? Is he not supposed to talk about the plums?

“...Because it’s a circle?” Merlin kept glancing between him and the sun they followed.

“No, because of the color. Obviously. You clotpole.” Arthur defended.

“Plums aren’t yellow.”

“Yes, but obviously this one is a little—” Arthur stopped talking when he looked to the sun. The yellow sun. “Oh.”

“Was it not yellow before?” Arthur heard Merlin ask, but refused to look away from the sun. What if it changed again? Could this be his missing pains, making their way up to his head?

“Forget it.” Arthur said.

Except the sun, yellow, wouldn’t stop becoming brighter. It soon turned so bright that Arthur had to lift an arm to shield his eyes. And soon, too bright to open them at all.

No, he has to keep his eyes on the sun, he has to…

He gives up, covering his eyes with his palms. Too bright.

“Arthur?”

“Just give me a second!” He said, annoyed.

“Arthur?”

“For the Gods’ sake—” Arthur looked up finally, to find himself in complete darkness. Alone.

“Arthur?”

He heard Merlin’s voice, but couldn’t see him.

“Merlin?” He called out. “Merlin!”

Arthur turned slowly on his horse. There is no sign of anyone. He doesn’t recognize anything.

“Merlin?” He said, a little softer. A little more afraid, now that he is on his own. HIs hand immediately goes to his chest, covering the now healed injury, as if in defense.

“Arthur?” The voice sounded further away now, and a little more distorted. Arthur chased after it, racing through the forests, between the trees.

“Merlin! Merlin, are you there?” Arthur dismounted his horse, the trees too thick to continue riding through.

“Arthur.”

The voice that now called his name was not Merlin’s. Arthur recognized it immediately, would know that chastising tone anywhere. His blood ran cold, and Arthur answered the voice before he even turned around.

“H-how? How can you be here?” Arthur asked. He tried to keep his voice steady, but how could he? “You’re dead. You died.”

“Oh, Arthur. Still as foolish as ever.”

Arthur turned, finally, even though he already knew who he’d find.

There, still alive and perfectly healthy, stood Uther Pendragon.

Arthur knew it had been miraculously easy to grieve his father’s death. He’d accepted it so quickly. He’d arranged the memorial services without shedding a tear. Arthur had kept wondering why. Why had it been so easy to let him go in death, when Arthur had followed him so closely in life?

It isn’t until this moment, looking at his father, that Arthur knows the real answer. Why had it been so easy to bury his father?

Because he had hurt his sister. He had hurt Morgana.

Arthur didn’t know how enraged he was about it all, until now. This is the man that forced her into the dungeons on whims to whip her into submission and silence. Arthur had let it go, because her attacker was dead. But now he isn’t. He’s standing here.

A monster waiting to be slain.

Arthur draws his sword. Uther, in full chainmail, does the same.

“Fine. I’ll make sure you stay dead, this time.” Arthur said.

He lunges forward, sword striking sword.

Arthur blocks his attack.

Tries to sweep his feet. Uther jumps just in time.

Their swords clash, faces inches from each other.

“Arthur!” It’s Merlin’s voice again, somewhere far in the forest.

Not now, Arthur thinks. I must finish this first.

“Arthur, please!” Merlin says.

Arthur stares into Uther’s eyes, trying to decide as quickly as he can. Run for Merlin, and risk letting this coward go? As he stares, though, Arthur is almost taken aback. Uther’s eyes are all wrong. They’re a dark blue, with dark lashes, no bags beneath them.

These aren’t his father’s eyes.

But then where did his father get them?

Arthur also is aware of how dizzy he’s becoming. He pushes Uther at the same time he backs up, hoping to gain enough distance to think. He wants to run after Merlin, but how can he? He needs to lay down. Soon.

Uther comes charging, but stops suddenly, as if by an invisible force.

Arthur feels soft hands gently rest on his cheeks and jaw.

“Arthur, please.”

“Merlin?” Arthur asked. He can’t see his friend here, but knows that voice. Knows those hands. He closes his eyes. “Where are you? How do I find you?”

Silence.

Arthur opens his eyes. Uther is gone.

Arthur turns around, hoping to make his way back to his horse. He thinks he tied her this way, but it is so hard to see in the dark.

He has to find Merlin.

But all these trees look the same, and didn’t he just see that rock?

“Merlin!” He called out. Please, please, he thinks. I need a voice to guide my way.

“Arthur!” Merlin answered him. His voice is far, but Arthur charges for it.

“Merlin, I’m coming! I’ll find you!” He screamed out.

“Arthur!” Merlin yelled back. His voice is coming from the opposite direction. Arthur turns toward it.

He turns so quickly, in fact, that the world starts spinning.

It doesn’t stop.

He must be in the eye of a tornado, because everything around Arthur is shifting and spinning, never staying still long enough for him to catch his breath.

“Merlin!” He called out. “Merlin, please!” Arthur crumpled to his knees, dizzy from the relentless spinning and the pain from the sword fighting. “Please, please, please.”

Eventually the spinning stops. Arthur gets up, slowly. Trying to make sense of it all.

Is he in a nightmare?

It doesn’t feel like one. And there are no druids here.

Arthur didn’t call out. Clearly that hasn’t been working. He stops, listens for a moment. Hears a rustling behind him.

Turns.

That’s when he sees Leon pinned up on a tree. Nailed to it, like a scarecrow on a farm.

“Leon?” Arthur gasped, rushing to his side. “No, no, no, Leon!” Leon is too high up for Arthur to reach anything but his legs. He tries to shake his friend, but Leon’s legs and ankles are too well nailed to the trunk of the tree. His blood is dripping down, oozing out the holes pierced by metal, onto Arthur's hand where he tries to rouse him. “Leon, please!” Arthur turns around, maybe to scream for help, and that’s when he sees them.

There, just as unreachable and dead as Leon, are Gwaine and Percival.

“NO!” Arthur screamed out, running for them.

Wake up, wake up, wake up. This is just a nightmare. This is just a nightmare.

He doesn’t want to see this anymore.

Wake up!

“Percy!” Percival’s dead eyes bore into him, blood dripping onto Arthur’s hair as he rushes to his friend’s side.

He turns to go to Gwaine, next, except he’s not there anymore.

“Gwaine?!” Arthur shrieked, even though he knew it was useless. This dream would never let him find him.

“I’m here.” Arthur turns to the voice, and sees Gwaine. He stands there, bloody, with a hammer in his hand, and a sly grin on his face.

“G-Gwaine?” Arthur stutters, because his mind is concocting a scene he doesn’t like. Gwaine, with the hammer, and his friends, with the nails…

“You think any of them were going to follow you anyway? You’re not fit to be King. You’re nothing but a blubbering fool.” Gwaine spits. Arthur takes a step back.

“Gwaine, it’s alright. Whatever you’ve done, it’s okay.” Arthur said. It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream.

Gwaine laughs, but it’s twisted. It’s not his usual easy jest. This feels pointed, and wicked, and awful.

“Fight me, you coward.” He snarled. Arthur shakes his head, and takes another step back. Right into the arms of a very dead Percival and Leon, now holding him by the elbows. He looks between them. The blood still drips from their foreheads where a nail is embedded, their eyes open but unseeing. “Fine. Since you make everyone else do the work for you.”

Gwaine walks right up to him, and punches him in the gut. Then in the face. Again and again. His dead friends let him go, and Arthur falls to the ground easily. All three of them are punching him now, taking turns beating him until there is nothing left but a bloody body.

Still, Arthur does not wake up.

Isn’t this usually the part where he wakes up?

“Merlin.” He croaked from the ground. “Merlin please. Please. Please, I…” Arthur trailed off as he could no longer keep his eyes open, could no longer keep his breath steady.

It’s just a dream. It’s just a dream. He’ll wake up in a moment.

He feels those gentle hands on his face again.

“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice whispers.

“Please…” Arthur says again, forcing his eyes open. No one is there though.

There is only the wind to comfort him.

He finds that his body aches terribly, but that he can move. Gingerly, he sits up. Has he finally awoken from the dream?

As soon as he asks himself the question, though, he sees it.

Morgana on the pyre. Uther lighting the fire.

“NO!” Arthur rushes to his feet. Runs for them. Morgana screams out as flames engulf her. But it’s not just her. It’s the entire Kingdom, burning. Arthur looks down to see that he is the one holding the match.

He hears the screams of those that have died on the pyre. And the screams of Jameson, and his wife, and his infant baby. Screams of his knights. Screams of the druids, of the magic-users. Screams of his people, magic and not, begging his mercy, begging for help.

Why does this dream never end?

Wake up, Arthur thinks. Please, wake up.

“Arthur!” It’s Merlin’s voice again. But Arthur is sick of following it. There is nothing worse than being helpless to save the one he loves most in the world. Nothing worse than losing Merlin, never able to find him again. Arthur closes his eyes. Please, please, please.

Those gentle hands return to his face.

“Darling, please. It’s not real. It’s not real. Come back to me, Arthur.”

Arthur just shakes his head.

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do it anymore.” He cries out.

He feels the ghost of a kiss on his forehead.

“Please, darling. It’s not real.”

“Just tell me how to find you.” Arthur begs.

“I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

Arthur slowly, ever so slowly, pries his eyes open, to see Merlin crying in front of him.

“You’re not real.” Arthur says, backing away. “You’re not, you’re not real.”

“Sh, sh, it’s okay,” Merlin takes a step forward, pulls Arthur into his arms. “I’m real, I’m real.”

Arthur starts sobbing into his chest, closing and opening his eyes, waiting for Merlin to disappear. He doesn’t. Arthur grips onto his tunic, refusing to let go, sobbing and shaking, haunted.

Arthur calms down when he realizes it is day. Morning, in fact. The one thing each horror had in common, was that it was night.

“Is it…is it over?” Arthur asked, still clutching Merlin’s shirt, terrified of losing him again.

“I think so. We’ve found a few of the others but…well, you better come see.” Merlin answered him gingerly, if not carefully. Arthur nods, but even as they walk he refuses to let go of Merlin’s wrist.

Merlin guides him back toward the road. He sees Gwaine, sobbing into Leon’s arms. Percival rubbing his back, his eyes looking puffy. When Percival sees him, he rushes to his side. Arthur braces himself to be hit. But Percival surprises him by scooping Arthur into a huge hug, sniffling into his shoulder. Arthur does not let go of Merlin, but feels himself relax.

“What happened?” Arthur asked, after Percival pulled away. Percival doesn’t leave his side, but doesn’t seem to want to speak. He just looks down at the ground.

“Dead Man’s Fields.” Merlin responded. “It…got into our heads, it seems. I was the first to get out of it, and Leon. We started chasing down the others, trying to wake them. But every time I got close to you you’d start running and screaming again.”

“I wasn’t asleep?” Arthur questioned. He’d been so sure it was a dream. It had to have been a dream.

“I think we were all having hallucinations. You had your eyes open. Everyone did.” Merlin said, and Arthur nodded.

Arthur still doesn’t let go of Merlin’s hand. Merlin makes no move to pull away.

“But we’re through it now?” Arthur asked. Merlin nodded.

“I remembered it, in the waking sleep. The warning of Serpent's Pass. How to navigate out of it. I got…almost everyone out.” Merlin’s voice went quiet at the end, but Arthur still heard it.

“Almost?” He asked gingerly. In response, Merlin points.

Aviana's body lies on the ground, beside three of Arthur’s knights.

Dead.

Chapter Text

The final day of riding to King Stephan’s Kingdom is a solemn one. The previous days’ laughter and jolliness disappeared with the arrival of the hallucinations.

No-one really asks what anyone else saw.

“How did they die?” Arthur had asked, crouched over one of the corpses of his knights.

“It looked like a heart attack. They just…wouldn’t wake up.” Merlin answered, then paused. “You were the last to wake up, and for a moment I thought…” He trailed off for a moment. “Anyway, we all saw our worst fears. That was what got us.”

Arthur had grabbed Merlin’s hand instinctively, when he stood up. Maybe to comfort him. Maybe to make sure Merlin was real.

Either way, Arthur refused to let go.

“Let’s load up quickly,” Arthur announced, “We must be on our way shortly.” Arthur greatly regretted not having Aviana in a carriage; with so many dead, the best they could do is fashion them securely on well-tied horses. He taps Merlin’s wrist a few times before letting go, forcing himself to collect and check on his own pack.

Except Arthur’s hands are so much more shaky than they should be, and the little orange-brown glass bottle stumbles out of his hands quicker than he can even process what it is. Of course he does eventually place it: it’s his sleeping tonic, liquid sinking into the dirt ever so rapidly, shattered glass providing the bad omen for the day Arthur most certainly didn’t need.

Merlin helps him clean up the glass, so that the other horses don’t step on it. Arthur holds fast to the strap of Merlin’s satchel afterwards.

Even as they ride now, Arthur holds one of the reins tied to the end of Merlin’s horse, desperate to reaffirm that he isn’t going anywhere.

“What will we tell King Stephan?” Gwaine asked, after a long while of quiet riding.

“The truth, I suppose.” Arthur tried to sound less shaky than he felt. Although being attacked by his friends had been a hallucination, the running most definitely was not. Between the overexertion and the horrors he’d let himself see, Arthur feels as though he could fall over any time. “It certainly will not not make peace negotiations any easier.”

Arthur thinks back. His worst fears, laid so plainly for him. Arthur hadn’t known he had so many.

So, the mood is grim, the half-day of travel stretching to feel much longer. But eventually the men arrive.

They dismount their horses, allowing the Kingdom’s servants to take them to their stables.

Arthur forces himself to let go of Merlin’s shirt when he sees King Stephan approaching, realizing last minute that he is gripping a fistful of the fabric. He takes a deep breath.

“Arthur Pendragon! How long it’s been since I’ve seen you!” King Stephan greeted with a smile. Stephan is a tall man. Broad shouldered, wide smile, dark hair. Not counting the illusions Aviana had conjured, Arthur had not seen Stephan in many years. “A King now, or so I’ve heard!” He continued. His voice softened as he finally was close enough to shake Arthur’s hand. “I was sorry to hear about your father, however. My condolences.” Arthur nodded deeply in return.

“Thank you. And thank you for your invitation, I am looking forward to our continued alliance.” Arthur greeted in return. He did not bother to smile, however, not knowing how the following words would affect Stephan’s mood. “I have to apologize, however, the late Aviana unfortunately passed in her transport.”

King Stephan’s face contorted somewhat.

“Oh?”

Arthur nodded.

“It seems we passed through unmarked cursed ground. She had a heart attack. Our physician concluded she did not have the mind capacity left to survive the…hallucinations.” Arthur finished. Technically, Merlin is the physician’s assistant. But there’s no need to make matters worse.

“I see.” King Stephan took a deep breath. “Alright. Well, we were meant to give her a trial and put her to death here, so I suppose she only really missed the pyre.” Arthur tried to hide the surprised look on his face. “No harm done. Come inside! Let us celebrate your arrival!”

King Stephan invites them in, turning away for only a moment to direct a servant as to what to do with Aviana’s corpse. Arthur has to grab at his own chainmail to resist from jumping to reach for Merlin.

“This is our grand dining hall! But I’m sure your men hope to rest before the feast is served?”

“Yes, I think that would be best.” Arthur agreed, dismissing his men to find their rooms in the castle. “However, if you aren’t in need of rest, I hope to look over the treaty of our alliance?”

“If you’d like?” King Stephan answered, looking surprised. “Although I feel I must remind you that even though the treaty was signed by your father, noncompliance by your hand could result in something…unnecessary, I’m sure.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Arthur laughed, smoothing things over. “It is not my hope to break the treaty, only to look over it myself with a man I greatly respect.” Stephan looked relieved.

“Alright, then let us see to it!”

Soon, they are sitting at a long table, along with two squires— one for each treaty, in case rewrites need to be made. Merlin stands nearby, off to the side.

Once they are sitting down, Arthur knows there is no more putting it off. He must announce why he’s really here.

“Stephan, I must inform you, my perspectives are very different from my father’s. My views are not so…dramatically skewed. Now that I am King, I hope to repeal the ban on magic. But I know that in doing so I would break our treaty. I hope to negotiate our terms, so that Magic could live freely in Camelot.”

Stephan’s gasp is audible. Arthur schools his face into one masked and unrevealing. To show desperation would be to show his hand, which he cannot do.

King Stephan, for his part, offers no quick yes or no. Instead, both Kings must read line by line, negotiating and renegotiating everything.

It takes several hours to go over each clause, each rule, each law ordained. By the time of the feast, the men had barely gone through a quarter of it, not having even reached the section discussing magic.

All in all, Arthur is a little pissed off by the time they decide to pause the conversation for the night, to join the feast. Stephan is much older than him, and Arthur knows that his youthful face could give the impression of ignorance. But he’s not ignorant, and he’s not foolish, and just in case, he has Merlin whispering in his mind, giving him his opinion.

It’s the first time they’ve ever done that. Little Melian, from the druid camp, had introduced him to it. But Merlin, even after Arthur knew and openly praised his magic, had not shown that he even could. So far, it’s the only thing about the entire day that doesn't make Arthur want to plunge his head underwater and scream.

And he has this headache, too, the kind that just won’t go away. It only gets worse with Stephan laughing so loudly at one head of the table. Arthur sits at the other, trying not to let his annoyance show on his face. Arthur really just wants to sleep, but he already knows how awful that will be, especially now without his tonic. Oh, what horrors must await him!

“And then I said—” Stephan must be telling some joke, but Arthur is distracted when he realizes that he can’t see Merlin anywhere in the room. He looks around, feeling breathless that Merlin might be lost again.

Where is he?

Where is he?

Arthur is about to get up, to look for him, when a small hand lands on his shoulder. Is it bad that Arthur can tell from the weight of it, from the size, from the position on his shoulder, that the hand is Merlin’s?

He doesn’t even bother turning around. Arthur just lets out a deep, quiet sigh, relief flooding him. Merlin is safe. Merlin is safe, and here.

“You okay?” Comes Merlin’s voice, whispered, unheard to anyone’s ears but Arthur’s underneath all the laughing and heartiness of the feast. Arthur nods, even though his heart and head and chest are rolling like waves, filled with uncertainty and fear and worry. (Is this the beginning? Is this how his father felt, young in his rule? Uncertain and afraid?)

As Arthur looks around, it’s clear that most of his knights’ faces match his own. Their glumness is hidden, but they are not nearly as merry as Stephan’s subjects. Percival barely looks up from his cup. Even Gwaine, who is usually always good for an easy laugh, only drinks, smiling only when spoken to. It breaks Arthur’s heart. Leon doesn’t look quite as haunted as the others, but wears his worry on his face. Arthur wishes so much they were back home, where they could talk freely and he could help them better.

Instead, all he can do is fake his laughter, be as loud, take up as much space as the King sitting opposite, and silently hope his dearest friends are alright.

It’s a grueling night, perhaps more so than the journey of the morning, because Arthur is forced to pretend. He had hoped he could stop lying when his father died. But now that seems silly; a King cannot wear his emotions on his sleeve. Not always, at least.

Eventually the night does end, and Arthur thanks the Gods that a servant is finally showing him up to his room. He pats each of his friends on the shoulder as he passes them, knowing that it is in no way enough.

When Arthur reaches his quarters, he finds them only slightly smaller than his usual room. His body aches to lie down on the bed but he can already feel his mind refusing sleep. He compromises by sitting in a chair, letting his face fall into his hands.

“Thank you!” Arthur hears Merlin call out, as his door is opened. “I miss our castle, this one is built all wrong. Had to ask for help just to find your room.” Merlin whines. Arthur thinks for a moment how wonderful it is to hear Merlin refer to anything as ‘ours’, then lifts his head. Merlin has a goofy half-smile painted on, head tilted. “C’mon, let’s get you ready for bed.”

Without waiting for an answer, Merlin reaches for Arthur’s hands and pulls him upright, then steadies him by holding his waist. Within seconds, Merlin has already cheered Arthur up more than anyone else could hope to. Merlin seems to search his face, then put a hand on Arthur’s cheek.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asked.

Arthur just felt…empty. As if he’d been hollowed out. All those awful things he'd seen. Things he didn’t even know he was afraid of. Even now, it all still feels so close. Like it’s tugging at him.

“I’m fine. Nevermind.” Arthur answered.

“But you do mind.” Merlin argued.

“No, I don’t, Merlin.” Arthur sighed.

Merlin helped him out of his armor.

“You do.” He said quietly, eventually, as he heated the bathwater he’d made appear in the tub.

Arthur sighed.

“I do.” Arthur admitted, stepping into the bath. “But it all…aches too much. I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“Alright.”

Neither of them discuss it beforehand, but automatically Merlin is the one to comb through Arthur’s wet hair, adding soap and lifting the water to rinse it. Merlin hums as he works, for which Arthur is eternally grateful. He loves nothing more than Merlin’s quiet tunes. Whenever Merlin needs him to move, to lean back or to tilt his head, he uses a pet name. Of which there have been a few. Arthur hears Merlin’s quiet teasing of ‘prat’ or ‘dallophead’ or ‘clotpole’ or, his favorite, ‘darling’. But all of them feel packed with endearment, and Arthur lets himself be taken care of, and revels in feeling a little bit better than he had before.

He had hoped, however, that the horrors of the day would wash off of him. Instead they seem sewn to his skin. He feels the terror crawling, bubbling underneath him.

“Up then, clotpole. Let’s get you dressed for bed.”

It’s only when Merlin is tucking Arthur into bed that he finally responds. Or, really, after, when Merlin is trying to leave. Arthur finds his hand catching Merlin’s wrist.

“Would you…would you stay? I,” Arthur cleared his throat, “I sleep better when you’re around.”

There is a pause between them.

Arthur lets his hand fall from Merlin’s wrist.

“Or, I mean, you don’t have to—”

“No, no, of course I would. Of course I’ll stay, darling.” Merlin rushed. “I was just thinking of the chores I have to do first. Let me just tend to the fire, and change into my underclothes, and I’ll come to bed. Alright?”

Arthur is too busy feeling relieved to actually understand anything Merlin is saying, so he just nods and lays back.

When Merlin comes to bed, figure lit by only the fire now, he crawls in on the other side, under the covers, and faces Arthur.

They just sort of stare at each other for a while, the way they always do. Close but never closer. Arthur’s breathing is fast, his heart is pounding in his chest, but he feels calm and safe in a way only Merlin can provide.

“What did you see?” Arthur whispered eventually. It felt wrong to speak louder than a whisper.

“In the forest?” Merlin asked. Arthur nodded. Merlin's mouth tightened for a moment, and as the moment of silence stretched Arthur could almost see Merlin glaring out at nothing at all. But then his gaze softened, and his eyes finally found Arthur's again.

“Someone I hate.” He answered eventually. Arthur understood from his tone that he didn’t want to talk about it further, which is more than understandable. Arthur doesn’t push. “What did you see?”

“Not you.” Arthur replied. Everything else was awful, but in passing. All the rest was fluid. The only constant was Merlin, or the lack of him. “I couldn’t find you.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’m here, I promise.” Merlin reassured him. It isn’t enough. Arthur felt himself reaching out to Merlin’s hair, as if to be sure it was real.

“I…” Arthur began with a fiery breath in his lungs, but it extinguished the moment he opened his mouth. “I need you by my side, I think.” His fingers were still tangled in Merlin’s hair, so maybe he’d understand the words Arthur couldn’t find. Merlin nodded.

“Well, good, because you’re stuck with me.” Merlin’s nose crinkled as he spoke.

I love you, I love you, I love you. Isn’t this the most obvious thing in the world? Arthur thinks so.

His arm falls. Not quite back to his side, just. Resting between them.

Then Arthur thinks, yes, this is enough.

“I’m nervous about the negotiations. I’ve never done them before. I’m worried Stephan is trying to trick me into a worse treaty than before.” He whispered.

“You’re a great King, Arthur. You’ve been a leader long before that. I don’t think you’ll mess it up.” Merlin said. “But if you do, I’ll be there to tell you!” He added, teasing.

“Hey!”

“What? You may be some great leader, but you’re still a prat.” He said, making Arthur chuckle.

“Am not!”

“You are. And a royal one.”

Arthur laughs now, which he thinks was Merlin’s sole intent in the conversation. Merlin, simply trying to cheer Arthur up. As he always does, in the end.

“Do you think you’ll sleep at all tonight?” Merlin asked after a while. Arthur smiled.

“Yes. Yes, I think so.”

Arthur was right, of course. He dreamt only of plums and flowers and beautiful things. He slept peacefully, and through the night, and he woke up buried in Merlin’s arms and flooded with his scent.

Arthur had never felt so content before. Had never felt…this. What is this? What is it, to be held by someone so intimately? To whisper secrets the night before, and be comforted in the morning? What is it to find strength and joy in another person entirely? What is to trust someone so deeply, to feel whole by their side?

This must be what it is to be loved.

And this, Arthur thinks, is more than enough.

Chapter Text

The following day is, simply put, better.

Everything is easier to handle, easier to take in perspective, easier to forgive. Arthur enjoys his breakfast in the dining hall, accompanying Stephan, who had invited Arthur to join him. He’s really not so bad, when Arthur isn’t in such a terrible mood. His servants don’t seem afraid of him, which Arthur takes to be a good sign. The man is actually funny, too, now that Arthur is listening. He speaks openly and fairly, which makes Arthur respect him.

Arthur shoots a questioning glance at Merlin, as if to ask his thoughts on Stephan?

Merlin dips his head a bit and raises an eyebrow.

He’s not so bad, is he?

Arthur gives a slight nod to agree, then turns his attention back to a still laughing Stephan.

“So, are you enjoying your rule so far?” Stephan said, after he’d calmed down.

“I suppose so. It’s come very natural to me, I think.” Arthur spoke earnestly.

“We all always thought you’d be better than Uther. Not to speak ill of your father, of course.”

Arthur wants to reassure him, but wouldn’t want Stephan to have cause to assume he’d taken the throne early by force. He dodges answering.

“We?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, the Kings of Albion. Your father was…very set in his ideas. But you always seemed very level-headed, even as a youth.” Stephan admitted, looking down to his food. Arthur felt a wash of appreciation at the compliment.

“The late King Uther certainly was not one to change his mind, once it had been set.” Arthur offered with a smile, his voice light. Stephan smiled and looked up again, seemingly relieved not to be accused of treason. Little does he know that Arthur’s own manservant speaks treason constantly, and still stands safe and sound. Then again, Arthur certainly has a soft spot for him. “When do you expect to continue our work on the treaty?” Arthur asked.

“After the midday meal, if that is alright with you? You’re welcome to explore the grounds. We have a beautiful garden here. I have a few meetings with my townspeople this morning…” Stephan seemed to cut himself off. “Not that they are of higher importance! It’s just that—”

Arthur raised a hand to stop him, feeling the weight of it a second later. It’s an interesting thing, to be treated as a King. This man, showing him respect as he deems it due. Arthur feels almost guilty for thinking so badly of him yesterday.

“Please, no need to explain. There is no one more important to me than my people. I understand.” Stephan visibly relaxed into a smile again. “I also can’t help but notice the kindness with which you treat your subjects. They all seem…comfortable around you.” The man across from him looked almost honored.

“I try to show my servants and subjects respect. I do not believe a man can ever truly rule with fear.” He answered, clearly thinking through his words.

“I agree!” Arthur all but exclaimed. Both men smiled, a rare sort of relief found in this newfound friendship and connection.

It’s nice, too, almost reassuring, that Arthur isn’t the only one in the world who disagrees with the way Uther ruled. Merlin complimenting him is one thing, but seeing another King being fair and just? It’s more than faith keeping Arthur on his path, now, because someone else is doing it, and it’s working.

“I have to say, I was more than a little surprised to hear about your plan to repeal the ban on magic.” Stephan admitted. “I’m not against the plan, of course. But your father was so adamant.”

“What are your opinions on magic-users, my friend?” Arthur asked, genuinely curious. Stephan seemed to think carefully, waiting a moment to speak.

“My father was a lot like yours. He died many years ago, and I began my reign. Uther was friends with my father, both men deep in their beliefs that magic was the root of evil. When I took the crown, Uther implied that to disagree in that aspect was to threaten war with Camelot. So I never tried, too much of a risk. It’s been going on so long, now, it’s hard to think of them as…not the enemy. I don’t even know how we would make reparations with them.” King Stephan said, his voice full of emotion. Arthur is taken aback by this, though he isn’t sure why.

“I plan to appoint a court sorcerer. To help bridge the gap.” Arthur paused. “All I know is, I can’t keep killing people in good conscience. As royalty I’m sure you’ve been attacked as much as I. And sure, many of them are magical. But just as many come by the sword. There is no reason to continue such violence, to have such a blatant disregard for life.”

“I am impressed by you, Arthur Pendragon.” Stephan said, then sighed. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. As your ally to the North, I too will repeal the ban on magic. Maybe even elect a court sorcerer, if someone would take the duty.”

“Really?” Arthur asked. Had it really been so easy.

“May I speak plainly, my friend?” Stephan questioned. Arthur nodded. “You’re persuasive, but it’s your intellect I trust. As you noticed with me, your subjects trust you completely. That’s the sort of man I look to, the sort of King I follow.” Arthur furrowed his eyebrows.

“You are a King yourself. You haven’t any need to follow me?” Arthur posed it as a question, even though it was certainly a fact.

“That’s true, I suppose. I suppose I just…I prefer to actually trust my allies. Rather than be sworn solely by treaties.” Arthur nodded at this.

“The same way we prefer to lead with kindness and respect, rather than have our subjects solely swear their loyalty.” He offered.

“Exactly!” Stephan agreed. “And you…you are a good man.”

“The same to you, my friend.”

After breakfast, Stephan dismissed himself to see to his people.

“That went so well!” Arthur whisper-exclaimed to Merlin as they left the hall, trying not to jump up and down.

“It did. It really did. I told you, great leader and all that.” Merlin smiled.

“Yes, yes, greatest leader, once and future King, your only real purpose in life…” Arthur teased.

“Hm, I don’t remember saying that last bit.” Merlin teased back, making Arthur laugh.

“Since we have time to ourselves, I really want to find our friends. They’ve looked awfully distraught since Serpent's Pass.” Arthur said, looking around as if they’d appear.

“You certainly look better.” Merlin said.

“I feel better. Nightmares are just nightmares.” Arthur answered with a shrug. That was the first time he’d really thought about it all like that, but it’s true, isn’t it? Nightmares and hallucinations are not punishment. They’re just nightmares and hallucinations. “How about you? Alright?”

“Not so bad. I don’t think mine were as bad as anyone else’s.” Merlin responded truthfully. “C’mon, let’s go find the knights, then.”

They find Percival first, because his room is the closest. He answers his door with puffy eyes. Arthur hugs him in an instant. It’s the first time he’s ever really hugged anyone without thinking about it, or without someone else initiating it. Percival hugs him back, sniffles into his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Arthur asked when they pulled apart. “If not, we can just go on a walk through the gardens, if you’d like.”

Percival sits down on the edge of his bed, looking down at the floor. This room is much smaller than Arthur’s, and there is a small recamier against the opposite wall. Merlin and Arthur sit down on it.

“I had a little sister. I don’t…talk about her a lot.” Percival said eventually, still looking at the ground. His voice is shakier than Arthur has ever heard it. “We lost her to disease. She was so little,” Percival sighed, “There was nothing we could do. I couldn’t…I couldn’t save her.”

When his friend starts crying, Arthur abandons the little couch to go sit beside him, pulling him into a brotherly half-hug.

“And she was a ghost, and she kept blaming me, and she was so disappointed, and she…” He has to stop talking when he starts choking on his words. “She deserved so much better.” Percival whispered.

“Oh, Percy.” Arthur said, wishing he could erase the day of hallucinations from his friend’s mind. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.” Percival cried into his shoulder, and Arthur continued patting his back, determined to be here for as long as his friend needed it.

Eventually he sits up and wipes his tears.

“I still see her all the time. At the druid camp, or when I see children dancing in the market…I just haven’t had to confront it in such a long time.”

“I’m so sorry, Percy.” Merlin said.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through.” Arthur said, “But we are here for you, whatever you need.”

Percival wept a little more, and calmed down, and swiftly changed the subject. Merlin, always so helpful and kind, managed to make Percy laugh a few times. Arthur convinced him to come explore the gardens with them.

When they got there, though, who should they run into but Gwaine and Leon, laughing and clashing their swords with dramatic gusto.

“Look who’s late for training, as always!” Gwaine called out to Arthur. “Princess has been skipping!” Everyone knows this was due to his injury, but they all laugh anyway, and make fun of Arthur. He just smiles in return. Sticks his tongue out at Merlin when necessary.

It’s weird to think back; just a few weeks ago, Arthur was afraid to call these people his friends. Now, he can fully, albeit quietly, admit that he wouldn’t know how to go on without a single one of them. Friends. Arthur’s friends. Arthur has friends.

Sometimes he still isn’t used to it. Still feels like a strange gift that Arthur has to remind himself of.

Soon, the three knights’ and Arthur’s swords clash against each other, Merlin cheering and booing in the background, everyone laughing and teasing.

“Take that!”

“Ha! You call that an attack?”

“Watch this!”

“Oh, look, a damsel behind you! You should look at her!”

“Shut up, Gwaine.”

It makes Arthur’s heart swell.

Merlin boos him when Arthur surrenders to sit down. It was by far the longest training session he’s had since his injuries, but he is well aware of when he needs to let up. Even though Merlin teased him, the second Arthur is by his side there is a hand on his stomach and a quiet spell.

“Feel alright, darling?” Merlin asked as Arthur’s pain rapidly fades.

“Much better, thank you.” Arthur answered, watching the gold fade from Merlin’s eyes, trying to swallow the urge to kiss him on the forehead. He settles for laying his head on Merlin’s shoulder, enjoying watching his friends pretend to battle each other.

The men settle down eventually. Gwaine crowns himself the winner, and Percival calls him an idiot. They wander through the garden for a while, and Merlin tells everyone which flower they look the most like, which makes Leon lose it because he is clearly a rose, not a tulip.

By the time lunch rolls around, Arthur’s cheeks ache from smiling and laughing so much.

They greet everyone at the table jovially, and King Stephan seems to mirror their good spirits.

It’s a hearty feast, and afterwards a hearty discussion of the treaty, in which both parties are marginally more on the same page than the day previous, and continue their discussion much more quickly. They break only for dinner, and decide to work into the night to finish it. By the end of the negotiations, a new treaty is finalized and signed, in which magic is free in both Camelot and Daobeth.

It’s a huge success for the beginning of Arthur’s reign. He can almost see Morgana’s huge smile when he will officially announce the end of the ban.

In the meantime, Arthur finally bids Stephan a good night, and retreats to his room, only to run into Merlin leaving it.

“Oh, I’m sorry darling, were you waiting for me?”

“Oh, I mean,” Merlin blushes, “Just, finishing my chores, is all.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, do you want to come in and hear about the rest of the meeting? It went really well!” Arthur pushed. Please, please, please.

“Sure!” Merlin answered enthusiastically. Arthur silently cheered.

Merlin helped dress him for bed as Arthur talked, tucking him in just as he finished.

“That’s really exciting. I’m so proud of you!” Merlin cheered, petting his hair. Arthur smiled.

“It’s all your fault. Always complimenting me. I’m beginning to believe you.”

“Good.” Merlin answered.

Arthur wanted to ask Merlin to stay, again, but didn’t know how. He no longer had the excuse of the cold or of a bad day. In fact, today was almost dreamlike. Arthur wants Merlin to stay all the same. But is that selfish, if he isn’t even courting Merlin? Or would it be stranger to court Merlin all together?

“Could I stay?” Merlin interrupted his thoughts. Arthur blinked to make sure he hadn’t already fallen asleep. “I sleep better next to you, too.”

Arthur grins without meaning to and moves over to the middle of the bed. Merlin looks relieved, then strips to his underclothes, and slips in next to Arthur.

“I lied. It’s because your bed is so much more comfortable than mine. It’s completely unfair.” Merlin states matter-of-factly. Arthur scoffs.

“You’re just using me for my bed!” Arthur exclaims.

“Sorry. I just thought you should know.”

“Clotpole.” Arthur pouts.

“Hey, that’s my word!” Merlin complains.

“Yes, and it fits you very well.”

And if Arthur and Merlin stay up a little too late talking and giggling, then one certainly couldn’t tell, from how well-rested and happy they both seem the following day.

Chapter Text

The remainder of their stay in King Stephan’s Kingdom was a pleasant one. Arthur was eager to return home, however, to officially lift the ban on magic.

Their travels were much smoother than those previous. They weren’t altogether cheery, still mourning the loss of three of Arthur’s men, the knights grieving their friends. But it was by no means solemn, and quiet, comfortable chatter rang out between the men. They took a longer route, avoiding Serpent’s Pass. Each night, Arthur had slept by Merlin’s side. Each day, he rode beside him.

On the final night, Arthur and Merlin made the brisk trip to the camp of the dead. Arthur hadn’t even had to ask, Merlin was already standing and waiting for him. Arthur appreciated it.

When they arrived, Merlin had asked if Arthur would mind if he added to the gravesite. When Arthur shook his head, Merlin murmured to himself, making what looked like pieces of cloth appear from thin air. They were strung up between the thicker trees, the ones that did not burn. Then, Merlin sat cross-legged on the ground, putting his hand onto the dirt. He waved for Arthur to sit beside him. Soon, the outlines of golden ghosts returned, and Merlin began to murmur to himself. The ghosts slowly faded away, their singing and laughing carrying on the wind.

“There.” Merlin said eventually, when the dark had fully returned, and the gold had diminished completely.

“What did you do?”

“It’s an ancient druid ritual, to put the spirits here at peace. The flags and cloths are a warning to anyone that comes here to not disturb this place.”

“Thank you.” Arthur whispered, grateful as ever to have Merlin by his side. He was glad Merlin was able to give the druids the ritual they deserved, glad Merlin could give them the peace Arthur could never hope to provide. “Could I still come here, do you think? I’m not sure why. I suppose I just like the idea of someone looking in on them.” Merlin thinks for a second, then puts his hand to the ground, closing his eyes.

“I think…they know you are here to give them comfort. I don’t think you would be able to disturb them.” Merlin answered, which made Arthur want to cry.

“Oh.” It was all Arthur could muster.

When they returned to their friends, Gwaine and Percival were still awake, keeping watch, waiting for them.

Arthur sits beside Percy without thought, clapping a hand to his shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, as he sat down. Percival seemed to appreciate Arthur checking up on him, a small smile finding a way onto his face.

“Better. Much better.” Percival answered honestly, making Gwaine smile. Arthur didn’t ask Gwaine what his nightmares were of. One look and he knew, they were the same ones that plagued Gwaine in sleep, the same ones he’d told Arthur about not so long ago.

The four of them talked by the fire awhile, enjoying the presence of one another. Percival made fun of the way Leon snored, and Arthur reminded him that he was the loudest of them all.

Overall, it wasn’t such a bad journey home.

When they returned to Camelot, Merlin helped put away the horses and excused himself to go see Gaius. Arthur offered to give him what was left of the day off, but Merlin only laughed in his face.

Meanwhile, Arthur goes straight to the throne room, where Morgana is sitting, laughing with Gwen. She stands up as she sees Arthur enter and seems to straighten, holding her breath, as if in waiting. Had negotiations worked? Should Camelot prepare for war? Do they still have allies?

Arthur rushes forward, overjoyed for his sister. He’d promised her safety, and now, finally, he could give it to her.

“Both Camelot and Daobeth will be lifting our bans on magic!” He yelled out with a smile.

Morgana’s immediate relief and joy is evident. Her hands clap together in front of her face, doing nothing to cover her wide smile, and she seems to stomp her feet a bit before turning to Gwen. The girls embrace, Gwen holding her steady but jumping just as excitedly. They break apart when Arthur arrives at their side. Morgana turns to him, and gives him the most bone-crushing hug he’d ever received.

“Thank you.” She whispered as they hugged.

“I’m so proud of you, Morgana.” He whispered back. He could almost feel her happiness, as if it were rolling off her in waves.

When they pull apart, he can see tears have streamed down her cheeks.

“Thank you.” She said again, her smile the biggest he’d seen it since they were only children, chasing each other around the castle. Arthur quickly found his own eyes becoming watery.

“Never again will you have to hide in Camelot. And…” He took a breath to study his now shaky voice, “Never again will you be forced into silence. You have my word.”

Morgana only nodded and cried and smiled, and the three of them celebrated and hugged.

Eventually he has to step away, because Leon has entered, explaining that the families of the knights lost to Serpent's Pass are waiting outside the room, as Arthur had asked. Arthur nods, gives one last hug to his sister, and lets them leave to continue their happy celebration before telling Leon to bring the families in.

Arthur refuses to sit down. His father always looked so inconvenienced by grieving families, as if news of their death meant nothing to him. That’s another tradition to put an end to, Arthur thinks. Instead, he stands, removing his crown to leave on the throne as he steps forward.

When he explains to each family what has happened, they only nod and tear up. Each seems surprised when he offers his deepest condolences and a continued allowance to the end of the harvest season, the payment that they should have received.

The day is far less eventful after that.

Arthur goes about the castle, checking on everything he’d missed in the time that he’d been gone. Morgana, to no-one’s surprise, had excelled as the acting Queen in his absence. This not only makes Arthur’s heart swell with pride, but also reminds him that he can have two things. That Camelot is safe, held by the hands of many.

Arthur calls to the council to announce the repeal of the ban on magic just before dinner.

The group gathers, consisting of Leon, being head of the royal guard, Arthur, and the Advisor to the King, Morgana. Merlin and Gwen stand at the wall, although Arthur thinks privately that both should be seated at the table. Several other people are in the council, and have been since Uther’s rule began. Arthur has grown up attending these meetings, having been told to listen, not to speak, and he knows which of those in this group he respects and which he despises.

As he expects, four of the eight councilmembers have a problem with lifting the ban.

“Sire!” One exclaims. “We cannot simply—”

“Fortunately or otherwise,” Arthur interrupts him, “Our treaty with King Stephan’s Kingdom rests on Camelot’s removal of the ban.” Arthur notes the names of those who immediately disagree with this, no longer able to count on their loyalty, and overall exhausted of their useless, harmful opinions.

“It was against Uther’s wishes!” Another says.

“They’ll kill us by morning!”

“The druids are evil. King Uther was trying to protect us!” Says another. Morgana clenches her jaw.

Arthur is tired of this. He stands up, slamming both hands on the table as he leans forward.

“Uther is dead. I am your King. Insult magic again, and it’ll be treason.” The threat is barely above a whisper, but it stretches out across the table as the room falls silent. He glances at Morgana to see her take an inaudible sigh of relief. Arthur points to the four that have proven they are more loyal to Uther than to Arthur and dismisses them of their duties permanently. He ignores their pleas and apologies, waving them off.

“Now,” Arthur continued to the more empty table, after the dismissed subjects had finally left, “There are some changes to be made. Firstly, I plan to appoint a court sorcerer, to help bridge the gap with the druids.” Arthur sees Merlin’s eyes go wide and makes a split-second change to his plans. “One will be appointed shortly.” Originally he’d planned to announce it with Merlin’s name, but if he’s not ready, Arthur doesn’t want to pressure him.

Arthur decides at this moment that he can have two forms of Counsels. One, this. Arthur leading his official advisors. Merlin will soon join this group, assuming he will eventually take the position of Court Sorcerer. Two, a table of equals. No one person above another, consisting of the wise people he thinks highly of, and have met with before. Merlin, Morgana, Gwen, Leon, Percival, Gwiane, Elyan (who has more than proved himself, according to Leon’s reports) and Gaius, if he has the time to spare. Arthur has an itch at the back of his mind when he thinks about sitting at the head of this table. He reminds himself to think on it later.

Council is adjourned, and the repeal of the ban makes its way around the Kingdom, messengers sent to pin the notice on church doors and alerting passerby. Morgana begins to breathe easier.

Dinner begins, a long table of Arthur’s closest and most trusted friends, several of his knights, and his advisors. Servants move about the place. It is, by all means, busy. Morgana stands up at the beginning of it, just after her drink is served.

“I have an announcement to make, if you please. I am an enchantress.” She seems to want to go on, but is interrupted by thundering applause from half of the table, Arthur even giving a whoop. Morgana blushes. “Thank you to my King, Arthur, for finally bringing about a Kingdom in which I can live freely, too.” She finished, raising her glass. Arthur smiles, and follows her lead, and so does the rest of the table, most of which cheering and clapping for her.

Dinner is a joyous event, and though Merlin is still serving it, Arthur suspects it will be one of the final times he does so. Gwen, no longer a maidservant, stands beside Merlin only because she chose to, probably wanting to catch up with her friend. Sure enough, whenever Arthur glances at them, Gwen and Merlin are giggling and gossiping. The whole night makes Arthur reassured. Yes, this is it. This is how it is supposed to be done. This feeling, bouncing around the room, off the walls, reflected in the smiles of each person at the table; This must be what freedom sounds like.

Merlin walks beside Arthur as they return to his chambers, both men chatting about their busy day. Arthur listens as Merlin fills him in on the gossip he’d received from Gwen, and the chores he’d run for Gaius, and how the town had been while they were away. Arthur is happy. There isn’t really a clever word for it. He’s just…happy.

Merlin helps him change into his underclothes, and, as unspoken as it had been on the days returning to Camelot, slides into the bed beside him after the fire is taken care of and the candles have been blown out.

Except Arthur doesn’t fall asleep. Merlin does, after only a bit of talking, and Arthur basks in being able to lie beside him. He can see the firelight dancing around the room, highlighting Merlin’s cheekbones and long, dark lashes. He listens to Merlin’s steady breathing, soft and safe, here beside him. He watches the way Merlin’s shoulder’s rise and fall, grateful that he sleeps on his side, and that he faces Arthur. What a lovely thing, to be able to look at this beautiful boy beside him. What a privilege.

Arthur expects to fall asleep, but he feels almost a tug at the back of his mind. Something unexplainable, but it keeps him awake all the same. After a very long while of letting himself simply enjoy being so close to Merlin, he decides to take a walk. Arthur softly moves to place a kiss on Merlin’s forehead, before quietly removing himself from the bed. He grabs his robes, and leaves the room as softly as he can.

He walks around a quiet castle, letting his feet guide his way, not caring much where he ends up. He hopes to get rid of all this energy, so that he can go back to his bed, and to his Merlin, and maybe get some rest.

Eventually, Arthur finds himself at the top of the castle, in a place he would recognize in his sleep. This is the place he used to come to as a boy, where he would talk to the stars.

Arthur lies down on his back, in the spot he’s always chosen, grateful for the warm air of the night.

“Hello.” He said aloud to the stars. “It’s been a very long time, hasn’t it?”

Arthur had spoken to the stars in his mind, on his journeys. But when was the last time he could talk out loud to them? When was the last time he’d come to this roof?

“A lot has happened. Although I suppose you’ve been looking over me all these years, haven’t you? I suppose you already know about it all.”

Even though he is sure the stars already know, he tells them about his life. He tells them about all these years as the lonely prince. He admits the deaths he carries on his shoulders, apologizes for the mistakes he’s made. He tells of Uther’s betrayal, and his death, and about how Arthur now rules Camelot, and all the ways he changes his reign.

He tells the stars about Morgana, and how they’ve become close once again. He wonders if the stars remember how she used to accompany him up here. He wonders if they have been looking after her, too. Just in case, he tells them of Morgana’s magic, and her safety in Camelot. He talks about Gwen, and the way those two look at each other, and the way they both celebrated so happily today.

Arthur feels almost like a boy again. Like the ten-year-old he must have been when he last came up here. He breathes easier now, with less weight on his shoulders. It’s just Arthur and the stars.

Arthur takes a deep breath, then almost laughs as words fall off his tongue, faster than he can catch them.

“And…there is this clotpole. He’s lovely. He’s soft, and kind, and so quick-witted. He reminds me how human I am. He reminds me how alive I am. Does that make any sense? I know I’ve been living all this time, but really it was just surviving, wasn’t it? I wasn’t living, not really, not ‘til now.” Arthur admits to the sky. “He is this force in my life, this pull in my chest, this need, this necessity that I cannot live without. He makes me whole. Like two sides of the same coin.” Arthur pauses, thinks for a while.

“Isn’t it strange, to not feel at home at all? I didn’t feel at home in life. I had come to understand my isolation for so long, I had forgotten there was a way to be without it! There were ribbons of loneliness, tying my organs in place, and I was breathing, but I was just floating. Like you, maybe. Except I was just lost in my solitude, praying for my pain to go away.” Arthur giggles, unable to stop the smile as he continues.

“And here comes this complete dollophead. This boy with messy hair, and dark blue eyes, and enough magic to bring a Kingdom to their knees. He wouldn’t even need to use his magic, really. He only needs to smile at me in that lopsided way he does, and I’m done for. I don’t even really know when it started. One day I just woke up so in love with him that I didn’t know what to do with myself. And for a while, I would just wait, pleading the wind to knock him into me if only we would be a little closer. I have belonged to him since the day we met, really. Probably before that. Probably, since the beginning of time. But I bet you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Arthur sighs as he lets his secrets carry out onto the wind, hoping that the stars are listening. He hopes they are glad to hear how happy he is, after all this time. He hopes they are proud of him, a King and a child, lying here emptying his heavy heart.

“The truth is,” Arthur says after a while, “I’m not used to being loved. And now I don’t know what to do. Because I feel loved. I feel so loved. When we hug, or when he whispers something meant only for my ears, or when he kisses my forehead, or when he reminds me that everything will be alright. What is that, if not love? But is it the same kind? Is there something I’m supposed to do?”

Arthur waits for the stars to reply. They only continue shining, silent as ever.

“I want him to feel loved, too. To be as loved as I am. How do I do that?”

The stars say nothing, as if the answer is obvious.

“Oh, what? You think I should just tell him, don’t you?” Arthur exclaims. The stars glint and wink at him. “Well, I can’t! Alright? What if I just go about making a mess of things?”

Arthur sighs.

“I’ve never…I’ve been thinking about it, you know. I don’t think anyone’s ever said it to me. Maybe that’s why I don’t know how. How do you tell someone they are loved?”

The stars shimmer at him, too far away to offer any comfort. He pretends they do, anyway.

“Alright, fine. I’ll court him. How about that?” Arthur offers to the sky. In a flash, he can almost see it. Taking walks with Merlin, getting flowers for Merlin, giving him gifts and surprises, going on picnics. Arthur can picture it like it’s a memory. Is he asking too much? Does he hope for too much?

“Should I do it?” He asks.

“Yes, you idiot.”

For one absurd moment, Arthur thinks the stars have actually replied, and he sits upright. That’s when he sees Morgana.

“What are you doing up here?” She asks, an eyebrow raised.

“What are you doing up here?” Arthur repeats back to her. Morgana rolls her eyes.

“This is my spot.” She answers.

“No, it’s mine.” Arthur argues.

“You haven’t been up here in years!” She laughs. “I still come up all the time.” This makes Arthur pause.

“Really? Even after all this time?” He asks.

“It’s a good spot to think.” She shrugs, then kicks lightly at his leg. “Move over.” He moves slightly, and she lies beside him, but opposite, so that her head lies next to Arthur’s feet, and her feet next to his head. Arthur lies back as she does.

“How much of that did you hear?” Arthur asks, suddenly embarrassed to have someone else listening in on a confession meant only for the sky.

“How much was there?” Morgana answers slyly. Arthur doesn’t say anything. “Oh, don’t worry. Only since you were asking what you should do. Which, if you ask me, you should just kiss him already.”

“Morgana!” Arthur exclaims.

“What? Leon says you two have been very cuddly lately. Why don’t you…you know.”

“Morgana!” He screeches again, grateful that they both are looking up at the sky, so she can’t see his deep blush.

“What?! You know I’m right.”

Arthur thinks on this for a moment, before deciding something.

“Actually, can I tell you a secret?” He asks.

“Of course.” She answers easily.

“I don’t think…I don’t think I want that. It’s never really been something I wanted to do.”

“What do you mean?” Morgana asks.

“I used to think it would pass when I got older? Or that maybe if I found the right person, I’d want to take them to bed. But I don’t. I don’t have that desire. Not with Merlin. Not with anyone.” Arthur admits.

“You don’t want to be intimate with anyone?” Morgana clarifies. Arthur shakes his head, then remembers she isn’t looking at him.

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, that’s alright. That doesn’t mean you’re worth any less.” She answers. “Thank you for trusting me with that, though. It’s such a personal secret. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you.” He says, trying to refocus on the stars.

“And, if it helps, it won’t really matter.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asks.

“If you marry Merlin, it won’t matter. In terms of producing an heir, at least. And it certainly won’t matter to him. He looks at you like you’re his whole world.” She explains.

“Do you think?”

“Yes, idiot. He’d love you even if you looked like a frog, I think. Which in my opinion you do. He doesn’t seem to see it, though.” Morgana teases.

“I hate frogs.”

“I know.”

There is a comfortable pause between them, both siblings looking to the stars.

“Thank you for the brooch, by the way. And all the other gifts. But the brooch will always be my favorite.” Morgana says eventually.

“When—”

“Oh, I’ve always known.”

Arthur remembers the day after he’d given her the frog brooch. How she wore it all day, and smiled a little more than usual.

“You never said?” Arthur questions.

“Neither did you.” She answers. “I never blamed you for anything Uther did. Never once. I never even thought you noticed, until the brooch. You gave it to me just because I looked sad. Or at least that’s what I’ve always assumed. I always wore it after, whenever he…” She trailed off. “Just to cheer myself up. It always worked. That silly little frog…it meant the world to me.”

“Oh.” Is all Arthur says in response. Then, “I should have done more.”

“You’ve done plenty, Arthur.” She responds without a second thought. “I heard you with the stars, that bit at the end. And I just want you to know, for sure, just in case you didn’t know before: I love you. You have always been my family.”

Arthur breathes in with what could almost be a gasp. He exhales shakily.

“I love you too.” He says. “You’re my sister. Always have been.”

They sit in each other’s silence for a while, drinking up the stars.

“So, you’re going to court him, huh?” Morgana teases him, after a while. He scoffs.

“And what about you and Gwen, hm? When are you going to start you know? ” Arthur deflects, mimicking her words from earlier. She laughs.

“While you were away, actually. So, ha!”

“What?!”

“Although, alright, fine, she was the one to admit her feelings to me. But it still counts!”

“Psh, no it doesn’t! You were just as much a coward as me!” Arthur argues.

“So you admit to being a coward?” She counters.

“No!”

Then they’re both laughing and making fun of each other, and talking underneath the stars, like they’re children again.

Arthur has a lot to thank the stars for. But this moment most definitely is added to the list.

Later, he walks Morgana back to her quarters, both grateful for the family they’ve found in each other. Then Arthur walks back to his own chamber, closing the door behind him as quietly as he can.

Merlin stirs a bit when he crawls into bed.

“Hm?” Merlin mumbles in his sleep.

“Nothing, nothing,” Arthur whispers, “Go back to sleep, my love.”

Chapter Text

Merlin always wakes up before Arthur. Usually, this doesn’t bother Arthur because one of Merlin’s duties is waking him for the day. Everyday this week, however, Arthur has become more and more annoyed to wake to the empty bed, Merlin and his breakfast tray in tow.

All Arthur wants is to bring Merlin breakfast. Is that strange? It doesn’t feel strange. It feels like Merlin deserves a day off, a day to be reminded how appreciated he is, a day for Arthur to give him flowers or maybe go on a walk together…

But Merlin won’t stay asleep long enough for Arthur to start the day off right. That’s the only reason, really. Alright, fine, maybe he has been putting it off because he’s nervous. Because Merlin, his closest dearest friend, is making Arthur’s stomach bubble like hot water. Merlin has always had this innate ability to make Arthur nervous, but now that he’s actually planning to do something about it, all Arthur is seemingly able to do is choke on the air that Merlin breathes. The whole thing is embarrassing Arthur far more than it should be, considering he hasn’t even done anything embarrassing yet.

“Good morning, Arthur!” Merlin called out to him. Inwardly, Arthur sighed, but he forced himself to sit up.

“Morning, Merlin. Sleep well?” He asks this all the time, now. Just to make sure.

Since Merlin had begun sleeping in Arthur’s bed, Arthur has been sleeping better than he has in months, if not years. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have nightmares, of course. But they’re just more tolerable now, when he has them. Sometimes he hears Merlin’s voice echoing in his worst dreams, calling to him from the outside world. Once, Arthur had a bad one, and he awoke in the middle of the night to see Merlin eyes inches from his. Merlin had called him ‘darling’ as is common by now, and kissed his forehead, and Arthur went right back to sleep.

All this to say, Arthur wants to make sure Merlin is sleeping as well as he is.

“Oh, yes. Kings have much fancier beds, as it turns out.” This would be funny, except Merlin says something along these lines every time Arthur asks him. Does he enjoy sleeping beside Arthur? Do Arthur’s nightmares annoy him? Arthur has no way of knowing, and lies back once again, already feeling a little defeated.

Merlin puts Arthur’s breakfast tray on the desk and opens the curtains.

“Come back to bed?” Arthur asked. Well, he convinces himself he was only asking. But really it sounded more like begging.

“What?” Merlin answered. Arthur’s eyes are closed, but he can tell that Merlin has finally stopped rushing about.

“Just,” Arthur opened his eyes. He wanted to see how far Merlin was from him, see if perhaps could pull Merlin back toward him, “Come back to bed. You always leave so early, darling.”

Arthur genuinely cannot decode the expression Merlin’s face wears now. It’s perhaps a cross between confusion and want? Or maybe exasperation and annoyance? Arthur can’t tell. It’s infuriating.

“If I come back to bed, you’ll be late for all your Kingly duties.” Merlin answered, after a lifetime had passed.

“I’m King. I’ll just cancel them today.” Arthur responded. He sits up now, his back against his headboard.

“What?!”

“What?”

“You can’t just cancel your duties!”

“Let’s go on a walk later. Or steal food from the kitchens to have a picnic.” Arthur pushed, because he genuinely can’t stop himself, apparently.

Merlin blinked.

He stood there for a moment.

Contemplating.

And then he crawled back into bed. Arthur felt a rush of relief that his ridiculous begging had somehow worked, and reached out, pulling Merlin as close to him as he could.

“Thank you.” He whispered into Merlin’s hair after he was settled against Arthur. Arthur’s arms wrapped around him easily, and he softly kissed the very top of Merlin’s head.

“For what?” Merlin whispered back. Arthur could hear his smile, and sighed contentedly.

“You always leave so early,” He began.

“Well, it’s my job!” Merlin interrupted.

“I know, but just today, can’t I bring you breakfast? Just this once?” Arthur said.

It’s strange to say words that feel more like bubbles. They come popping out of his throat, gasping through drawn breath. Part of Arthur wishes he were better at hiding his emotions, wishes he had a better kept sleeve. But he doesn’t, and he’d rather know how Merlin is feeling, anyway.

“What for?” Merlin asked.

“I just want to, I suppose.” Arthur answered. Then, because he couldn’t help it, “I like it when you’re happy.”

A quiet pause stretches between them, then Merlin giggles.

“What?” Arthur questions.

“I was just asking Morgana if she could run the castle today. She says hello.”

“Mhm,” Arthur said, knowing his sister, “What did she actually say?”

“She said, ‘Of course I can, and tell Arthur to stop being an idiot.’”

“Oh, good. Sounds like her.” Arthur laughed.

Merlin cuddles into Arthur’s side. It reminds Arthur of plums. That single motion, for some unknown, unexplainable reason, reminds Arthur of a plum. He relishes it. Arthur basks in having the sound of Merlin’s breathing so close to him, having Merlin so comfortable and near. Usually, when they sleep beside each other, there is so much space between them. Having Merlin nearby is always a gift, but having Merlin like this? This close to him? There is nothing better. So Arthur just lays back, enjoying Merlin’s presence, highlighted by the morning sun.

It takes Arthur a long while to name the feeling of this close comfort, the feeling of plums, the feeling of being woken from your nightmares and being coaxed back to sleep. There is a word for it, and eventually Arthur finds it: Safety. Arthur feels safe with Merlin, in a way that is more than protection. Arthur is safe from even the depths of his own mind with Merlin. It’s not a bubble, either, this safety can be stretched by distance and time. A thousand people could stand between Arthur and Merlin, and still, Arthur would feel safe with him.

“Have you fallen asleep, my love?” Arthur whispers, after Merlin’s breathing had gone steady in the quiet of the morning. When no response comes, Arthur gives a quiet cheer.

Slowly, Arthur pulls himself from Merlin, dresses himself as quietly as he can manage, and slips out the door.

He realizes once he enters the kitchens that he really should come down here more often. The last time he had, it was that fiasco with the magic plums, and now everyone in the kitchens looks at him a bit like a lost dog. Which is fair enough, because Arthur feels completely out of his depth. What is he allowed to take?

After a little too long of wandering and looking at things and getting in everyone else’s way, Arthur finally finds a basket in the corner. It’s nice enough, and not too large to carry but big enough to hold loads of food and treats.

“Excuse me,” Arthur stops a kitchen-maid walking past, “Is anyone using this? May I borrow it for the morning?” The woman, Margaret, if Arthur remembers right, chuckles.

“Take anything you like. You’re who we make it for, after all.” She answered with a smile.

“Thank you, Miss Margaret.” Arthur takes a chance with the name, glad he did when her eyes go wide and she blushes.

“Oh, um, oh! Well, of course, Sire. Um, call me, everyone down here calls me Marge. Not that you are, um, someone who works down here, of course—”

“Thank you, Marge.” Arthur interrupted her stammering. “You really won’t mind me taking any of it?”

“Oh, I promise. We’d all be honored by it. Whatever you take would be a compliment.” Marge answered, a little more composed.

“Well, alright, then. Thanks again, Marge.” Arthur smiled as she nodded and walked away.

Arthur grabbed the basket and walked around the kitchen again, looking over the food and treats at his disposal. As he picked out tarts and fruits and breads, he tried to calm his nerves and convince himself that a picnic was a good idea.

Yes.

Yes, a picnic is a great idea! It’s not too much!

Because Arthur knows when something is too much. Like asking his closest friend to crawl back into bed with him even though it’s morning and they both have responsibilities, that’s not too much.

Sure.

(Arthur knows he is lying to himself, but continues throwing cheese into the basket anyway.)

Eventually, the basket is full, and the cooks seem to be growing weary of his thank-you’s, so Arthur decides it’s time to return to his chambers, practicing as he walks.

Hello, Merlin, would you like to have a picnic with me?

Greetings, oh, yes, this basket? Why, yes, Merlin, it is a basket.

Would you like to take a walk?

Hello, friend—No, not friend. Hello, you. Walk?

Arthur knows that the last one isn’t right.

Before he goes upstairs, though, he pauses to go out to the gardens. He ignores the language of flowers, because all he’d say is I love you and Merlin doesn’t know the language anyway. Instead, he chooses flowers that remind him of Merlin. This is difficult, because everything beautiful reminds him of Merlin.

In the end, he decides on some gladiolus, a few daffodils, tulips, narcissi, and even a little bit of greenbell. It’s colorful and perhaps a little too big to pass as friendly, which is, maybe, the point.

Arthur wants to add a few anemone, because it’s always been the flower that reminds him the most of Merlin, though he can’t possibly place why. But it’s such a short stemmed wildflower, it wouldn’t fit into the bouquet.

At last he decides to pull a few and put them delicately into the basket, as if to decorate it.

Merlin, would you have a walk in the forest with me?

Not quite.

Merlin, would you accompany me for a walk in the woods?

Yes, that sounds right. Arthur whispers it over and over again, practicing.

Merlin, would you accompany me for a walk in the woods?

Arthur takes a shaky breath and forces himself to leave the gardens and return to his quarters, where surely Merlin is still waiting for him.

Unless he left.

This stops Arthur on the stairs, the thought hitting him with full force. Even the idea of it hurts as much as it had falling on these very stairs, just as embarrassing as it had been waiting for help to wander by.

What if he left?

What if Arthur returns to an empty room, having taken too long. What if Merlin had only stayed by his side to make him stop begging like a fool?

No, no, not like a fool. It wasn’t even childish, really. Arthur asked for something, because pining after it silently forever would have been a far more foolish choice.

No, Merlin would still be there. Because Merlin is Arthur’s safest place.

Even so, as Arthur climbs each stair, his heart pounds more and more, heavier and heavier.

Merlin, would you accompany me for a walk in the woods?

Please, please, please.

When Arthur finally arrives at his door, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

Merlin, would you accompany me for a walk in the woods?

Feeling confident, albeit shaky, Arthur pushes the door open, and sees Merlin, smiling at him, still lying on the bed.

“What have you got there?” He asked, sitting up.

“Oh, um, here.” Arthur clumsily holds out the bouquet, realizing now how silly all those flowers look together, and how the colors don’t go together at all. Arthur shifts his gaze to the floor, burning from the inside out. It takes Merlin a ridiculously long time to leave the bed and walk to him, and somehow even longer to take the flowers.

“Thank you.” Merlin’s voice is soft. Arthur wishes he hadn’t left the gardens, but reminds himself what he is supposed to say.

Merlin, would you have me for a walk in the woods?

“Alright, well,” Arthur coughs awkwardly, “Good, have a nice day. Goodbye.”

What???

Arthur is almost distraught, now, because he’s turning for the door and he has forgotten how to speak anything at all, let alone the words he’d practiced all morning.

“What?” Merlin echoed his thoughts, confused behind him.

This is your chance, Arthur tells himself. Say what you need to say.

Except Arthur’s mouth clearly does not agree with his mind or his heart, because he shouts “Goodbye!” and proceeds to run out the door, down the hallway, and around the corner.

He manages to stop sprinting after he is out of Merlin’s sight, leaning against the wall.

“What was that?” Arthur whispers to himself angrily. “Have a nice day? Goodbye?” Arthur runs a hand through his hair, placing the basket onto the ground. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Arthur takes a deep breath, wiping his face. “Alright. Go back. It’s fine. It’ll all be fine. Merlin, would you accompany me for a walk in the woods?” He clears his throat, the words sounding wrong somehow. He tries again. “Merlin, would you accompany me for a walk in the woods?”

“Sure.” Merlin says with a smile, appearing around the corner.

Arthur would be horrified, if Merlin’s sudden appearance hadn’t scared him into a jump.

“Ah!” He called out, startled.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well, you would have. But luckily I do not scare so easily.” Arthur lied, which made Merlin laugh, which made Arthur feel a little better.

“Oh, sure!” Merlin picked up the basket. “This better have food in it, since you’ve left me to starve all morning.”

“Oh, I have not!” Arthur half-whined.

“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me!” Merlin teased.

“You know, I am the King.” Arthur teased back, because this part is easy. The banter has always been easy with Merlin. “I can take however long I like!” He snatched the basket back from Merlin, “And I will be carrying this, thank you.”

That’s when everything sort of shifts into a blur, because Merlin grabs his hand, claiming to know a great field to enjoy the morning at, and pulls Arthur behind him, leading the way out of the castle. The walls mix with Arthur’s delirious joy and it becomes a ridiculous string of half-baked memories, all tinted with I love you, I love you, I love you.

Chapter Text

The spot that Merlin leads Arthur to is beautiful. It’s almost too perfect, too beautiful, especially with Merlin standing there, in the middle of it all, smiling his wide smile that makes Arthur melt a little around the edges. It’s strange, too, because the sun is shining, and there are no clouds in the sky, and the air is so warm, and it feels a little like Arthur is still asleep. (Of course sleeping beside Merlin is just as much a dream.)

Merlin stands in the center of what can only be described as a meadow. Flowers of all sorts and colors grow around them, a quiet stream heard but unseen from where Arthur stands. The trees are tall, but not overbearing, and they certainly don’t cover the bright blue sky. Arthur can smell the grass in the cleanness of the air, and can hear a birdsong in the quiet. It’s all so wonderful that Arthur can’t help but giggle.

“How did you find this place?” Arthur gaped.

“Oh, you know, it was just…around.” Merlin shrugged. Arthur glared at him in suspicion, making Merlin sigh. Arthur began unpacking the basket. Merlin tosses him a thin blanket.

“When did you grab this?”

“I made it, clotpole. Only takes a minute.” Merlin answered. Arthur hadn’t even heard him use magic. Not that that’s new, really.

“And this?” Arthur waves to the meadow they sit in, after Merlin joins him, “When did you find this?”

“I actually…made that too.” Merlin answered, somewhat sheepishly.

“What?”

Merlin shrugged. Arthur desperately tried not to look as bewildered and flustered and intimidated and proud as he felt.

“I dunno. I’ve lived here for years, and I guess after a while, I wanted somewhere I could go to be myself.” Merlin said. He looked at the ground, eyebrows furrowed. “I haven’t been here in a long time.”

Arthur had too much to respond to, now, but he decided to start with the most important thing.

“I’m sorry you had to run away to be yourself, Merlin. You as you are, that’s more than enough.” Merlin seemed to shake his head, but mumbled a quiet ‘thank you.’ This only made the pit in Arthur’s stomach drop further. “What is it?”

When Merlin finally looked up to meet Arthur’s eyes, they were watery.

“I’m not…Everything that you think I am. That I’ve let you think I am.” Arthur watched as Merlin swallowed back his tears and steady his voice. He wanted to reach out to this boy across from him, this man unconvinced of his beauty or kindness. Arthur has loved him wholly and without pause, because he knows Merlin. He has always known Merlin. “I was born with this.” Merlin surprises Arthur by taking his hand in his own, holding it forcefully. “Can you not feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“It’s been boiling under my skin my whole life. It’s hot like a flame when I’m angry, slithering over my bones when I’m upset.” Merlin takes a shaky breath, holds tighter to Arthur’s hand. “And I’m not…I’m not clean, Arthur. My blood has been stained by my magic, and my mistakes, and the people I’ve gotten killed…”

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, Merlin.” Arthur tried to console, knowing immediately it was the wrong thing to say. Merlin let go of his hand.

“I’m the one that released the dragon that burned Camelot.” Merlin confessed, not lifting his eyes.

Arthur could never forget the horrors of it. Uther had claimed for years that all the dragons were dead, and yet one day a raging fire had burned over Camelot by a dragon that had escaped Uther’s prison under the castle. It was a tragedy. Families suffered not only that day, but that winter, after most of the harvest had been burned. Arthur and Merlin had gone to find Balinor, one that could control the dragons, only for him to die saving Arthur’s life. The deaths were insurmountable, all things considered. But Arthur doubts that Merlin had released the dragon with the intention of hurting Camelot.

“I let Freya die. And my friend, William. He died and let everyone believe him to be the sorcerer, even though it had been me.”

Arthur waited for Merlin to look up, but his eyes remained fixed on the ground.

“How many necks have I snapped, without thought? How many fathers never returned home to their families because I thought them a threat?”

This wasn’t right, because Merlin isn’t a killer. He has only done what he could to keep Arthur alive. He tries to tell Merlin this, but he’s not done:

“I can feel it, under my skin. Itching to get out. And even for all my protecting you, you still got hurt. You were shot by that arrow because I didn’t come along, almost killed by your father because I was waiting in your room like a fool.”

“You are not a fool.” Arthur interrupted harshly.

“Maybe not. But I am a liar. I’m a fraud. I let you blame yourself for deaths even though they were my fault. Every. Single. Time.”

“That’s not true!”

“It is. Can’t you see?” Merlin holds out his palms. They look too calloused, too rough. Arthur wants to hold them. “The blood on my hands can never be washed clean. I’m dirty with it, and I didn’t have a father forcing my hand. I chose it. All of it.”

Merlin isn’t crying. In fact, he’s barely moving at all. But Arthur hears the shake in his voice, can see the tremble in his fingers. Arthur feels an overwhelmed sensation because he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to make this better. All he knows is that Merlin is kind, and loving, and safe. He is not, and will never be, capable of evil.

Arthur shifts so that he is closer to Merlin, who doesn’t look up. Arthur takes his hand with both of his own.

“I can’t feel your magic.” Arthur said. “I just feel you.” Merlin made an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “You are your magic, Merlin. It is a part of you. And I…” Arthur took a deep breath, his thumb moving back and forth in a way he hoped was comforting. “I think all of you is perfect. You aren’t some evil being, Merlin. You simply aren’t capable of it. You’re too soft and sweet and nice. You’re just too nice. Why do you think everyone loves you so much? Do you really not see the impact you’ve made on them all? The impact you’ve made on me?”

Merlin finally looks up, though his eyes are guarded. Arthur considers it a small victory.

“This place that you’ve made, my cane, me. Everything you touch becomes a reflection of you. This place, made beautiful by your magic. My cane, made perfect from your efforts. Me…I am who I am because of you. I am who I am to be worthy of you. You make me better, each day you spend by my side. You make me human, with your wit and your kindness and your loyalty. You even make me sleep better, when not even tonics could manage. Why do you think that is?”

Merlin hasn’t looked away. He shrugs in response.

“You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.” This is the most honest Arthur has ever been, with anyone probably, and now that the words are finally spilling out, he has no hope to stop them. It is a spool of thread and words he’d worked so long to swallow, and now the thread is coming undone, unspooling from his mouth in sentences he can only hope will help. “You hid all this time, in a place that would have you killed, so that you could protect me. And you have. Over and over, you’ve saved my life, seeking no glory for any of it. And now? All these years I’m still alive, because of you, and I’m not the same. You have unequivocally and irreversibly changed me. The way I look at the world, the way I look at myself…I am a better man, because I have you next to me.”

“Really?” Merlin asks softly, after a long while of silence, of him fighting himself over the truth of Arthur’s words.

“Really. You’re the best person I know. And do you really think any of our hands are clean? Gwaine? Me? These are the rules of our lives, and we can only hope that we have done more good than harm.” This is something Arthur has recently convinced himself of. That he helps, more than he hurts. He doesn’t know yet if he entirely believes it for himself, but for Merlin? There’s no question. “You are inherently good, Merlin. There isn’t any question about it. I would never want you to change. I want you to be you, always.”

Merlin seems to consider this for a long time, then comes crashing into Arthur’s side in a bone-crushing hug. Arthur hugs him back without hesitation.

“You aren’t broken, Merlin.” Arthur whispered, echoing what Merlin had said to him. “You’ve just taken a lot of hits.”

“If you of all people think I’m…if even you can forgive me for all of it, then alright. I guess.”

“You guess?” Arthur teased, and because this just wouldn’t do, he broke the hug. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s head under his elbow, ruffling his hair in a noogie until Merlin was laughing and yelling for him to stop. “Better?” Merlin nodded, a small smile still sitting comfortably on his face.

“Thanks.”

“Is that why you don’t want to be the Court Sorcerer?” Arthur asked slowly.

“I just…I don’t like using my magic much, anymore.” Merlin explained. Arthur narrowed his eyes.

“You use it to make me a plum every morning!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah, but. You don’t count.” Merlin said, and then reached behind his back. When his hand returned it held two plums, as if to prove his point.

“Alright, why don’t I count?” Arthur asked, taking a bite of his plum. Merlin raised an eyebrow, like Arthur was the slowest person in Camelot.

“It’s all for you, Arthur. It’s always only been for you.”

That sounded a lot like I love you, to Arthur. And he would respond, but something caught his eye.

“Pansies!” Arthur exclaimed, getting up to walk toward the flowers. “Well, of course they’d be here, since they’re your favorites.” He finished, kneeling by them.

“What?” Merlin sounded shocked behind him, but Arthur continued inspecting the flowers.

“I wanted to put them in the bouquet, but the castle gardens don’t grow them.”

“What?”

“They don’t grow sunflowers, either. Such a shame. They are so very Merlin, don’t you think?” Arthur finally turned around to see Merlin had taken to standing. Arthur stood up too, ringing his hands.

“How do you know my favorite flower?” Merlin asked. Arthur swallowed, suddenly embarrassed.

“Well, you told me.” He said, shyly.

“I don’t remember that.” Merlin said, making Arthur shrug.

“Oh, it was years ago. We were on one of our longer journeys, sent to seek some treasure for my father. That was the first time you ever rode by my side. And you asked me my favorite flower, and I didn’t have one, and then you said yours was a pansy. Because they were finicky, but they’re the most colorful, and they grow like old friends.” Arthur explained, immediately regretting it, because Merlin’s eyes were wide.

“And you remembered that? Why?”

“I remember everything about you. It’s a privilege to know you at all, I can’t forget any of it. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.” Arthur said slowly, careful to dance around his words, careful to avoid the words he could never find the courage to stay.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Merlin doesn’t say anything. They just stand there, looking at each other, waiting for the sun to finish the sentences they couldn’t.

Arthur feels his honesty hiding in his gut, in his throat, under his tongue. He feels sick with it. Sick with the want for Merlin to feel loved, sick with the need to to rid this building pressure from his chest, sick with the knowledge that he’d held this secret too long, sick because he knows he can hold it no longer.

“I don’t…” Arthur tried to take a breath, “I don’t know when it started. But one morning I woke up and I knew that I couldn’t live without you, that I love you with everything I am and everything I have ever been. One morning I woke up and I never woke up the same, after that.”

Arthur’s voice wasn’t as shaky as he had thought it would be. Maybe because these are the things that have been running in his head, a stream that never seems to stop.

“I love you too.” Merlin answered. He didn’t speak in a poem, not the way Arthur often did. His words are plain, and that would have been fine, had they not been said the same way Arthur has always wanted to say them. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Arthur takes great large strides to reach Merlin, getting to him in milliseconds. Once he’s there, he doesn’t know what to do.

Merlin does, though. He takes Arthur’s face in his hands, and Arthur is only putty now, a mold waiting to be designed and held by Merlin’s hands. And then Merlin kisses him.

It’s soft and it’s sweet, matching their setting. It’s the sort of kiss that belongs in meadows.

When they break apart, it’s because Arthur couldn’t stop smiling, which made Merlin giggle, which in turn made Arthur laugh, and so on and so on, until they’re hugging. Arthur’s arms wrap around Merlin’s neck, his smile hidden under his collarbone, and Merlin’s arms hold Arthur’s waist and back, his smile buried in Arthur’s hair.

“You’re my favorite.” Arthur said simply.

“Favorite what?”

“Everything.”

This makes Merlin laugh, his realest, most guffaw-laugh, the one Arthur rarely gets to hear.

“C’mon, you packed us this delicious picnic and all we’ve done is ignore it!” Merlin pulled him over, never letting go of Arthur’s hand, and they both sit on the blanket.

“I’m not biased, you know.” Arthur said as they got comfortable beside each other.

“Hm?”

“I don’t ignore your failings because I’m in love with you. I don’t love you in spite of them. I love you, and you have failings, because you are just as human as anyone. Those things aren’t separate, but they don’t have any consequence for each other.” Arthur said, glad he could finally speak plainly. He could finally breathe.

“Interesting.” Merlin replied passively.

“I can prove it.” Arthur answered. Merlin waited. “A bad man does bad things and feels nothing. A good man does bad things and carries them on his back. A loved man shares the load.”

Merlin holds him closer and kisses his temple. (Arthur had never been kissed on the side of his head before. He worries suddenly that this is a dream, and any moment now his curtains will be opened and he will be pulled out of bed.)

The men eat and giggle and compliment each other. Merlin teases Arthur and Arthur throws grapes at him, and when Merlin runs away, Arthur chases him. They soak in the sun and by noon, Arthur’s head is in Merlin’s lap and Merlin is kissing his nose intermittently.

And this, Arthur thinks, has to be his favorite day.

Chapter Text

Courting is much easier, and perhaps more fun, now that Arthur knows how Merlin feels.

Arthur wonders to himself for a few moments the following morning, Merlin cuddled into his side, how long he could’ve had this, if he’d been braver. Wonders why he had never tried to communicate his feelings before. Except, he knows why. The truth is, Arthur had never believed before that he was worthy of being loved in return.

He’s starting to.

But Merlin seems a little worse for wear, a little worn on the edges. It seems that Merlin has been hurting, too, and Arthur hadn’t noticed.

Arthur had enjoyed their picnic yesterday for what it was: a getaway, an escape from reality. Merlin’s confession of despair was almost negligent in that perfect world, of love, kisses, and flowers. But now, back in the castle, returned to the real world and all of its turbulence, Arthur has a mind that settles on Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.

Not that that’s anything new.

But this morning, looking down at his long eyelashes and sharp cheekbones, Arthur wonders how many nights of Merlin’s self-doubt he had missed. When did Merlin begin to hate his magic?

Was it because of Arthur?

Arthur doesn’t mean to make it all about himself. In fact, he’d prefer to have nothing to do with causing Merlin’s pain, ever. But up until very recently, Merlin had believed that Arthur still hated magic. Hated him.

And only one or two years ago, Arthur may have been uncertain about how he felt about magic and magic-users, but he certainly didn’t act it. How many times had he openly condoned it, in front of Merlin? How many times had he spat something hateful, about any of Merlin’s kind?

It certainly isn’t like Merlin ever cared what Uther thought. And everyone else seemed to know that Merlin had magic already.

Had it been Arthur, careless in his youth, that had damaged his Merlin so deeply?

Arthur physically feels his heart stop at the mere thought. The idea of it…Arthur has to force himself to take a deep breath.

He is not a fool, he is not a coward.

What is past, is, unfortunately, past. There is nothing Arthur can do to change any of it.

This means that Merlin’s shield is under repair. Arthur will do everything he can to help him rebuild it. Because he loves Merlin’s magic. He loves Merlin’s endless kindness. He loves Merlin, as a friend, and as everything else. Arthur silently swears that he will never live another day allowing Merlin to exist in a world where he does not know that.

Merlin is still asleep, warm at his side, closer than he has ever been. They fell asleep snuggled together, and Arthur had slept with a smile.

The night had not been so kind, however, and Arthur had woken up with a start. He doesn’t mind, though, because it gives him more time to think. The sun has not risen, not yet streaming through the cracks in his closed curtains. Arthur looks over his sleeping companion. It takes more effort than it should to stop himself from placing a kiss on his forehead. But his strength wins out, deciding he wouldn’t want to wake Merlin too early.

A part of him wants to just run away with Merlin, somewhere simpler, where they could have picnics every day, and Merlin wouldn’t have to use his magic if he didn’t want to. For a moment, Arthur pictures a quiet farm. Horses, and sunflowers, and food to eat and enough to trade. He imagines a lake nearby that they could enjoy in warm weather. He imagines days where they sleep in, and days when they get up to watch the sunrise.

Merlin loves the sunrise.

Then Arthur thinks of his knights. He thinks of Leon, and Percival, and Gwaine. He remembers the nights of travel in which they became friends, the long days of training together, the fun in their feigned battles. He thinks of Gwen, who is one of Merlin’s dearest friends, and Morgana, whom he could never leave. He thinks of his people. Those in the lower town, all so different, and yet so kind and hopeful for their new King. How could he ever leave them? It’s not the responsibility that it once was. It used to be so heavy on Arthur’s shoulders that it would dig into him, bury him. But now, his shoulders are strong enough to bear it, and he finds that he doesn’t mind. He loves leading and training his knights. He loves seeking the counsel and advice of the people he trusts, and using their opinions to rule the people that trust him. He loves hearing his people’s concerns, or the inner-workings of their lives, and helping however he can. Each day, he wants to make his Kingdom stronger, raise it and its people up, into prosperity.

As simple and soft as life on a farm might sound, Arthur feels he would probably grow bored there. He would miss this life, these people, these ever so heavy responsibilities.

Is it the curse of the world to always wish for what you do not have?

Although, when Arthur really thinks about it, what else could he possibly hope to have? He has been blessed with this life. This castle and every person and thing within it. Blessed to have met Merlin in the market all those years ago, and to be saved by him ever since.

Blessed to have Merlin now.

Just as Arthur is debating if he should make his way to the kitchens to fetch Merlin breakfast, he stirs with a yawn.

“Oh! Morning, you.” He murmurs when he sees that Arthur is already awake.

“Good morning, Merlin.” Arthur responds with a smile. Merlin’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“Have I overslept?” As he asks, he shifts to look at the window. The curtains are still drawn, but no sunlights seeps under or through them. “Oh. Then why are you awake?”

“I was just debating if I should get you breakfast.” Arthur answered, placing a kiss on Merlin’s forehead. Finally. Arthur can’t help but enjoy the open-mouthed smile Merlin has in response to this.

“That’s alright. Gwen will be waiting for me, anyways.” He answered with a smile. Merlin leaves the bed and draws the curtains open, promising to be back with food soon.

He doesn’t return until the sun has risen, right at his usual time. Arthur really doesn’t mind the wait, assuming he had gotten caught up in talking to Gwen, but chastises him all the same.

He waited until Merlin had safely set down the tray to chuck a pillow at him.

“Only my manservant—” Merlin throws the pillow back at him, the surprise of it cutting him off.

“Hm?” Merlin asked sarcastically. “What was that, my lord? Were you going to say ‘thank you’ to your hard working, lovely, manservant?”

“Not exactly.” Arthur grumbled with a smile.

“Oh. Well, alright. Guess no breakfast for you!” Merlin then grabs the tray from Arthur’s desk.

“No, no, no, I'll take it back!” Arthur whined. Merlin laughed.

“C’mon, out of bed, then. Let me go fetch your water.” Merlin commanded.

“You don’t have to, you know.” Arthur answered. Merlin’s hand is already on the door handle, his back to Arthur. “Magic is free in Camelot, so no-one else would mind. And I certainly don’t. I love your magic.”

Merlin tried to hide his sigh, but Arthur could feel it ringing in his ears.

“You’ve barely seen my magic.” He answered, turning around.

“But I’ve seen you.” Arthur said simply. Merlin just seemed to deflate further. “When was the last time you let your magic off its leash? When was the last time you let yourself be fully you?”

Merlin seemed to pause at this.

“I…I don’t know.” He admitted eventually.

“Don’t you think that maybe the reason it’s exhausted you is because you’ve been pushing it down for so long? Magic is free. You should be too.” Arthur pushed, hoping he was helping.

“I…” Merlin seemed deep in thought, then: “I’ll think about it.” His voice actually seemed lighter, and his face seemed to soften. “Thank you, darling.”

Arthur nodded but didn’t hide the concern he wore on his face. Merlin raised an eyebrow, then, without breaking eye contact, murmured something.

Arthur looked to the tub to see it filled. He looked back at Merlin, awestruck.

“It’s the temperature you like.” Merlin said, then left the doorway to return to Arthur’s side. He stole a biscuit, kissed Arthur’s cheek, and took a bite. “Finish your breakfast.” Merlin giggled, mouth full, and walked out the door.

Arthur finished most of his meal, leaving the grapes for Merlin, and went to the bath. By the time he was in the tub, Merlin returned with another biscuit. Arthur gasped.

“Is that for me? Do I finally get to eat my own bread?”

Merlin laughed, and then took a bite of the biscuit.

“Sorry, my love. Mine.” He answered. Arthur rolled his eyes.

This is the best morning he’s ever had. Is this his life now? Passing kisses and pet names and Merlin eating his food, always? Arthur thinks there is nothing better.

Merlin moved about the room quietly, doing his regular morning chores. Arthur tried to relax into the tub, and to wash his hair. But the man from his dream last night had drowned, and it suddenly felt as though he’d be pulled under.

Arthur hated to ask for more, as though it might annoy Merlin, but he couldn’t help it.

“Merlin?” He asked unsurely.

“Hm?”

“Will you hum? Please?” Arthur glanced at Merlin to see a soft smile.

“Of course, darling.”

Merlin hummed, which calmed Arthur down enough that he could actually bathe. After he was done, Merlin greeted him with a towel and a question.

“You had a nightmare last night, didn’t you? That’s why you were up so early.” Arthur nodded. Merlin looked disappointed. “I thought…maybe I was keeping them away. Now that I say it, it sounds silly.” Merlin began to help Arthur dress.

“No! No, you’re right. You do. They’re less now. Less often, less intense. And…I’m okay, when I wake up. You’re next to me, keeping me safe.”

Merlin stopped tying Arthur’s shirt, hands still on his chest.

“Really?” Merlin asked.

“Really. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep without you by my side again.” Arthur promised. “You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

“What else is new?” Merlin snorted, “I’ve been stuck with you for years!”

“You’re welcome.” Arthur replied indignantly. Merlin wrinkled his nose in disgust, but it quickly faded into a grin. He put Arthur’s drying hair into place. Arthur smiled, because he honestly couldn’t help it.

“Ready for another day as King?” Merlin asked.

“Yes. And, actually, would you mind running an errand for me?” Arthur had finally solved the problem of his meetings, and why it bothered him so much. Merlin squinted.

“What’s the errand?”

“Go into town, to Walter, the woodcrafter? I need something from him. Something big.”

Arthur went into detail with his request, and gave Merlin more than enough coins to pay the merchant. He reminded Merlin to ask after Rosemary, who’s nearly five now. Merlin nodded, a proud smile on his face, and then went on his way.

Meanwhile, Arthur needs to go to training.

Chapter Text

Arthur cannot remember a time when he has been this relaxed, this happy, this…safe. He feels safe. Safe to feel emotions, safe to reach for what he wants, safe to break or make mistakes or whatever else comes along.

Safe from his father. Safe from his nightmares.

This concept hits him like a mountain of stones during training, when Gwaine invites him to the tavern tomorrow night with the other knights.

Arthur says yes.

He can’t remember the last time he’d done that. Maybe never.

Friendship is a fragile thing. Physical touch is a privilege. And when Gwaine wraps an arm around his shoulders, Arthur doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t stop breathing, trying to revel in a rarity. For the first time, Arthur doesn’t view it as something that must be rare.

As King, he won’t always have time for training with his knights, or evenings at the tavern with his friends, or lazy mornings with Merlin. But he gets to have them, when he has the time, and Arthur really is not alone at all, is he? He hasn’t been alone for a very long time.

When Merlin returns from town with a report from the woodcrafter that the requested item would be completed within the week, Arthur takes his hand and kisses his knuckles lightly.

“I have to go to the great hall. Council meeting with my Advisor. Are you busy?” He asked, and greatly enjoyed the way Merlin’s eyes lit up and his face went pink.

“No, no, I’m not busy,” Merlin stammered, shaking his head slightly, “I’m never busy. I’ll never be busy again.”

Arthur laughs, feeling that same giddiness that’s been building in him all morning, and pulls Merlin in for a quick kiss.

“What a dedicated servant you are.” He teased. Merlin glared at him, which only made Arthur smile more. “Come on, then.”

They hold hands as they walk down the hallway. Arthur’s heart is beating in his throat, even though he’s not nervous. He’s just…happy. He’s just really happy.

The joy he’s feeling seems to be infectious, because when they arrive in the great hall, his Advisor is laughing with Gwen, her head thrown back and her giggles echoing through the room.

“Morgana!” He called out, pulling out Merlin’s chair for him.

“Since when are you on time? I thought I'd have at least five more minutes with my Gwen.” Morgana pouted. Gwen rubbed her arm soothingly, but rolled her eyes with a smile.

“I’ve been told I’m supposed to take notes.” She said, though it sounded more like a question. Arthur raised an eyebrow, and looked to Morgana.

“That’s a really great idea! As long as you’re comfortable, Gwen.” Arthur exclaimed. Gwen nodded shyly.

“Yes, well, I have very good penmanship.”

“Of course you do.” Merlin said with a sigh. “She’s the best at everything.” He pretended to whisper at Morgana.

“Yes, I know.” She loudly whispered back. Gwen gave another giggle, and then they got down to their meeting.

They talk, among other things, about the introduction of Merlin as Court Sorcerer—at long last—and the exact details of what that title requires. Merlin still looks nervous about accepting, and Arthur reaches for his hand under the table. It’s all he can do for now, but they will definitely be having a talk about it later. Another one. Yesterday, with the picnic, felt like a dream. This morning, with the bathwater felt like hope. But Merlin deserves something tangible. Something to hold on to. Something sure.

I am not scared of you, Arthur thinks. Not ever. Not even a little.

Unfortunately, each time Arthur tries to explain this, Merlin only seems to pull away further.

It’s after the meeting ends, on the way to the throne room, that Arthur discovers this effect.

“I know you’re still nervous about being Court Sorcerer, but I know you’ll be great at it. You have a fantastic, incredible gift. And now at long last Camelot finally gets to see it, to see you.”

Merlin gives a stiff nod.

Arthur stops walking.

“You believe me, don’t you, love?” He asked, turning fully toward him. Merlin mirrors his movement.

“Of course.” Merlin said half-heartedly. Arthur doesn’t move away, doesn’t keep walking.

“Merlin—”

“I’m just nervous, that’s all. It’s fine. I’m fine.” Merlin said, pulling away from Arthur’s gaze and continuing their walk down the hallway.

This happens again after dinner, when Arthur has retired to his room to finish a few documents in the tranquility that only Merlin’s presence can bring.

Merlin is polishing his armor, sitting by the fireplace.

“Why do you polish it, if magic could just do it in a moment?” Arthur finds himself asking. Merlin doesn’t look up for a moment, but when he does, he has a lopsided smile on his face.

“How else would I waste time keeping you company, prat?” He answered.

“Fair enough I suppose.”

“Plus sometimes it takes the physical effort to put the enchantments and things on it.” As soon as Merlin finishes talking, Arthur watches him tense up.

“Enchantments?” Arthur can’t help sounding surprised.

Merlin, completely rigid, gives a firm nod.

“Protections and things. It’s harder for people to hurt you. Harder to run you through.” His voice is stilted, and he won’t look up. For Arthur, this simply will not do.

“How long have you been doing that?” He asked, hoping to get him to open up.

“Years.”

“Oh.”

Arthur waits for Merlin to continue, but he doesn’t.

“Thank you, love. I’m sure it’s saved my life many times over.”

Merlin gives a snort.

“Cleary doesn’t work very well, seeing how often you’ve nearly died anyway.” His tone has a bite to it. Arthur gets up from his desk.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, sitting beside Merlin. He only nods again. “Merlin, this magic really has probably saved me more times than either of us can count. I can’t imagine how many bandits I’ve got the jump on just because their strikes didn’t hit hard enough to slow me. That must have been you, hm?”

“Suppose so.”

“Merlin?”

“What?” Merlin finally looks up from the armor with a glare. There’s a tense wrinkle between his brows and Arthur has the urge to smooth it with his thumb, or place a kiss there.

“Have I said something to upset you?” Arthur asked, dumbly, because he knows the answer really has something to do with Merlin’s revelation of being afraid of his magic.

But Merlin is made of magic. Born of it. Arthur understands the conditioning of Camelot, how Merlin must have grown used to hiding himself away, but surely Arthur can convince him now that he’s safe here. That Arthur will protect him.

Unless Arthur isn’t the problem. Unless Merlin isn’t scared about his own safety.

At the picnic, the way he’d talked about himself…Dirty, he’d said. Unclean.

Which is…a terrifying thing to hear. Someone calling themselves something like that? Merlin, calling himself that? Dirty?

At the time, Arthur had assumed he meant muddied with guilt, or blood-stained. These are emotions Arthur can understand, can relate to. But what if it were something more? Something worse? Merlin doesn’t just fear his safety, doesn’t just fear himself, doesn’t even just hate himself.

He hates magic. He hates himself because of his magic. And he hates magic because of himself.

Arthur wants to bury himself alive, because he’ll never be sure that he hadn’t played a significant part to this line of thinking.

And how does he convince Merlin otherwise, now? How can he get through to him? Had he believed him in the forest at all? This morning, with the bathwater, it had seemed like he had brightened at the idea of opening up to his magic. Hadn’t he?

Arthur has to try to get through to him. He doesn’t know how else to, other than repetition and long, hard conversations about it. He’ll drag Merlin, kicking and screaming, into seeing himself how Arthur sees him. No, how everyone else sees him. The way Gwen trusts him, the way Gwaine reaches for him, the way Morgana views him as a comfort and teacher…

Oh, Gods.

Morgana had mentioned, when she’d revealed that Merlin had been the one to help her learn more about her magic, how calm he’d seemed. Older, somehow, she’d said. She said he’d been so focused, barely laughing beside them…

Arthur feels sick. He’s a fucking idiot.

He’s been feeling bad for himself all this time, and Merlin had gotten so good at lying about his magic that Arthur hadn’t bothered to realize he must’ve also gotten good at lying about his feelings about magic. Not just his magic. All magic.

“No.” Merlin said, in response to Arthur’s question, which he feels like he’d asked ages ago.

“Merlin. Your magic is beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful.” Arthur tries. Merlin rolls his eyes and looks away. “Why do you think otherwise?” What can I do to convince you, he wants to ask.

“Because I know that you are going to leave me.” Merlin forced out, shoulders shuddering with the effort. He stood up very suddenly. “Because one day you will see who I really am, and hate it.”

Arthur tried to suppress a growl. He will never allow Merlin to feel unloved by him again. He’ll be long-dead before he ever stops loving Merlin.

“I am not afraid of you, Merlin.” Arthur spoke very clearly, as though trying to write the words in Merlin’s head. Arthur stood up, reaching for him. But Merlin would not be deterred.

“But you should be! How can you not see it? How can you not feel it, when I sleep next to you? I am a monster! And the darkness is only creeping closer, each time I use a spell.”

“There is no darkness.” Arthur responded, voice gentle, but firm.

“You just don’t see it!” Merlin nearly yelled, his hands waving and shaking in front of him. “It has convinced you to trust me, to love me, so that when it attacks you won’t be able to stop it! It’s coming, Arthur. He’s coming. Out of the forest, out of Serpent’s Pass. I can feel it, crawling up my throat.” Arthur stepped toward him, wrapping both hands around Merlin’s cheeks. Serpent’s Pass? He’s coming?

He tries to remember what Merlin had seen in that damned forest, but realizes Merlin never really explicitly told him what he saw. The only thing he’d said about it…

What did you see?

Someone I hate.

He’d seen himself. Arthur had been chased by visions of his loved ones dying, his inability to find and help Merlin. But Merlin had only seen himself.

The only thing Merlin is afraid of, is himself.

Arthur is about to speak, about to disagree, but Merlin isn’t done.

“You are a fool if you don’t see it. You are a fucking coward if you don’t stop it.” Merlin spits the words like poison, but Arthur recognizes them for what they are. He’s trying to prove himself right. He’s trying to push Arthur away. So Arthur grips him tighter.

“You are not darkness, Merlin.” Arthur said softly. He took a tiny breath, and then showed his cards, praying he’d put the pieces of the puzzle together correctly. “And I don’t think it’s just you that you hate, is it? That’s why you had been so indifferent about the druids that Uther ordered us to kill. It broke me in half, I cried until I couldn’t anymore, until I was numb. But you barely blinked. Because you’re scared of them too, I think. All magic.”

Merlin blinked, looking surprised, then looked at the ground. Arthur does not let go.

“It’s not your fault, Merlin. You have lived in Camelot for too long. Somewhere along the way you stopped smiling, and I never noticed. You started to believe the lies that Uther spewed. The beliefs even I held when I was younger. But Merlin,” Arthur gently makes Merlin look up at him. “You are not evil. Magic is not evil. Magic is not evil, Merlin. It’s just not.

“You have kept your magic tied up inside of you for so long, no wonder it feels as if it is crawling out of you! Camelot has convinced you to keep your magic chained up, on a leash, stashed in a corner that you refuse to acknowledge. But you don’t have to, now. You don’t have to hide this part of you away ever again. I refuse to be afraid of you. There is nothing to be afraid of.” Arthur moved one of his hands away from Merlin’s cheek and over his heart. He can feel Merlin’s fast-paced heartbeat underneath his hands, and tries to speak even more gently, trying desperately to slow it, trying to make Merlin feel safe.

“It’s—” Merlin tried to protest, but Arthur wouldn’t let him.

“I have known you for so long, now, that I am sure: You are good. You are the most good man I have ever known. Stronger than Gwaine, braver than Leon, kinder than Percival. Better than me in every way. And I don’t even mind, because I am able to look to you each day, for your kindness, your help, your advice. Your magic is not something to be afraid of. Magic is not something to be afraid of. You are everything,” Arthur kissed his forehead, “And I know that because I know you. Don’t waste your life being scared of something beautiful.”

This is a lesson Arthur had reveled in only this morning. How much time had he wasted, being scared to break fragile things? How often had he pulled his hand away from something beautiful?

Beautiful things deserve more than fear. And Merlin, every corner of him, is beautiful. His magic is just another piece that Arthur will devote the rest of his life to worshiping.

As Arthur finishes talking, Merlin collapses into him, and Arthur holds him tightly. He does for Merlin what Merlin had done for him, the night that Arthur had attempted to get himself killed.

Gods, they both need a lot of love, don't they?

Arthur spent his time petting Merlin’s hair, whispering quiet reassurances, as Merlin sobbed into his chest.

“You are so loved, darling. You are so beautiful and kind and good.”

“It’s alright, it’s okay, you’re safe.”

“You’re my favorite, always. Always.”

“No-one is afraid, my love. We’re safe with you.”

Strangely, Arthur realizes he can’t remember the last time he’d seen Merlin cry. It must have been that night, the night Uther would later attempt murder. But Merlin had been crying for Arthur, trying to convince him to believe what he’d been saying. It has taken a long time, but at long last, he does. Merlin had been right, just as Arthur is right about this. But before that…when had he last seen Merlin cry? He can’t remember. Merlin had been hurting all alone. Arthur promised himself quietly that he would never allow that again.

Merlin seems smaller than usual. Of course, when they’re standing together, Merlin is taller than him, and so often he forgets how skinny he is. Arthur uses his strength and broadened shoulders to keep Merlin safe in his arms.

He wonders if they’d both be better off now, if they’d been more honest with each other years ago. If Arthur had confessed he loved him, and explained how he’d felt about magic. If Merlin had told him he felt the same, and admitted his abilities.

And yet, Arthur can’t help but think that perhaps they hadn’t been ready back then. Perhaps Arthur needed to see it, needed to know how he felt about magic for sure. Perhaps Arthur needed to save them in order to realize that he needed saving, too. And perhaps he was meant to be hurt, meant to lay on death’s door, in order for Merlin to know how he felt for sure. Perhaps he needed to be saved by Morgana, in order for her to be so fiercely protected now.

Perhaps their lives are a spool of yarn, unwinding in one long unseen string, letting everything fall into place with the promise of eventually.

And here it comes, their eventually. It would be one day at a time, but at long last Arthur felt surrounded by the love he’d been desperate for his whole life. At long last Arthur was in a position, mentally stable enough, to help someone else up from their feet. At long last he felt a sense of surety. He couldn’t fix Merlin, because Merlin doesn’t need fixing. But he could be here for him, and he could hold him, and he could love him, because what Merlin does need is love.

And so they stay there, holding each other, warmed by the heat of the fireplace, as Merlin’s sobs float away into the night.

It’s a very long while before Merlin begins to catch his breath. Even then, Arthur does not let go. He quiets a tiny chuckle when he pictures Gaius showing up at the door and then attempting murder—the similarity between this moment and that night seem to end here, though, because Merlin remains safe in his arms. Just as Arthur prefers.

When Merlin’s breath evens out, Arthur leads him gently over to the bed, helping him strip to his underclothes, and then tucks him in. It feels wrong, somehow, to slide into the other side of the bed with Merlin in such a fragile state. If it was Arthur, he knows he wouldn’t want to be left alone. He knows he would want Merlin to stay beside him. But assuming it’s the same for Merlin feels unfair.

He is at a standstill until Merlin murmurs quietly.

“Please come cuddle?”

Arthur, grateful to have been given such clear consent, changes and slips into bed beside him, pulling Merlin toward himself. Merlin rolls over, so that his face is against Arthur’s chest, and hides both his arms between them. Arthur wraps himself around Merlin, holding him tightly.

“You just get some rest, my love. I am so proud of you. You are so loved, exactly as you are.”

Merlin hums something that sounds like sleepy agreement, which is good enough for Arthur. He keeps whispering encouraging things until Merlin falls asleep beside him. Arthur dozes off sometime after, planning the following day, trying to work out the final details of the idea forming in his head.

Chapter Text

“Good morning.” Arthur murmured into Merlin’s hair when he felt him waking.

“Hi.” Merlin responded softly. Arthur held him tighter, and he could feel Merlin’s tense body relaxing.

“How are you feeling?” He asked gently. Merlin yawned, opening his eyes.

“Tired.” He said, but Arthur caught the small smile on his face. He looked well-rested. Good.

Usually, Arthur is the one having to look up at Merlin, even laying down. But today Merlin is the smaller of the two, and Arthur certainly doesn’t mind cuddling him, holding him like he’s the most precious thing in the world—because he is.

As if reading Arthur’s mind, Merlin finally forms a proper sentence.

“Thank you. For last night. For everything you said.” His voice is hoarse and scratchy, but he is still speaking so softly that it barely matters. Arthur leans slightly to kiss his forehead.

“Let’s take the day off again, today. I did lots of Kingly things yesterday. I’ll let Morgana take care of the castle, and you’ll let me take care of you.” Arthur half-begged. Merlin immediately made to squirm away, uncomfortable with the attention, but Arthur refused to let him go. Merlin is not used to being the one taken care of. This will change, effective immediately.

“No, Arthur, that’s okay—”

“Please, love. Let me just take care of you.”

The look on Merlin’s face makes Arthur want to melt. His eyes are wide, and there is a tinge of red on his cheeks, and his frown has the smallest of upturns to it. It looks a lot like hope. Arthur decides he loves this look.

“I know you’re busy…” Merlin trailed off, but he didn’t make any move to get away, which Arthur counted as a success. Instead of answering, however, Arthur only laid down, and pulled Merlin closer to him.

“I am never ever too busy for this. Never too busy for you.” He said softly, trailing his fingertips up and down Merlin’s arm. “I love you. More than anything else. You will always come first.” He heard Merlin take a deep breath, so quickly he added, “Clotpole.”

Merlin let out the breath in a surprised giggle, which was the desired effect.

“I love you too.” Merlin said quietly.

“Do you want to sleep more, or do you want me to go get you breakfast?” Arthur asked.

“I can go get breakfast, Arthur.” Merlin tried.

“Absolutely not.” Arthur scoffed, “Are you hungry?”

Merlin stayed silent, which means, ‘yes, but I don’t want to inconvenience you.’ Arthur pulled away.

“I’m going to get you breakfast. Any requests?”

“No.” Merlin said stubbornly. Arthur narrowed his eyes, then tackled him with feather-light kisses all over his face, until Merlin was laughing.

“Fine, fine. Biscuits. Obviously. You prat.” Arthur pulled away with a smile, going to his dresser to find suitable clothes for their lazy day.

“Deal. I’ll be right back. While I’m gone, please think about how wonderful you are and how everyone in the castle is madly in love with you. Feel free to hop in the bath or change into my clothes.”

“I have my own clothes!” Merlin half-whined, even though he was blushing.

“Yes, but mine are softer. And I think you’d look beautiful in them.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but Arthur caught the way he smiled to himself. He finished dressing and reached for the door.

“I’ll be right back. I love you.” Arthur said. Merlin nodded with a shy smile.

Before heading to the kitchens, however, he went to find Morgana. It was still early, so he was hoping she’d be in her chamber, waiting for breakfast. When he knocked on the door, he was excited and a little surprised to find Gwen on the other side, looking disheveled.

“My lord.” She said with a yawn. Arthur raised a brow.

“Do I need to give you two a minute?” He teased. She gave a sheepish smile but let him in.

“Good morning, brother.” Morgana greeted, stretching her arms over her head. She still laid in bed, and Gwen crawled back in beside her.

“Good morning to my favorite new gossip subject.” He said with a wiggle of his brows. Morgana rolled her eyes. “I was wondering if you’d take over the castle today,” He embellished with a bow, “My Lady?”

Morgana raised a brow.

“Don’t you ever do any work?” She teased. Arthur gave a soft smile. “Of course I’ll do it. I am a great Queen, after all.”

“Yes. You are.” Arthur said very sincerely. She seemed to recognize the lack of snark in his tone and gave a grateful smile.

“Is there any particular reason you are making me take over all your royal duties?”

“I just…” Arthur trailed off for a moment, but decided Gwen, being his best friend, should most definitely know. Some of it, at least. “Merlin is having a hard time.”

“Is he alright?” Gwen spoke up.

“He isn’t hurt, or anything.” Arthur said vaguely.

“Is he alright?” Gwen asked again, more seriously. Arthur sighed.

“Honestly? No. And he’ll need his friends. But not right now. I don’t want to overwhelm him. But I do have a plan—a hope really—and, if he’s up for it, meet us at the tavern tonight?”

Gwen seemed to relax slightly, with a nod, now that she had more information and plan for tonight.

“Give him my love?”

“Of course.”

“I’m happy to take over today, Arthur. You know that.” Morgana chimed in. Arthur gave a nod, then went for the door.

“You know, usually Kings are up and out of bed at dawn—” He is cut off when Morgana throws a pillow at him. “Alright, alright!”

When Arthur reaches the kitchens, he finds a tray easily enough. He looks around for breakfast items, running through a mental list of Merlin’s favorite foods.

“Can I help you with anything, Sire?” Said a voice from behind him. He turned around, grateful.

“Marge!” He exclaimed. She looked overjoyed that, once again, he’d remembered her name.

“Oh, um, hello, Sire.”

“Marge, I’m just gathering breakfast, is there anything you prefer over everything else?”

With a nervous smile, she led him over to a counter that held an arrangement of sweet breads.

“This one,” She pointed, “Is far too delicious. One of the chefs, Alexander, got the recipe from his brother, who lives overseas. I’ve never had anything else like it.” She was pointing at a sweet roll, which looked very gooey and creamy and had salty nuts and crumbs atop it.

“Thank you!” Arthur exclaimed. “If I had more time, I’d thank Alexander myself, but I should get back quickly. Please give him my gratitude?” He asked. She gave him a nod and a smile.

He finished loading up the tray quickly, with berries and biscuits and anything else that reminded him of Merlin.

When he returned to his quarters, he was immediately glad he entered quietly, because Merlin had fallen back asleep on his bed, unchanged. This pleased Arthur just fine, and ducked out the door once more to find a servant. He found one walking just down the hall, and asked him to return quickly with water for his bath. The servant, Gregory, was happy to help, and returned shortly. Arthur carried the buckets inside, but didn’t bother pouring them in. Merlin would probably have to heat them, but Arthur didn’t want him to feel like he had to use his magic if he didn’t feel comfortable. Not yet, anyway.

Arthur crawled back into bed as quietly as he could. Merlin gave a small hmph, indicating that he had stirred a bit, but Arthur just placed a kiss to his temple and held him again.

Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.

He didn’t fall asleep, evidently fully awake from his adventures this morning, but he didn’t mind. He liked having the chance to watch the sunlight light up Merlin’s features, liked listening to the sound of his calm breathing, liked having him safe, curled up beside him.

When he awoke, he had a look of relaxation Arthur realized he hadn’t seen in a very long time. They sit up, though Arthur’s arm stays wrapped around his waist.

“Hello.” Merlin said softly, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Hello, beautiful. How are you feeling?” Arthur said.

“Mmm. Lovely. This is such a nice day.” Merlin smiled, leaning over to give Arthur a kiss.

“Do you want your breakfast?” Arthur asked. Merlin gave a hum of approval and a nod, and Arthur reached over to his bedside table where he’d placed the tray.

“Wow, four biscuits. You must really like me.” Merlin teased.

“Oh, sorry, those are for me.” Arthur teased back, and Merlin playfully slapped his shoulder. “Alright, alright, you can have them.” He pretended to relent, completely undermined by the smile that refused to leave his face. “I was thinking we could go for a walk later? How would you feel about that?”

Merlin seemed to think for a moment, then smiled.

“I’d like that, yes. Yes, please.”

“Alright. Then a walk it is.” Arthur agreed, and kissed the tip of his nose. He was so glad they were able to do this, now. He can barely remember how he ever managed to not do this. This comes so easily. This feels like breathing.

Merlin finishes his breakfast, and when he gets up he sees the pails of water waiting beside the tub.

“Surely you didn’t carry those up on your own?” He turned back to Arthur, surprised.

“No, sorry. I’ll admit I had some help.”

“Cheater.” Merlin teased.

“I know! Even Marge helped me with the sticky cake on your tray.”

“Wow. It’s like I’m seeing a whole new version of lazy.” Merlin jokingly crossed his arms. Arthur wrinkled his nose and walked up to him, gently uncrossing arms.

“Do you want a bath, my love?”

“The water must have gone cold by now…” Merlin trailed off, turning around to look at the pails. Arthur stepped closer behind him and wrapped his arms around Merlin’s waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“It’s up to you. We can just change, if you’d rather.” He said softly.

“It’s…it’s just…” He trailed off.

“You are not evil, Merlin. And it isn’t selfish or bad to use your magic on something that isn’t me.” Arthur coaxed gently. He felt rather than heard Merlin take a deep breath.

“I’m…”

“Not. Evil.” Arthur said, when Merlin trailed off once again. Merlin took another breath.

“Not evil.” He whispered quietly, to himself, then held up his hand to pour the buckets and heat the water from several feet away.

“I’m so proud of you, darling. You’re so lovely.” Arthur said, kissing his shoulder again. Merlin shuddered with what Arthur sensed was relief.

Merlin stepped into the bath, but Arthur didn’t move away. Sitting behind the tub, Arthur moved to wash Merlin’s hair for him.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to. If you want me to.”

Merlin tensed up for a moment, but seemed to relax. He gave a subtle nod.

“Alright, my love. You just lean back, okay?” Arthur said softly. Merlin nodded, and did as he was told. “I love you. I love being able to take care of you. I’ve got you, I promise.”

Arthur took his time soaping up Merlin’s hair, complimenting him softly here and there. When Merlin’s eyes fluttered closed, Arthur counted it as a win, and couldn’t help the small smile that slipped onto his lips.

“Thank you.” Merlin murmured, sometime later, eyes still closed.

“After all the times you’ve helped me, in every way imaginable, this is the very least I could do. You are my favorite.”

Arthur caught the small, shy smile that crept onto Merlin’s face.

When Arthur finished washing Merlin the bath, he kissed the top of Merlin’s head, ignoring his now wet hair.

“Come on. Let’s get you up, yeah?” Merlin gave a tiny nod, and Arthur reached for the cloth to dry him off. Merlin was slow out of the bath, and shaking unsurprisingly, though Arthur doubted it was entirely from the cold. Arthur picked out his softest clothes, unable to help himself from picking out colors that he’d long since decided would look amazing on Merlin. Merlin seemed to notice this.

“Purple?” He asked, wearing a tiny smile, “Isn’t that a very rare color? Only for royalty?”

“You look beautiful in purple. Remember that neckerchief I gave you?”

“Yes, but won’t people notice that I’m wearing your clothes?”

“Does that bother you?”

“No.”

“Well,” Arthur took a step forward, taking Merlin’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, “Good.” Arthur brushed imaginary dust off of Merlin’s shoulders, the way Merlin had done for so many years.

Merlin broke out in a smile, a real smile, and looked absolutely flattered. Arthur kissed his cheek.

“Let me change, and then we’ll go for a walk?”

Merlin nodded again, then went to sit on the bed while he waited. Embarrassingly, it took Arthur a bit of extra time to change himself, as it always has.

“Need some help, there?” Merlin teased.

“No, no, I’ve got it. I’m perfectly capable—”

Merlin cut him off by arriving at his side and helping him finish changing. Arthur rolled his eyes, but Merlin looked glad to do it. When they were both ready, Arthur took Merlin by the hand and slowly they meandered out of the castle. They walked through the gardens first, Arthur picking flowers as they walked to hand to Merlin, who accepted them with a giggle and a blush.

They walked through the town, and people stopped to greet not only Arthur, but Merlin. Just as Arthur predicted they would. Everyone loves Merlin, except for Merlin, apparently.

They stopped to say hello to Merlin’s friend, Benny, in his shop.

“Merlin! About time! I was beginning to think ya forgot about me.” Benny teased, his round cheeks becoming more full in his good-natured grin.

“You say that every time I come in here!” Merlin defended himself.

“I wouldn’t have to say it, if ya came in more often.” Benny argued, making Merlin roll his eyes. “And My Lord! How are ya doing, Sire?” Despite the formal words, Benny’s tone remained jovial and light, as if greeting an old friend. Although, that may be true. They have known each other for a very long time. And Arthur is finally ready to admit that he has friends—more than just the knights and Merlin.

“Hello, my friend.” He greeted, excited when the word rolled off his tongue so easily, “I’m enjoying the sunshine. How are things in the shop?”

“Busier than ever! Thanks to your new tax reduction, business ‘round here has been roaring!” Arthur gave a wide smile, and Merlin nudged his shoulder lightly. He and Benny continued talking for another moment as he asked for a large enough blanket to sit on, but he let the conversation drift back between Benny and Merlin. Merlin seemed to regain energy from talking with his friend, laughing lightly—although it seemed less loud than Arthur usually preferred. But that was fine. One step at a time.

Eventually the conversation dwindled out, and Merlin and Arthur made their leave. Arthur ‘accidently’ left a few extra gold coins on the counter, and Benny rightfully pretended not to notice, though Arthur didn’t miss his obvious wink at Merlin.

They continued wandering through town, and Arthur bought Merlin pansies from the flower shop, to add to the bouquet in his hands. They stopped at the woodcrafter for a basket, and then walked around town collecting food for the lunch they hadn’t bothered to plan for in the castle. Merlin had tried to reach for the basket, but Arthur refused to let him carry it. Eventually they walked past the square, and continued into the woods, only a little past the walls of Camelot.

“Do you want to walk to your meadow? Or find a new place?” Arthur asked, giving a squeeze to Merlin’s hand.

“Let’s find a new place?” Merlin asked. Arthur nodded and kissed his temple, and they continued walking until they found a clearing that suited them. Arthur set up the blanket and basket while Merlin walked around a bit, moving any small rocks or logs they could trip over. He came back soon enough, and sat next to Arthur, squeezing in beside him. Arthur wrapped an arm around him, pulling him even closer. Merlin looked around for a moment.

“Where’s your sword?” He asked, surprised. Arthur shrugged.

“I didn’t bring it.”

“What? Why not?”

Arthur gave a soft smile, then spoke what, in his opinion, was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I don’t need it. I’m safe with you.”

Merlin gave a surprised noise, turning to him. Arthur felt him tense and gave him a squeeze.

“I don’t need it. I’m safe with you.” He repeated. “I trust you more than anyone else.”

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek.

Arthur stood up, then lightly pulled Merlin to his feet.

“We’re far away from everyone else. Far from Camelot. It’s just me and you.” He took a breath, then suggested the idea he’d decided on last night. “Let it off the leash. Just to try. Just to see how you feel after.”

Merlin’s eyes went wide and he moved to back away, but Arthur held him tight, pulling his hands to his chest.

“I trust you. There is nothing evil about you. Not even a little bit, I promise.” Merlin tried shaking his head, but Arthur let go of his hands in favor of holding his cheeks. “I have seen your magic! I’ve seen your fire! It is not the kind that burns, Merlin. It’s not. You have the fire that lights up dark hallways, and lives in my fireplace on long nights, and breathes as a campfire that children dance around. You are not something to fear. I am not afraid of you.” Arthur refused to look away from Merlin’s eyes, refused to blink, and he caught the moment that Merlin’s resolve began to crack. “You’ve been pushing it down all this time, and as King, I’ve decided no more. There is nothing more safe and beautiful than your magic.”

Arthur, at long last, stepped away.

“I trust you.” He said gently, but as firm as he could manage.

Merlin looked afraid, but he didn’t look away. He tugged on the corner of his shirt, which is something Arthur rarely saw him do.

“It’s your decision. But I believe in you. And I trust you. I’m safe with you. I promise.”

Merlin blinked, unresponsive. Arthur gave him a moment to think. After several minutes, Merlin gave a slow but sure nod.

“Just once.” He said, quietly.

“Just once.” Arthur agreed, hoping that this would not be true. Hopefully, Merlin wouldn’t be so afraid of his magic if it wasn’t constantly drowning him.

A few more moments pass.

Then, finally, Merlin closes his eyes. Arthur resists the temptation to move back and give him room, because he doesn’t want to risk Merlin assuming he’s afraid. Because Arthur isn’t. He hasn’t been lying. Merlin is the least scary thing he’d ever known. He radiates the feeling of safety, and security, and love, and kindness. Arthur can’t find even an ounce of fear for Merlin’s magic, because it’s just an extension of Merlin. And Merlin is all things good in the world.

He watches as Merlin takes a deep breath. His eyes wrench open, unseeing, with the brightest gold in them that Arthur had ever seen. And that’s when the world seems to explode.

Everything seems to radiate light, so bright that Arthur is blinded by it for a moment. He hears the birds chirp louder, and for some reason can suddenly make out a brook bubbling nearby. Has Merlin moved them?

As the light fades, Arthur takes in their little clearing, now covered in flowers and plants and shine and the thin river only feet away. They hadn’t moved. Merlin had reshaped the earth.

What can only be described as soft fireworks explode around them, rushing from Merlin, filling the forest with colors Arthur had never seen before, and couldn’t hope to count or name.

Vines peeled off of the trees and reached upward, growing and spreading throughout the forest, wrapping around Merlin and Arthur in a crown of green.

Merlin glows, but in a way more beautiful and radiant than Arthur could have even dreamed of. The gold from his eyes seems to shimmer and heal his whole body, and he looks more refreshed than Arthur had seen him in far too long. This golden, healing light reaches in swirls of golden sparkle, wrapping itself around Arthur. He feels it climb up his spine, seeping into his skin, and he wants to laugh from the tingle that runs through his whole body. He can feel his scars—long scratches from fights or small knicks from training—fade, mending itself into the rest of his now smoothed skin. Arthur reactively reaches for his chest, and even through his clothes he can feel the long-healed injury fading into nothing, his bones that might have been chipped returning to their natural state.

Even more wondrous, Arthur feels his insecurity, his fears, the self-hatred he’s been battling, slipping away. It’s a deep breath, the kind that feels as if he’d been waiting for air his whole life. It’s the compliments and kindness he’d wished for as a boy, and the magic seeps into the dark corners of his childhood, placing quiet whispers of confidence and love into his young ears. He feels the swirls of gold surround him as the tight hug he’d been too scared to ask for, for so much of his life. This magic wraps around the entire forest, feeding light and warmth and energy into each and every living thing, making it all glow from the inside out.

Rings of bright white and gold surround Merlin now, and just behind him is a light so bright it seems as though the sun has fallen from the sky and landed in his arms. The rings twirl and twist faster and faster, lifting both Merlin and Arthur away from the ground. He rises, floating, and can see over the tree-line. He can see the entirety of his Kingdom, and senses that the gold he sees wrapping around each person and thing can only be seen by himself and Merlin. He wonders faintly if Morgana can see it too, but his mind is suddenly too busy to think of anything but the sight before him; the crops of his farmers bloom taller and double, the animals of his butchers growing meatier, the fishes in the sea tripling, the horses in their stables becoming faster and stronger, the swords and armor pieces across the Kingdom becoming sharper and more protective, and each person being healed and warmed, the same way he had. He can even see a glow like a dome over the entirety of his land, as if Merlin were casting a protection spell over the whole of the Kingdom.

And then all of the gold, all of the colors, all of the vines, begin to relax and fade as Arthur is gently placed back onto the ground. Merlin, on the other hand, gets to be a few feet above the grass before his eyes flash, flickering back to their regular deep blue, and Merlin drops the rest of the way, landing on his side with a groan.

Arthur rushes to his side, reaching for him with a sense of dread.

It’s quelled quickly by the sound of Merlin’s loud, uproarious, unadulterated laughter. It’s the contagious kind, the kind that Arthur hadn’t properly heard in years. Merlin rolls on his back, laughing and smiling so wide that Arthur barely recognizes him. He can almost make out that golden glow still emanating from him.

“Hi.” Merlin said softly, when he’d calmed down somewhat, though his smile seemed here to stay.

“Hi, gorgeous. How are you feeling?” Arthur asked, leaning over him.

“I love you.” He responded, then launched upwards to wrap his arms around Arthur’s neck. Arthur easily held him, his arms grasping around Merlin’s waist.

“I am so, so proud of you. You are a wonder.” Arthur said in his ear. Merlin laughed in response.

After some time Arthur pulled away to see Merlin crying, but it was very obviously happy tears.

“Thank you,” Merlin said with a sigh, leaning back into the now very soft grass, “Thank you.”

“It was all you, my love. It was all you.”

Eventually they get up, and enjoy their lunch (in which their food has multiplied both in size and taste), laughing and talking, both feeling the light that had healed even the deepest of their pains.

It’s a lovely day—the sky impossibly brighter and more blue than it had been before. They don’t talk about it, and Arthur senses that despite the beauty of today Merlin will still need more reassurances, and that there is another long talk about today in their future but this…this was a wonderful first step.

Gods, he loves this man.

As the sun begins to set, They pack up what remains of their picked over food. Or, more accurately, Merlin waves his hand and the food packs itself up, the blanket folding on its own, and the basket becoming ridiculously light.

“Show off.” Arthur teased. Merlin giggled and kissed his cheek. “Oh! The boys invited me to the tavern tonight. Are you up for a night out?”

“Mhm,” Merlin agreed with a smile, “Sounds fun.”

Merlin took a deep, almost shaky breath, and Arthur instinctively reached to squeeze his hand. Then Merlin muttered something and the basket disappeared from Arthur’s hands.

“It’s in your quarters. That way we can go straight there.” He explained almost self-consciously.

“So clever.” Arthur said sincerely, making Merlin wrinkle his nose and blush. They gossiped about Gwen and Morgana the rest of the way to the tavern, laughing about how they are finally together, both choosing to ignore the similarity of their own situation.

When they reached the tavern, Gwaine was already sitting at the table, and narrowed his eyes at their linked hands. Arthur raised an eyebrow as they sat down, and Gwaine gave a chuckle, calling the barkeeper over for two more ales. Gretchen, Arthur thinks. Maybe not. He’s only ever seen her around town.

“Well, well, look at you two.” Merlin laughed at this, but Arthur glared defensively. “About time. I was about to lose all my money to Percy.” Before Arthur has time to process this information, Gwaine waves a hand and yells, “Over here, you twats!”

Leon arrives and seats himself by Gwaine. Percy is only a few steps behind him, and pulls a chair up to the end of the table. Gretchen must have noticed, because she brings four pints over instead of two.

“King Arthur! It’s a pleasure!” She exclaimed excitedly.

“Aw, Gretch, why don’t you ever greet me that way?” Gwaine interrupts, before Arthur can respond. She glares at him, but quickly turns her attention back to Arthur’s side of the table.

“And Merlin! Sweetheart, where have you been? We’ve been missing you!” Merlin smiled sheepishly. “Your drink is on the house, of course. And yours, Sire.”

“Arthur.” Arthur interrupted, “Just Arthur, in here.” He said with a smile. She looked nervous for a moment, sizing up his sincerity, but seemed to agree.

“Alright then…Arthur. Free pint for everyone at the table.” Gwaine let out a whoop. “Except you.” She glared at him.

“Hey!” He put a hand over his heart, as if wounded. “Why don’t you love me, like you love Merlin?”

“Look at him!” She defended, turning to him, “What a dear. You tell me if you need anything, honey. Nicholas!” Gretchen yelled behind her, “Look who’s here!”

Nicholas looked up from behind the bar.

“Merlin! Where’ve you been?”

Arthur decides he absolutely needs to come to the tavern more often. People who love Merlin this much are his favorite kind of people.

“Uh, and your King, too?” Gwaine interrupts grumpily, arms crossed, “But clearly Merlin is everyone’s favorite.”

Gretchen ruffled his dark hair.

“Fine, you bellyacher. One free pint for the customer who comes in far too often.” She teased, then made her way back to the bar. Gwaine smiled wildly.

“Leon, Percy, you’ll never guess who came in here all cuddly-like.” Gwaine drawled out. Arthur rolled his eyes. Leon looked between them, squinting.

“What else is new?”

“No, no, there’s definitely something going on.” Gwaine argued.

“Finally!” Percy teased with a smile. “That means you owe me twenty silver pieces.”

“What? No, you both owe me the silver.” Leon disagreed.

“Absolutely not! Leon owes me twenty, Percy, you owe Leon fifteen. I said by the end of summer, he said this year. You’re the one who said before winter!”

“Uh, it’s not winter yet, is it?” Percy reasoned snarkily.

“What?! That doesn’t count!”

They continued bickering, but Arthur became very distracted when Merlin leaned into him, laying his head on his shoulder. Arthur sat up straight to make it as comfortable as he could, moving slowly so as not to scare Merlin off, as though he were a butterfly.

At some point the boys stopped fighting long enough to notice, and began making cooing noises, at which point Arthur stuck out his tongue and Merlin leaned up long enough to smack Gwaine lightly upside the head, before laying back down again.

That’s when Morgana and Gwen entered, elbows linked, arriving at the table. Merlin and Arthur had to squeeze together to make room, which Arthur certainly didn’t mind.

“I didn’t know you were coming out tonight!” Merlin exclaimed, surprised. Gwen leaned forward to talk across Arthur, and Merlin leaned forward to meet her.

“Of course we’d come out tonight! I never mind a drink at the tavern!” She said with her easy smile. Merlin squinted at her.

“I have never seen you here.” He said.

“Neither have I.” Said Gwaine, unhelpfully.

“Alright, fine. I’d never say no to having a drink with Merlin. Once every few months.” She paused, then edited, “Twice a year.”

The table laughed, and Gretchen arrived with two more ales.

“Lady Morgana! Are you lot trying to give me a heart attack tonight?” She looked over the table of royalty. They laughed, and Morgana placed a gentle hand on Gretchen’s arm.

“Thank you for the ales,” She began politely, “Miss…?”

“Gretchen. Folks round here call me Gretch.”

“Wench, more like.” Gwaine muttered.

“What was that?!” She snapped at Gwaine.

“Thank you Gretch.” Morgana interrupted with a chuckle.

“Thank you Gretch!” Everyone else chimed in unevenly as she waved them off and went back to her duties.

The group clinked their glasses together and continued their relentless teasing.

It’s Arthur’s favorite day. Easily. Although he has said that a lot lately. But this…This is everything.

Merlin, happy and comfortable, leaning into him.

His friends, joking and fighting across the table.

His family, on the other side of him, beaming so freely.

The familiarity of the laughter of the table and the noises of the tavern flood his ears, and Arthur smiles himself silly with the joy and relief of it.

Chapter Text

Waking up next to Merlin has got to be, easily, Arthur’s favorite part of his day. Most days, Merlin wakes up first. Because this has always been their routine, and is so natural and normal for them, this isn’t surprising. And it’s comfortable, snuggling into Merlin’s chest, opening his eyes to see Merlin already gazing down at him. But every once in a while, much like today, Arthur wakes before Merlin. It has got to be one the most wonderful things about courting him—being this close. Being this close, whenever Arthur wants to be. Being this close, this early in the morning. Being this close, always.

Usually, if Arthur wakes first, it’s from a nightmare, with a silent scream hanging on his lips, a gasp waiting in his throat. Before he even opens his eyes, however, he’s calmed by the sound of Merlin’s even breathing and soothed by the feel of his body wrapped around Arthur’s. The terror he’d had in his sleep drains away so quickly, it is as if it had never happened at all.

At first, he’d been scared to move to a better, more awake, position. But Arthur had soon discovered that Merlin sleeps quite deeply, especially so since their adventure in the forest. Which is perfect for Arthur, because once he is awake, he prefers to shift from lying against Merlin’s chest to holding him.

In the short few days between then and now, Merlin has seemed…more relaxed. It wasn’t as though he was jumpy before, really. But he’s seemed much more open, both with his feelings and his laughter. Which is relieving, because there is nothing Arthur loves more than his laughter. Merlin has still not taken to using his magic commonly, but when he does he seems less uncomfortable with it.

They’re still waiting to officially appoint Merlin as Court Sorcerer.

Arthur is hoping to have another picnic soon, this time with more of Merlin’s friends present, because it needs to be more than just Arthur. Merlin deserves more support—support that he’s been refusing to believe or accept for far too long. Gwaine and Gwen figured out years ago that Merlin had magic, and barely blinked, and yet Merlin had convinced himself they were silently afraid of him.

Which is just another pile of guilt that Arthur doesn’t know what to with.

He doesn’t want to make this about himself, because it’s not. This is Merlin’s heart and mind and insecurities and pain that is finally being brought to light. That deserves next to all of Arthur’s attention, and the rest of his attention is split between his own mental recovery and his Kingdom’s prosperity. Merlin needs, and, more importantly, deserves an overwhelming amount of support and love to rebuild the confidence that Camelot had been chipping away at.

But a small part of Arthur will always be heartbroken over the revelation of Merlin’s hidden suffering. Heartbroken about having been, at the very least, part of the cause of it. Arthur isn’t so selfish as to believe it wasn’t a combination of things; Even Gaius had refused to allow magic around the house for a very long time. But up until far too recently, Merlin had believed Arthur profusely hated magic, which definitely had something to do with it all.

But, Arthur supposes, this will just be another part of them growing together. Healing together.

That’s his hope, at least.

Truly, Arthur will gladly have whatever Merlin is willing to give him. He’d marry Merlin tomorrow if he asked—and gladly spend the rest of forever making up for the mistakes of their past. Arthur’s good nights are spent dreaming about Merlin. His whole life has been filled with Merlin for years and years, and now he can at last fully acknowledge it. The night sky only ever shines like Merlin’s smile, being hungry is less about food and more about being starved of Merlin’s attention—often he longs to reach for Merlin’s arm or hand or hair, even if they’d only just stepped away from one another. But he’s alright with waiting. They’d both been waiting a very long time, it seems. He’s hoping he can somehow convince or trick Merlin into marrying him some day.

Arthur runs his fingers lightly through Merlin’s hair absent-mindedly.

How wonderful it is to have him here, beside him. But after a short while, Merlin begins to stir from where he lies between Arthur’s arms.

“Hmm.” He hums softly, still not fully awake. Arthur doesn’t respond, in case Merlin might fall back asleep, but a moment later Merlin opens his eyes. “Good morning.” He murmurs.

“Good morning, my love.” Arthur responds, with a smile, because Merlin is too beautiful to not smile at.

“I can hear you thinking from here.” He says softly.

“Sorry, darling.” Arthur whispers in response.

“It wasn’t a complaint. More of a question?”

“I just…I enjoy spending my spare time thinking of the best ways to make you happy.” Arthur explains somewhat sheepishly. Merlin raises an eyebrow at this, and a small smirk appears on his face.

“Oh?”

Merlin shifts slightly, and then leans up to kiss him.

They’ve really only properly kissed on the lips twice, both times very softly and unassuming.

This kiss is nothing of the sort.

For the first few moments it’s sweet, but then Merlin is sort of kissing him…harder. More pressing. Arthur doesn’t really know how to feel about that. When Merlin shifts a little more, reaching to wrap a hand behind Arthur’s neck and pull him somehow closer, Arthur feels all at once how very uncomfortable he is. His heart is beating in his chest all too loudly, and not in a way he enjoys, and there’s a cough that seems to be creeping up his chest that simply won’t leave, and the place on his neck that Merlin is touching is itching beneath his hand.

He places a hand on Merlin’s chest, and pushes him back slightly.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Arthur immediately begins, even as he’s moving away, moving away from Merlin, moving away from this. His hands are shaking, arms tense, suddenly very desperate to be out of this bed.

“Oh,” Merlin says, pulling back at Arthur’s reaction, “It’s alright, my fault, I’m sorry.”

Arthur shakes his head vehemently, throat scratchy, strangely unable to swallow.

“I…I…” Arthur struggles for his words, trying to remember what Morgana said on the roof. He can’t tell if Merlin is waiting for him to speak, or completely in shock from Arthur’s ridiculous reaction to everything. Morgana had been so adamant that Merlin wouldn’t mind. She’d also been adamant that Arthur was, in fact, not broken.

He’s not broken.

Alright.

Alright. Yes. He can do this.

“I…” Arthur swallows. “I’m not. I don’t want. I know I should, and that everyone else does, but I don’t. It’s too much, for me. It makes me sort—sort of uncomfortable.”

He’s wringing his hands, and he doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Merlin reaches up a hand, stopping so that it hovers over his shoulder.

“Can I hold you here?” He asks gently. Arthur gives a sort of shaky, stiff, nod. Merlin’s hand is soft against his shoulder, feather-light.

“You just take a breath, and continue whenever you’re ready.” He says lightly. Arthur tries to follow his directions. So far, his reaction isn’t…angry, or annoyed, or disappointed. Arthur tries again to deeply breathe.

“I don’t really, enjoy, those things. Being so intimate. Or… anything more.” Arthur looks down, frowning at himself. Trying very hard not to hate himself. Trying very hard not to call himself a fool, or a coward, or any other nasty name his subconscious usually holds on retainer, waiting for moments like this.

“Oh.” Merlin says, eyebrows scrunched, seeming to think about this. “Alright. Thank you for being so honest with me about that. I would never want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not just you!” Arthur rushed, “I haven’t ever wanted to. With anyone. I always thought eventually I’d want to…bed someone. But I haven’t.”

“I understand.” Merlin says calmly, but his brows are still scrunched together.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur looks down again, because he can’t stand to look at Merlin another second. Merlin removes his hand from Arthur’s shoulder, and for one horrible second Arthur thinks he is going to leave him there, but then his hand lands gently on top of Arthur’s.

“Is this alright?” Merlin asks. Arthur nods. “Firstly, there is nothing to apologize for. There is nothing that you are at fault for. Don’t be sorry for being honest with me about something that is a part of you. Secondly,” Merlin says, voice sturdy and sure, “I still love you, always. Exactly for who you are. The same unconditional way that you love me. This does not change that. At all. I’m proud of you for stopping me, and telling me how you felt.”

“But you’re still disappointed, surely. You must be.” Arthur accused. Merlin takes a small breath.

“A little,” He replied honestly, “But this is plenty for me. I would much rather have you and no intimacy, than have intimacy and no you. That’s the easiest choice in the world.”

Arthur finally has the courage to look up. Merlin looks very earnest, but Arthur can’t shake the frown on his face.

“Really?” Arthur asked, somewhat helplessly, his eyes getting watery for some infuriating reason.

“Really.” Merlin reassured gently. “It may make for a few awkward mornings, but I don’t mind leaving and coming back when my body has…calmed down a bit.” Arthur’s frown deepened, along with his guilt. “Arthur, I mean it. This is enough for me. Always. I love you, and I always want you to feel safe with me.”

Arthur tried to nod and swallow his self-deprivation.

“So, let’s talk about where the lines need to be drawn. Have we done anything before, besides this morning, that made you feel uncomfortable?”

Arthur forced himself to take a breath. He isn't leaving. He isn’t upset. This is enough.

“Not really. I like the forehead kisses and all. And that time that we kissed in the forest, when we first said ‘I love you’, that was nice. It wasn’t too much. And I like holding hands, and hugs, and cuddles. I like waking up with you next to me.” He said, in one solid outward breath. Then, a half-moment later, “That’s my favorite part.”

“That’s my favorite part, too.” Merlin said with a wide smile. He reached to kiss Arthur’s forehead. “You are lovely. Perfect. Exactly as you are. Don’t stress about this, my love. You are enough for me, always.”

The look on Merlin’s face is so sincere that Arthur has no choice but to believe him. He gives a timid smile and a shaky nod.

“Alright. I…Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too, darling.”

They went back to cuddling after that, which maybe shouldn’t have surprised Arthur as much as it did. Merlin traced circles lightly on his arm, after being reassured that Arthur wouldn’t mind. Eventually Arthur relaxed again.

Of course Merlin didn’t mind. He’s Merlin. Arthur fell in love with him for a reason, after all.

Eventually they do have to get up, though. Merlin has to go and get breakfast, so as not to miss Gwen, and Arthur has to start preparing himself for another busy day ruling by Morgana’s side.

“Gwen has been asking me if we’ve done… anything. Should I keep sheepishly saying no? Or lying and saying yes?” Merlin asked. Neither option that he’d come up with seemed to have any form of actually expressing Arthur’s opinions on the subject to Gwen, which Arthur deeply appreciated, but suddenly found unnecessary. Merlin’s reassurances had filled him with a sense of confidence he hadn’t known he was missing. A sense of pride.

“It’s alright, you can be honest. I already told Morgana, so there’s a chance she already knows. Horrible at secrets, those two.” Arthur responded. Merlin snorted, then tilted his head a bit, hand waiting at the door.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind. It isn’t anyone’s business if you don’t want it to be. And I definitely don’t have to be the one to tell her; It’s your decision to reveal however much you want.”

“No, I mean it. Go ahead. I think you two gossiping about it would sort of make it feel…more normal. Like it’s just another interesting thing about us. You can tell her Morgana knows too, so that they don’t have to worry about that, if she hasn’t already said anything.” Arthur said. Merlin smiled.

“Alright, then. I’m proud of you for telling me, Arthur. And you’re right, it really is nothing to be embarrassed of.” Merlin left his spot by the door in favor of walking to Arthur’s side and placing a kiss on his cheek. “There is nothing wrong with you. Preferences are preferences. The same way I prefer boys over girls, and the same way I prefer you over everyone else.”

Arthur smiled brightly at that.

“Oh, go whisper in a corner with your friend, already.” He said teasingly. Merlin wrinkled his nose in his laugh and left.

Arthur took a deep breath, and moved to his desk to work on forms that lay waiting for him.

The day passes quickly.

In seemingly the blink of an eye, dusk had arrived, and Arthur’s busy day had creeped to a close. Really, he should return to his chambers, and continue on his never-ending stack of papers, but he hadn’t really had a moment to think all day. Well, to think about anything that a King wouldn’t think about.

So his feet wandered up to the roof, and he found himself at the familiar tower from his childhood.

He doesn’t really feel like lying down, so he stands on the edge, leaning on one of the brick corners. He looks over his Kingdom, covered in a blanket of stars.

Oh, those stars.

They’ve followed him all this time. They have guided him through the forest and through his life. They have sparkled over him, providing him hope. Dimmed, providing him cover. Those stars…they have looked out for him. The heavens and the stars, smiling down at him, even now.

He smiles back up at them.

He doesn’t have much to say tonight. There’s nothing they don’t already know. He just wanted a moment to think. To breathe in his wondrous luck and recent fortune, to admire his existence up here as the wind whistles to keep him company.

He sighs aloud, a deep, curled relief that had been waiting to release. Perhaps from this morning, where he’d been given smooth reassurances. Perhaps from the days of late, where Merlin had begun to accept his magic and Arthur had been able to accept invitations from the tavern. Perhaps from this past journey, where negotiations had gone so well and he’d finally felt the crown fit on his head. Perhaps from always. Perhaps he’s just relieved and grateful to be alive.

What a lovely thing it is, to be alive on a night like this in Camelot. The only thing better is when Merlin is next to him.

As if having been summoned, he hears that familiar voice from behind him.

“Hello, my love.” Merlin called out. Unlike Morgana, Arthur is certain he announced himself upon his exact arrival.

“Hello.” Arthur said, turning a bit to greet him. Merlin arrived at his side, pulling him in so close that Merlin could nearly smell the stardust on his shoulders. “How’d you find me out here?”

Merlin steps back a bit, turning to look over Camelot as he responds.

“I know it’s silly, but ever since Uther’s attack, and even more so since Serpent’s Pass, I prefer to keep you in my sight when I can. Especially at night. I hate the idea of being in your room while something is happening to you.”

That doesn’t exactly answer Arthur’s question, so he waits a moment.

“I’ve been trying to use magic more nonchalantly, lately. I’m trying to learn to do it for no reason at all. All this to say, I’d never tried before, but it turns out that I can find you from Kingdoms away without a word leaving my lips.”

“Really?” Arthur breathed, excited for Merlin. However, he seemed to misunderstand what he was excited about, because he smiled and blushed.

“Yes. The druids have always said we’re two sides of the same coin. I’m not sure I could find anyone as easily as you, but since you are like the missing piece of me, it’s…It’s sort of like I already knew where you were. Like remembering all of a sudden where I forgot a lost neckerchief.”

Arthur gave a surprised laugh.

“Two sides of the same coin, huh?”

“That’s what they say.” Merlin shrugged.

“I like the sound of that.” Arthur told him truthfully.

“Me too.” Merlin said with a smile, still looking out over Camelot. But Arthur can only look at him. The moon is the only thing to light up his features, and it’s just enough light for Arthur to make out the outline of his face. And for a moment, Arthur could swear he can see that faint outline, that soft, golden glow of Merlin’s magic shimmering around him. “I should come up here more often, it’s a beautiful view.”

“It really is.” Arthur responded, unable for a moment to peel his eyes away from the beautiful man next to him. But eventually he forces himself to turn and look out over his Kingdom again. “I used to come up here as a boy. Morgana too. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

Merlin hummed in agreement.

“I’ve told the stars about you. I speak about you to anyone who will listen, really.”

Merlin seems to think for a moment, blinking rapidly.

“I’ve heard that. In a dream once, I think. That first night we cuddled, on the way to Stephan.”

Arthur’s go wide. He’d forgotten the confession he’d made all those nights ago, after he’d realized Merlin had fallen asleep. Or, apparently, half-asleep.

Merlin seems to sense his reaction.

“Unless…It wasn’t a dream.” He said, and Arthur could hear the smile and satisfaction in his voice. Arthur gave a soundless laugh.

“Yes, well. By the time I’d put together a sensible sentence explaining my love for you, you’d fallen asleep.”

“My apologies.” Merlin responded, but Arthur can still make out the content delight in the realization of his almost confession.

“Yes, well. I’m sure you would’ve done the same, if you’d seen how gorgeous you looked under the moonlight. It is as if the moon was carved for you.”

“Hm. The same way you look stunning in the sunlight, no? I’ve told you I’ve loved you loads of times when you couldn’t hear, by the way, if it makes you feel better.”

Arthur turns to him in surprise, his embarrassment running away from his face and being quickly replaced with a sly grin.

Merlin had already been looking at him, and he teasingly narrowed his eyes.

“In my defense, you were practically dying. So.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.” Arthur chuckled. Then reached out a hand to hold Merlin’s. “I feel sometimes that I’ve loved you my whole life.” He said softly.

“That must be the highest compliment someone could receive.” Merlin responded. “It’s unfair, because I’m not sure when I actually fell in love with you. I didn’t know what to call it until you had an arrow through your chest.”

“That’s alright. I only knew because it was such an abrupt change for me.” Arthur said. He didn’t let go of Merlin’s hand, but he did return his gaze to the cottages below them. “I had never had someone reach for me so easily. Perhaps Morgana, for a small while, when we were young. But that was quickly quelled by my father. I didn’t know I was allowed to touch anyone. I didn’t know I was allowed to be touched.” Merlin squeezed his hand tighter. “It wasn’t so long ago that I was pretending to be asleep in bed to trick you into grabbing my wrist, just to have your hand close to mine for a moment.”

“I knew it! I knew you were just pretending to be asleep!”

“Oh, no you didn’t.”

“I did! I could always tell because your breathing was different.” Merlin argued. Arthur scoffed.

“And you’re telling me you didn’t know to call that love?”

Merlin gave an embarrassed laugh. A moment of silence passed between them, before Arthur realized he had more to say.

“I’m so grateful to be able to reach for you freely, now. I always thought you were too beautiful and fragile for me to lay a finger on. It’s…It’s such a privilege. I was so privileged to have you then, and even more so now. What an unbelievable, inconceivable, ethereal, privilege. All these years by your side. I cannot imagine anything more important to me.” He finished at last, a smile on his face.

“Gods.” Merlin said, sounding a little choked up. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Arthur is reminded of how those words used to live on repeat in his mind. How strange it is that Merlin seems to say them so exactly. Two sides of the same coin, indeed.

“I know you’ve struggled so often with the image of yourself,” Merlin began, after a few moments had passed, “Not just after the druids. Even before that, I saw such a struggle between who you were and who your father wanted you to be. I’m not sure how much of a comfort it is that you do not have anything in common with him but your blood. And maybe not even then.” Arthur chuckled at this. “And I know you’ve had such a hard time seeing it lately, but you are so innately good, Arthur. That’s why I’m beginning to believe I am, too. Because someone as wise and good as you wouldn’t keep me around, if it would endanger everyone else.”

Arthur gave his hand a squeeze.

“The nightmares still plague me, sometimes.” Arthur responded.

“I know. But a good man does bad things and carries them on his back.” Merlin parrots back to him the words Arthur had said at that first picnic.

“But what does good really mean?” Arthur asked aloud. He wondered if he was asking the stars, or asking Merlin. But only Merlin seemed to have an answer.

“I think…I think it’s someone who can’t help but put everyone else above himself. Even people who don’t deserve it. I suppose people don’t have to earn acts of kindness, but even if they had to, and couldn’t, good people give them out anyway. You were kind to your father, who never once earned it. Kind to your people; You know each of their names, their children, their stories. You care so deeply for the people around you. You see the monster in everyone, and love it too. You don’t love them in spite of it, because you don’t see it as a fault. You see it as another thing about them to love. I think that is what it is to be good. Of course, you make mistakes. Everyone does. But you, Arthur? You are as good as you can be.”

The moon continues meandering over the sky as both men allow the revelations of the other to sink in. There isn’t much talk after, perhaps because there doesn’t need to be. They just stand, leaning on the walls of the castle they fell in love in, looking over the Kingdom they share, holding hands. It is the lifeline between them that brings each such strength and bravery. And it isn’t a bad thing to share, to trade goodness back and forth when one or the other needs it most. They share their fears, and pain, and insecurities. But they also share their growth, their courage, their spirit.

Arthur will probably always have nightmares, even if they become more rare with time. Merlin will probably always suffer bouts of fear over his identity, even if it lessens and slowly becomes replaced with pride and confidence.

But they will forever share what the other needs, until they are both healed in the places where there was once only hurt. Always, they will offer themselves at the temple of the other, so that both halves may become whole.

Perhaps that is what it is to be good.

Chapter Text

“Where is Gwen?! How can she be missing?!” Morgana exclaimed, more flustered than Arthur had ever seen the composed sorceress.

Of course, nerves are to be expected on a wedding day.

Arthur laughed. He couldn’t seem to stop laughing, today. He is just so happy.

“Calm down. I’m sure Merlin is with her. Have you tried talking to him?”

“He’s not here, is he!” She all but yelled at him.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and tapped the side of his head. Morgana went wide-eyed, then nodded profusely.

“You’re right. Of course you’re right. I’m sorry.”

He rolled his eyes, but rubbed her arm comfortingly. A moment later, she broke out into a smile.

“There was only a tear in her dress. Merlin is helping her fix it up!” She exclaimed, back to a much happier tone. Her ability to speak with Merlin in their minds had paid off many times, but this is by far the best reaction it had brought.

Arthur never broke his smile. How could he? His sister and Merlin’s best friend, to be married. Today. He can hardly believe how far they've all come, these past few months.

And despite her nerves, Arthur had never seen Morgana so happy. In fact, he’d never seen anyone able to make her smile like Gwen.

Reflecting these emotions, it seems the entirety of Camelot has gone into a state of chaos, everyone jumpy and exhilarated by the upcoming festivities.

Except Gwen, who’d remained completely stable and sure throughout the entire day. The past week, really. Which is good, because Morgana most certainly isn’t.

Morgana had become easily beloved by the people within the last few months. Under Uther’s rule, Morgana had been mostly hidden away, forgotten about by anyone outside the castle’s walls. When Arthur began his reign, he refused to let this continue. Especially because Morgana had just as many duties ruling as Arthur did. They share the crown. Which, at first, seemed a little forward-thinking to many. In truth, Camelot really is a forward-thinking Kingdom.

And, as it turned out, the people couldn’t help but fall in love with Morgana. Whenever she sat on the throne, and was the one to see the people, it was obvious what a good queen she was. By now, just as winter draws to a close, she is almost definitely loved even more than Arthur.

Which is fine with him. The more days he spends away from the throne, the more time he has to train with the knights, or go about courting Merlin, or walk amongst the town, or visit Gretch in the tavern alongside his friends.

Morgana had wanted a wedding in town, alongside her people. She’d wanted something simple, with a dress made by a seamstress on the edge of Camelot.

As it turned out, however, Gwen had always dreamed of a fanciful wedding in the castle, especially so when she accepted the proposal from someone of royal caliber.

And so it was decided that there would be a dream-like wedding in town, as fantastic as the village would allow, and then a smaller group of friends and family would be invited into the castle for a more calm celebration. A compromise, it seemed.

And the wedding planning had since gone in full swing. Exquisite archways and drapes, carpentry and flowers, gorgeous benches. The entire Kingdom would have room to enjoy the festivities—and each and every person donated somehow to the event.

Of course Arthur wasn’t really letting them ‘donate’ anything. Anyone who contributed would find plenty of gold pieces in their pockets as a thanks from the castle.

“Hello, my love.” Merlin appeared next to him, hair fluffy, eyes crinkled a bit from smiling so often. His eyes seemed to permanently have specks of gold in them now, which only made Arthur fall even more in love, if that were possible.

“Hello, gorgeous.” Arthur greeted, smiling even wider after Merlin gave him a peck on the cheek.

“How are things going here?” He asked. Arthur pointed at a very stressed Morgana, who was currently pacing back and forth as if possessed. “Looks a bit like she’s gone mad.” He laughed. Arthur nodded, leaning into him.

“How are things with you?”

“Gwen’s dress is fixed. She is much calmer than this one,” He nodded at Morgana, “I’ll tell you that much.”

“I think a dragon would be much calmer than her, at this point.” Arthur pointed out. Merlin laughed and nodded his agreement.

Suddenly, one of the stone pillars that was being moved came crashing down, breaking on impact and cutting open the floorcloth that covered the stone bricks.

Before the carpenter or stone mason, or even Morgana, had time to panic, however, Merlin had already flicked his wrist and fixed it.

“How about inside the castle? Everything ready for the more quaint festivities?” Merlin asked, without so much as batting an eye at the magic he’d just performed. Arthur responded, but the motion of this was not lost on him.

It isn’t entirely uncommon, nearly two seasons later, to see Merlin more relaxed around magic. He’s certainly much more outwardly embracing of Morgana’s sorcery. He even welcomes the druids with open arms, where he’d once been much more hesitant. He’s doing wonderfully as Court Sorcerer. Most of the druids have moved to the villages of Camelot, now. Though some still prefer to live in the woods, they are no longer so far from the castle, no longer in hiding. It didn’t take much to make them feel safe and accepted, once they’d heard that Merlin had revealed himself to the Once and Future King. All things considered, the transition went very smoothly.

Their ways of life have brought a new sense of security and prosperity to Camelot. People rarely become sick now. Between Gauis’ expertise in medicine and the druid’s knowledge of healing magic, it’s rare for anyone to fall ill.

The druid camp Arthur had visited was one of the first to return, which most definitely helped the others become more bold, and follow their lead.

Elrand became a part of Arthur’s Council immediately upon arrival. She seemed to have expected the offer, but then, she’d seemingly always been able to read Arthur’s thoughts.

Little Melian, on the other hand, has become a fixture throughout the community. She rarely speaks aloud, except to sing, which no-one seems to mind. There is no better picture of innocence to coral the less convinced of magic’s goodness than Melian. Morgana has become quite taken with her, and her sister, Melyanna. Both young girls, and Percy, have spent the morning handing out trinkets and flowers to passersby, spreading warmth throughout the space to counter the cold wind that has drifted in. Between the excitement and the warming magic, no-one feels even a sliver of chill.

Leon spends his time supervising and moving the heavier pieces alongside Elyan. The latter has found himself woven into the tight-knit group, often accompanying them to the tavern, and quickly becoming one of Arthur’s best knights and closest friends.

Gwaine has been on Gwen Patrol all week, the same way Arthur is on Morgana Patrol, although according to Merlin, Gwaine has much less to do. Merlin seems to be splitting his time between the two women, fixing anything that has gone wrong.

He is using his magic very freely and openly today—something he does more often around the druids. Even more so with the younger ones, or any children in town really, who beg to see his fantastical powers; His magic is very clearly the strongest in Camelot. He still has bad days, ones in which Arthur can overhear him quietly convincing himself that he’s not evil. Arthur tends to gently remind Merlin aloud, on days like that. But lately, often all he needs is a little nudge, or for Arthur to ruffle his hair, and he is quick to a wide smile and some amount of magic.

The druids are teaching Merlin and Morgana how to do wordless magic. Morgana is very excited about it.

Morgana finishes fussing about her hair, of which she wanted to do herself. She’d been practicing how to do her own hair—with a bit of help from her sorcery—and she insisted she do it herself. Now that the day had arrived, however, Merlin ended up abandoning Arthur’s side in favor of helping to steady Morgana’s shaking hands.

She looks undeniably beautiful.

She wears a floor length red dress, with golden accents. Gwen had wanted her to wear the traditional cloak of royalty but Morgana had absolutely refused, so wearing Camelot’s colors was, once again, a compromise. It’s fit to her figure at the top, but at the hips it flourishes out quite spectacularly. Across her waist is a golden crystal leafed waistband. Merlin is clasping a silver charm bracelet on her wrist, and Arthur catches sight of a small frog brooch hidden behind her long curls.

When he catches sight of Gwen, however, Arthur notices a very drastic difference. Gwen has an intricate, white, dress. There’s a poof to her shoulders, but her sleeves are fit to the arm. The dress itself is much more fantastical, just as vibrant and royal as Gwen is. It’s much more traditional for a royal celebration, if not a bit fancier than most. No-one would dare point this out to Gwen, however, who is wearing the widest smile of anyone.

Gwen is wearing a crown of flowers enchanted to match the colors of Morgana’s dress, and Morgana is wearing similar flowers in perfect, pristine white, to match Gwen’s.

Time seems to swoop past, and then the ceremony is beginning. It’s very formal, if one is ignoring the exceptionally large crowd. The red carpentry is covering the old stone floor, and the archways and drapes create a sense of a smaller, more intricate place, but it’s very clear that this is the center of town.

In fact, this is where the pyre used to be.

Morgana had demanded on being married here. She wanted the ghosts of the dead to help guide her into a much brighter future, for both herself and Camelot. And she’d wanted to give them reason to celebrate too.

Gwen had kissed her and agreed easily, and so here they are.

Between the vast rows of people, the endless bunches of flowers, and his two smiling sisters, Arthur doesn’t think he’d ever seen something so boundless and beautiful.

Except Merlin, of course. But he hardly counts, because he will always be the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen.

At sunset, their floral headpieces are exchanged for their proper crowns, and they are married by both the priest and Elrand.

It’s a beautiful ceremony.

Melian leads the other druid children into creating a flurry of snow, so that beautiful white flakes accent the already bewitching girls at the altar, and the town sings songs of peace and prosperity and kind wishes for their future.

Morgana and Gwen share a few dances with their people, but eventually the sun begins to hide itself, retiring for the night, and a select few disperse back into the castle.

The great hall is lit by fires of every impossible color, courtesy of Merlin, and there are sashes of white, red, and gold hanging from each wall. The Round Table is covered in flowers, and the knights arrive to sit at their usual places. Morgana sits between Gwen and Melian, with Melyanna only one more seat down. This means Arthur and Merlin move down a few seats, which doesn’t really matter, because there is no head of table here.

In fact, there is no one ruler in Camelot. Arthur and Morgana have spoken often on how it is not just their crown to share. The Kingdom is instead balanced on a set of pillars, in requirement of each person at the table to hold it up.

The night is filled with loud laughter and aged wine, Morgana’s magic dancing about the room in her happiest fits of delight. No one even blinks an eye. As it turns out, once people stop physically choking themselves on their own magic, it springs about freely, often taking near corporeal forms of light to dance and whirl around the room.

Merlin doesn’t let go of his hand the entire night, which suits Arthur just fine. He feels as though he is spilling over in his joy. There is no room left in his body for all of this happiness to fit.

As the friends finish their meal, the small orchestra across the room picks up in their tempo and almost everyone takes to dancing.

Morgana and Gwen, who have gone back to wearing the flower crowns the children made for them, spin softly together, talking and giggling quietly.

Percy somehow convinces Elrand onto the floor, which is both hilarious and horribly sweet to observe. Elyan and Leon spend most of their time twirling the servants, who seem to be having just as much fun as the rest of the room. Marge, the beautiful young lady from the kitchens, spends quite a bit of time with Gwaine. Gwaine doesn’t seem to mind.

Merlin and Arthur dance for a while, and Arthur swears that each time Merlin smiles, the room becomes more golden somehow.

Eventually Morgana and Gwen catch their attention and Morgana nods toward the door. Arthur gives a nod, and holding Merlin’s hand, moves to follow them out, grabbing a large bottle of ale on the way.

Morgana uses a quiet spell to swap Gwen’s elegant dress for something a little more comfortable, and does the same for herself, and the group collectively walks to the roof.

When they arrive, the stars seem to sparkle brighter than ever. Arthur gets distracted by how beautifully they are reflected in Merlin’s golden-blue eyes.

“This is my favorite night.” Morgana annouces, moving to lie on the ground. Arthur lays beside her, the same way they always have; head to toe, so that they would be facing each other if they sat up. Merlin and Gwen join them on the ground, Gwen by Morgana’s side, and Merlin by Arthur’s. They pass the bottle around. It was heavy to carry up, but by the time it returns to Arthur’s hands it is considerably lighter.

“Me too, I think.” Arthur says, smiling up at the stars, which seem to be smiling back down at him.

“Really?” Gwen asks, voice soft and perhaps a bit sleepy.

“Has to be. Morgana is my second favorite person—don’t tell Leon—and seeing her happy is everything.” Arthur answers.

“Awww,” Morgana drawls out, “Look who’s gone soft.”

“He’s always been soft!” Merlin argues. “It makes me look all pointy by comparison.” He finishes with a hiccup, then takes another swig from the bottle, passing it back down the line.

“That’s true.” Morgana agrees, after swallowing another drink of the ale. “I miss when you used to give me gifts in secret, Arthur! Where have all my presents gone?”

For the first time all night, Arthur remembers the wedding gift in his pocket and sits up with an excited gasp, which makes the stars spin a bit, which in turn makes him giggle ridiculously.

“I have it!” He announces, louder than he meant to. Morgana sits up slowly, laughing at nothing.

“Ooo! About time. Everyone else gave me a very large pile of gifts.” She said matter-of-factly, then burst out laughing again.

Arthur cleared his throat, his foggy thoughts clearing for a moment. Even in her giddiness, Morgana seemed to sense the serious turn in the conversation.

He pulls out the sigil from his pocket, which he’d had polished and re-embroidered.

“It was my mother’s. But it should belong to you. So that, officially, if anything were to happen to me, you would inherit the Kingdom. No-one from our treaties could refuse your rule. The throne would be yours.” Arthur said, then, returning to his more teasing state, he added, “Sorry, Merlin.”

“Arthur…Thank you.”

Arthur shrugged.

“You shouldn’t need this to know how needed you are in Camelot. You are just as much ruler as I am.”

He lied back down, because the serious talk was beginning to make his head spin. Or perhaps the world was actually spinning. He couldn’t tell.

(Tomorrow, when they all woke with splitting headaches and lurching stomachs, Morgana would give him a proper hug and thanks for the gift, but tonight it lay forgotten in favor of the bottle of ale.)

“Seems like an invitation for something mysterious to befall the King if you ask me.” Merlin teased.

“Ooo, yes, I can see it now. Strange wall collapsed sideways onto poor Arthur.” Morgana said decidedly.

“Or, or, or,” Gwen chimed in with a soft, slow sigh, “Poor Arthur, fell through a hole that simply was not there before.”

“I’ve got it!” Arthur exclaimed, giggling, “On a hunting trip, poor Arthur was entangled by very pointy deer antlers.”

“Poor Arthur,” Merlin hiccupped, “Slipped on horse shite and drowned in it.”

The group broke out in loud laughter, then continued planning strange ways for Arthur to meet his untimely death. Each suggestion was followed by another round of drinking.

“You’d better not die before I get to marry you.” Merlin whined. “Or I’ll bring you back to life and kill you again.”

Arthur sighed happily.

“I can’t wait to marry you. My favorite servant.” He said. It was a promise whispered to the stars between family and too much ale, but it was true all the same.

“I can’t wait to marry you. My stubborn Prince.” Merlin responded. Arthur snorted.

“Prat.”

“I am not a prat!”

"You are. And a royal one."

They both burst into laughter over a joke even older than their friendship.

“This is my favorite night.” Morgana said again, softly.

Arthur thought back to those lonely nights by Morgana’s side on this tower, so very many years ago. How they’d share in their guilt and fear and worries of the future. And now, at long last, they have found peace and comfort. They have found a home. Those sad echoes are long gone, and the memories made on this tower will now and forever be filled with happy, golden, shining moments.

And at long last, it was just Arthur and his family, laughing and safe, beneath his comforting blanket of stars.