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Chapter Text

The city was bustling with renewed vigor. The queen’s crowing only the day before, the townspeople were rejoicing within the safety of Camelot’s walls. Talk had spread fast of the prophecy king and his sword pulled from solid stone, and a prideful hope, stronger than any kingdom before, swelled in the hearts of Arthur’s people. 

Arthur himself was gazing down upon his land with a weary smile. His chest ached with joy for his people, and wept for the losses it had endured whilst he regained his station. Only just weeks ago, he had been stranded in the woods with his meager party, wondering if any survived his sister’s wrath. Even now, a scar was still visible on Elyan’s cheek, Gwaine was still unsteady on his feet, and Merlin stubbornly led Gaius by the elbow whenever he left his chambers. 

Merlin. 

The man was standing behind him, loudly scrubbing at the floor beneath the table. He could hear the wavy breath through his nose and the way his strokes faltered occasionally. Merlin was exhausted. Had been for a few days now. 

“Why don’t you give it a rest, Merlin,” Arthur said, without turning. 

Merlin huffed and sat back on his knees. 

“I want the floors clean, not to have a dent worn into them.” 

“Sorry,” Merlin muttered, as he rose to his feet, tossing the rag into his bucket of water. “I just thought with all the pacing you’ve been doing that you liked trenches.”

Arthur frowned, searching the window panes for an answer. “Well, I don’t.” It wasn’t the most eloquent response, but it also didn’t meet Merlin’s banter. “Ready a bath.”

Merlin deflated and shuffled out the door, barely able to pick his feet up off the ground. 

The king had hoped that sending Merlin away would let him relish in the beauties of his kingdom once more, but bitterness persisted. To think that all of this fertile culture was a few sour truths away from being lost to madness.

The door to his chambers clicked shut and he turned to find, not his wife in tailored gowns nor his servant with his head bowed, but Leon, looking shaken but impressed. 

“Sire,” he said with a nod of fiery curls. “There’s a dragon.” 

Ever since the city was reclaimed from Morgana, Merlin was being run ragged. The castle was in disarray, Gaius was recovering from imprisonment, and Camelot had a new queen, leaving Merlin to take on several of the physician’s duties, including tending to the man himself, as well as doing extra errands for Arthur regarding recovery plans and solidifying Guinevere’s new station. 

On top of all that, Arthur wasn’t exactly understanding. 

Merlin could have sworn he was purposefully giving him the dirty work. Not that it would be unusual for him to do so, but Arthur was a fair man, and more often these years knew when to ease up on the torment. 

Not now though. 

“I need you to pack for a quest.”

Merlin raised his head from where he was draining the dirtied bathwater. “For when?” 

“Overmorrow.”

Merlin waited for more context, but none came. “And what sort of quest?”

Arthur eyed him, making Merlin feel he shouldn’t have asked. “We’re hunting a beast.” 

“What sort of beast?”

Arthur sighed. “A white thing,” he offered. “It flies at night and terrorizes the outlying villages.” 

Merlin frowned, wiping the inside of the bare tub. “A wyvern?” 

“No one’s gotten a good look at it.” 

Merlin stood and wiped his hands off on his pants. “Are we sure it isn’t a great white peafowl?” 

“No, Merlin, it isn’t a bird.” 

“How’d you know?” 

Arthur determinedly looked down at his papers and didn’t respond. 

Merlin chewed on his lip. Arthur wasn’t even taking the bait to jeer with him. In fact, he was sitting at his desk with his eyes closed, looking all the part like he hadn’t just won back his kingdom and married the love of his life. 

Suddenly, a possibility came to Merlin that would explain the deflated mood his king was in. “It’s a dragon.” 

Arthur’s head shot up and he stared at Merlin angrily. The fury in his eyes startled him and he looked back at Arthur in confusion, which prompted the fiery man to relax his features and shake his head. He sat there in silence for some time, eyes flickering as he looked through his memories. Then, he gave a small nod. “Yes.” 

Merlin couldn’t stop a breath from leaving him, the knowledge that Arthur and his men knew that there were still dragons to be slain, sending a ripple of dread over his shoulders and into his stomach. 

Eventually, Arthur looked up to read Merlin’s reaction and he quickly schooled his features. “Has anyone been injured?” 

Oddly, Arthur looked dissatisfied. “No.”

Sighing openly now, Merlin turned back to his work, moving the last few barrels of sullied water towards the door. Before he could manage to get himself to leave, however, a suggestion rushed out of him. “Perhaps we shouldn’t anger it then.”

“What?” 

Merlin shrugged, heart beating fast within his chest. “If it poses no threat, perhaps we should keep peace with it. It’s near impossible to slay a dragon. Would save a lot of bloodshed if we just kept it at bay.” 

“I’ve done it before,” Arthur said bitterly, hands clenched into fists atop his desk. 

Merlin felt nauseous. “And you barely made it back home.”

Arthur glared at him, his cool eyes looking crueler than they ought to. “We cannot allow another of these creatures to roam the land freely. It may be passive to us now, but the devastation it could bring to the kingdom should it choose not to be . . .”

Merlin shrugged, hoisting the barrels up with a grunt. “I’m sure it won't come to that.” 

By the time the party left on their mission, Merlin was behind on about three days’ sleep. He’d hardly seen his bed, instead researching reinforcement spells in case repairs went awry or checking in on Gaius and his patients. 

“You sure you’ll be alright without me?” he had asked, clearing away their dinner the night before departure. 

Gaius huffed, handing Merlin his bowl. “I’ll be fine. You go, get some rest, Merlin. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

Merlin smiled shyly and turned away with a curt nod. He should have. He had wanted to. But he had yet to pack for Arthur’s excursion. 

And now he was swaying side to side atop his horse, staring ahead at Arthur’s blurry, golden form, the light dappling the forest, shining like bursts of tiny suns in Merlin’s eyes. Gwaine was telling a far-fetched story about a dragon from years past, whilst the other knights complained about the improbability of it. Leon, especially, seemed to have taken up a silent judgment of the tall tale, having been one of the few people on their journey that had truly faced such a creature himself. 

Merlin laughed through his nose, half listening. He was one of the three who had bested a dragon. Or rather, the one of the three who had actually done it. 

“Something funny, Merlin?”

“Hmm?” Merlin picked his head up and blearily looked back at the bulk of the party, finding Gwaine with a wide, teasing grin on his face. 

“You don’t believe me either, do you, mate?”

Leon rolled his eyes. “Believe it or not, Merlin was with us when we fought the first dragon.”

“Great!” Gwaine said, throwing his hands about in wild gestures. “Then he’ll know how impressive it was to stand beneath the bright green wings of ‘the Great One’ when I–” 

“I’ve never seen a green dragon before,” Merlin butt in. 

Elyan and Leon stifled their laughs and Percival smiled coyly. 

“Well, perhaps there’s just the one,” Gwaine offered, picking up his reins. It was no wonder he always had to mount the calmest horse. Percival’s mare kept giving him wide eyes and pointed ears whenever his hands waved a little too far out. 

“Maybe,” Merlin said, conversation falling away from him again. 

He bobbed along on his horse for a good while longer, hearing naught but the distant buzz of words and the winds of his own breath. But soon, a silence coming from before him niggled his brain and he blinked up at Arthur again. He’d been silent. Hadn’t spoken since they’d left the city gates. In fact, Merlin wasn’t even sure if he’d once turned around. 

The distinct lack of Arthur’s acknowledgement started to burn an ache in Merlin’s forehead and he squinted his eyes against the dipping sun as they traveled west. 

Arthur watched Merlin carefully as he began building the campfire, taking note of his shuffling feet and near falls as he trudged over uneven tree roots. His hands had a slight tremor to them as they took up the flint and steel and his head dipped low each time he leaned into a strike, failing to spark the flame. 

At last, the fire caught and Arthur stared even more intently. Merlin sighed and slumped backward, setting the fire starter to the side. 

His eyes were tired and unfocused. 

His eyes were blue. 

Arthur ground his teeth as his servant rose to retrieve his bedroll, and sat up straight on his log. “Fetch some water for the horses before you rest.” 

Merlin looked at him, brow furrowed and eyes pinched up against the heat. He opened his mouth, but shut it again before turning to do as he was asked. 

“Let the poor man sleep,” Elyan jeered.

Arthur spun around, an excuse ready on his tongue, only to find Elyan smiling. 

It was a joke. 

He gave a forced smile in return as Elyan jostled his shoulder. 

“Really though,” Elyan said, sobering. “I know you’ve been busy, but so has he. Had to practically drag him away from Gaius this morning.”

Arthur nodded grimly. “He’s still recovering.”

“And recovering well,” Elyan agreed. 

“Thanks to Merlin.” Percival hunkered down into his bedroll, tugging his blanket over his shoulder. He rolled onto his side and tried to settle into sleep. 

“Perhaps he should have stayed,” Arthur suggested, searching Elyan’s face. 

The knight shrugged, tossing a twig into the fire. “You could always leave him home.” 

Arthur scoffed. 

“You’re right. He’d find a way to come along anyway.” 

Guilt stirred in Arthur’s chest, the weary sway of Merlin’s gait painting how overburdened he had been recently. But then the fool came stomping back into camp, water sloshing over the edge of his buckets, and the guilt turned into something that burned, as though the fire he’d built had crawled its way into his heart. 

Gwaine set up for the first watch and Merlin’s head finally found his pillow for the first time in days. Arthur watched him slink down under his covers and fall asleep almost instantly. 

A sharp pain in his side startled Merlin awake and he spun upright to find, not a bandit with a dagger to his throat, nor a frantic knight with plans to flee, but Arthur, pouting down at him. 

“Wha?” 

“Breakfast.” 

“Wha?”

Arthur didn’t bother repeating himself, instead walking off to help clear away camp. 

Merlin frowned and got his bearings, rubbing sleep away from his eyes. Arthur’s mood was beginning to test his patience, but he didn’t want to add any more stress to the situation. The king was away from his vulnerable kingdom, his new queen testing regency for the first time, to face a beast whose kind had nearly destroyed all he’d ever known. The knights were able to make light of the situation, another day’s ride ahead of them before they reached the area of the sightings, and the hope of victory from the legendary defeat of the Great Dragon backing them. But Arthur had been downed in that battle, and had only just reclaimed his crown from a successful siege of power. He was at his limit, Merlin guessed, so he tried to ignore how little mind he paid to the treatment of his servant. 

The chill of night still lingered in the air as Merlin knelt over the renewed fire and prepared a hearty stew, he felt some pressure against the inside of his nose and sniffled, hoping he could push through any congestion from the cold. He inhaled the steam of the stew deeply, easing his ongoing headache slightly. 

Elyan and Gwaine sat with him over breakfast and whispered jokes about how overbearing Arthur was being. He shrugged them off with a snarky insult sent the king’s way and assured his knightly friends that he was doing just fine with the added pressure. 

“Ready the horses, Merlin,” Arthur called from across the camp. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

Elyan clapped Merlin on the back as he pushed himself off his log and towards the party’s steeds. 

The tension was uncomfortable as Arthur led his men towards the northwest edge of the Darkling Woods. Merlin carefully attended Arthur whenever he requested, offering soft, reassuring words about the battle to come. It made the king’s skin crawl. 

And now the fool was stifling sniffles as the breeze picked up.

His knights weren’t making him feel any better either. He had always known his men had been close with his servant, but now more than ever, their trust in him was painfully prevalent. And he could hardly blame them. 

Merlin had been a key component in the recruitment of many of them and the story of how he assisted the well remembered Lancelot was met with gratitude from his peers. 

Leon respected Merlin as Arthur’s shadow, having seen just as much of his loyalty and selflessness as Arthur had as his eldest knight. Percival had long heard of Merlin before he had even bowed to the king, Lancelot having sung his praises like a proper bard. Elyan not only knew Merlin through his sister, but Merlin was also the one to help him bind his chest and talk with Gaius about other, more complicated treatments. And Gwaine . . . well Arthur was quite sure that Gwaine would go as far as to bed the man if given the chance. He was practically falling over himself in an attempt to court Merlin half the time, it was a wonder the idiot never noticed. 

That, and Merlin saw to their wounds, cast their broken bones, brewed their medicines. He supported his men as much as they supported the king. 

And all Arthur could think was: why? 

Even now, he was at Arthur’s heels, illness creeping up on him, doing his part in their quest to find this dragon. 

For the second time, actually. 

Suddenly, Merlin sneezed, birds startling out of the nearby trees. Pulled out of his musings, Arthur groaned at the disturbance. He knew that this wasn’t his usual antics, them not being on a hunting trip, but he couldn’t help but be irritated by the man himself interrupting his turbulent thoughts. 

Almost as if called upon by Merlin’s leaky nose, a holler sounded out from the woods, causing the knights to draw their swords. Three men, from the east, darted out of the brush brandishing curved blades and moved to force Percival and Leon down from their horses. 

Gwaine turned his steed around and rode past the scuffle, snatching one of the men by the back of his coat and throwing him a few feet to the side with the momentum from his horse. Then, he swiftly dismounted and faced the recovering bandit with his sword at the ready. 

Arthur stayed atop his horse, herding the bandits in towards his proficient men so that they could not take cover in the trees. He swung his sword, catching one in the arm, prompting him to turn with a snarl and target him. 

Arthur’s horse reared as the blade flew past his eyes and Arthur fell back, landing hard on the ground. His sword knocked from his grip, he scrambled backwards, frantically feeling for his weapon. The bandit stood above him, striking with vigor but remaining just out of reach. Heart pounding in his chest and limbs burning from the exertion, Arthur spotted his sword across the road, causing his stomach to drop. 

Suddenly, the bandit yelped and tripped over a tree root, face slamming down into the hard dirt. Arthur continued to scoot back until his hand touched something cold. He grabbed it, took it up and brandished it expertly as he climbed back onto his feet, and brought it down onto his enemy's shoulder in one fell swoop. 

Looking down, in his hand was his own familiar sword. 

The king’s head snapped up and he stared into the fray, eyes darting from face to face until he found the tall profile of his servant. He was crouched down at the forest’s edge, brow drawn up in focus as he watched the knights fight. 

His eyes were stubbornly blue. 

Arthur growled and rejoined the battle until all three men had fallen. His gaze was locked on Merlin as the lackey trudged back onto the path to take a look at the damage. He was breathing heavily through his mouth and frowning down at the bodies. “Bandits?” 

His voice was thick and stuffy. Arthur didn’t answer him, just kept staring daggers into the side of Merlin’s head. 

“No,” Percival said, prodding one of the men with his sword. He lightly lifted his cowl with his blade, revealing a crest on his brooch; a stylized flower set in brass. 

Arthur’s eyes snapped to the symbol and he bit his lip. “Amata.” 

Percival nodded. 

“What would men from Amata be doing this far south?” Elyan asked, sheathing his sword. 

Arthur shook his head in exasperation. “The Sarrum has a reputation for his collection of demented creatures.” 

Percival, typically a man of few words, offered his own knowledge. “He is rumored to have bedding made of griffon’s feathers and a bathhouse heated by a horde of angry wyverns.” 

“Exaggerations,” Arthur replied, deep in thought, “but not too far off.” 

“He’s after the dragon?” 

Arthur couldn’t help himself. He scowled at Merlin, his concerned expression only confusing the king even further. Merlin stared back at him, alarmed at the extreme response. 

“That’d be my guess,” Gwaine muttered, too preoccupied looking at the unique crest to notice the altercation. 

Arthur redirected his attention to the dead, nudging one of them with his foot. “Dig them a grave, Merlin. We’ll travel a bit further and camp early. We’ll have to start covering our tracks if we seek to avoid The Sarrum.” 

A fat lot of good that night’s rest did me, Merlin thought to himself, sarcasm practically oozing out of his ears. His biceps ached from digging, though several of the knights had aided him whilst the other’s helped Arthur plan a more discrete route, and his headache was back in full swing. It pressed against his skull like boulders on his mind and he couldn’t get that look on Arthur’s face out of his memory. 

He looked up through his lashes at the man, anger bubbling up within him. Surely the king’s mood wasn’t that sour. What had Merlin done to deserve such mistreatment? 

And then, when they finally stopped for the night, Merlin began to ready dinner. They were in a clearing that was obviously used for logging some years past, and Merlin was using a rather wide tree stump as a makeshift table. He’d set the large vat of water down on it and was taking account of his dry ingredients when Arthur stepped up behind him and, out of the corner of his eye, Merlin watched him shove the bucket over, deliberately. 

It spilled. All down Merlin’s pant, it had. And he jumped up as Arthur mumbled a half hearted apology and sent Leon to gather more water. He stepped away, Elyan and Gwaine coming to offer rags for him to dry, leaving Merlin to make soup, sopping wet. 

Merlin cursed under his breath as he worked, the knights growing antsy as they watched him. The attitude, he could understand. Being overworked, he could excuse. But this? This was on purpose. 

He didn’t miss how Arthur snatched his bowl away and ate on the far side of the fire, or how he stared holes through Merlin’s skin when his back was turned and refused to meet his gaze entirely when it wasn’t. Clearly, Arthur wasn’t just fretting about the dragon, or his queen, or his kingdom. Clearly something slimy had found its way up his ass and was turning him all sour from the inside out! 

Merlin huffed as he levered himself into his bedroll for the night, crossing his arms and sleeping with his back turned to the king, which he regretted almost immediately because Arthur was staring at him. Again! The knights didn’t dare steal glances his way when they took watch. His headache pinched and poked at his brain and he sniffled and snorted until the phlegm running down the back of his throat was too much and he relented to panting through his mouth as he festered. 

Any time he felt as though he was getting somewhere with his destiny something would come around and ruin it. And more often than not, that something was Arthur.

Chapter Text

When Morning came, Arthur promptly started packing for the day’s ride, not even sparing Merlin a second glance. He felt the knights’ eyes on him, knew they were just as bewildered with his behavior towards Merlin as the man himself, but he tried to just power through it. They had a dragon to kill, after all. 

“Arthur.” 

The king spun around to find Gwaine kneeling over Merlin, who had apparently found his way towards sleep at some point in the night. But his face was scrunched up in a nightmare and he breathed wetly through his mouth. 

“Wake him up.” 

Gwaine frowned in disapproval, but began to coax Merlin awake anyway, trying to offer his reassurance to the lad as he got tugged into consciousness. 

“Muck the horses.”

“Wha?” Merlin’s upset expression was taken over by sheer confusion.

Gwaine, on the other hand, shot to his feet. “Arthur!”

Arthur spun around, preventing Gwaine from protesting. “The Sarrum is in these woods,” he said sternly. “We cannot have him on our trail. So yes,” he looked back to Merlin, trying not to notice the way he shivered, “you’ll be shoveling manure before we set out.” 

“Why’re we so worried about The Sarrum anyway?” Gwaine asked, following Arthur. “We’re after the same thing. What difference is it if he meets the dragon first?” 

“The Sarrum hardly kills, Gwaine. He collects.”

“What’s it to us, then?” 

“We let one dragon live beneath the castle and it nearly cost Camelot dearly.” Arthur stopped and stepped very close to Gwaine’s face. “We cannot allow it to live under any condition.” Arthur’s eyes looked past Gwaine to where Merlin was brushing off his pants. A shiver ran up his spine in the morning air and he seemed sluggish as he rolled up his bedroll. 

Gwaine noticed his surveillance and opened his mouth to stand up for Merlin, but Gwaine didn’t know what he was talking about, didn’t know what Arthur had been told. So Arthur quickly returned his gaze and cut him off. “Is that understood?” 

Gwaine clearly wanted to continue, to tell Arthur off for how ridiculous he had been acting, but he held his tongue. Arthur didn’t wait for a response, simply walked away and continued to ready himself for more travel. 

Each knight took a try at helping Merlin with the shoveling, but each time Arthur would swing by and give them an urgent task to do. He wanted to think over the past few weeks, try to find some cause behind Arthur’s foul behavior, but his head was pounding. He was lucky enough to have found a shovel amongst some abandoned logging tools and was digging graves for the second day in a row, only this time for their horses’ waste. 

The knights were nearly finished packing and were awkwardly mounting their horses, heads swiveling between him and Arthur. The king himself was already atop his mount, urging the party to move more quickly without so much as uttering a word. He trotted past Merlin as he worked, staring down his nose at the perturbed servant, earning an unfiltered scowl. Merlin didn’t have the energy to put an effort into hiding his frustration. He just tossed the remaining manure into the ground and did his best to pat the earth flat. 

He faltered as he tried to mount his horse, a wave of dizziness passing over him, and he hopped a few times on his trailing leg before successfully hauling himself over the saddle. 

Arthur was a ways ahead, practically running away from the campsite. Leon and Percival lingered to make sure Merlin caught up with the group and, after waving them on, Merlin used some subtle magic to hide their tracks. As much as he detested Arthur's useless tasks, he also would much rather avoid running into The Sarrum. 

The notion of a man collecting free beasts made Merlin's skin crawl, especially knowing that his Aithusa was his current target. The sly little dragon was difficult to get ahold of. He didn't seem as keen to prowl around the castle as Kilgharrah was and had a more mischievous nature to him. Guilt stirred in his chest at the thought of this young dragon being captured by such a man as The Sarrum, or worse, being shot down by Arthur. 

Merlin didn't have a plan on how to avoid any dragon slaying on this adventure, and it was hard to come up with one with his skull splitting headache. He mostly hoped that, once they found the poor thing, Merlin could devise a plan telepathically with Aithusa and stage his death or plan an escape route that Arthur won't want to follow. 

He tried not to meet the worried stares of the knights. He didn't want them to rally for him, not when he didn't even know why Arthur was like this. He thought for a moment he might be enchanted, but no, it had been too long and Merlin knew his king. Trust in his knights was imperative to his destiny and Merlin was not going to act as a wedge between them if he could help it. 

Still, he couldn't help but return Arthur's favor. This was the first time in years Arthur was so openly careless with someone in his charge. It felt like a spit in the face to all of the years they had spent together, and if Arthur was willing to be so flippant with his servant's well being, then Merlin was going to make his displeasure known. 

They rode all day in this tense silence, Merlin's mind mulling around the same thoughts over and over again until he could hardly keep his eyes open. 

"Merlin!" 

Merlin's head snapped up, his chin having fallen against his chest as he dozed off atop his horse. A hard thwack hit the back of his head and he bent forward again. 

"Quit dreaming and pay attention!" 

Finding Arthur with a raised hand and angry eyes, Merlin sputtered. "What is wrong with you?" he asked incredulously. 

The knights all seemed to hold their breath, some even flexing their arm muscles, an echo of the movement they would make to grab their swords. Arthur opened his mouth to retort. 

But instead, he roared. 

Suddenly everybody's eyes shot to the skies and the sound of wing beats filled the air. Shadows flashed over them in the setting sun as something moved across the treetops. Swords and crossbows drawn, everyone was on guard, seeking out the white beast they had been searching for. 

Before any of them could get a proper look, however, a roar of another kind bellowed from beyond the trees. Men, clad in armor and riding horses almost as impressive as Camelot's own, came crashing through the brush.

Merlin drew his horse back so that he could survey the fight, eyes occasionally flickering upward to catch a glimpse of Aithusa. His wing beat was uneven and he heard the snap of branches as he stumbled into the canopy above. The Sarrum must have been having success in his hunt, and the poor thing led him and his men directly into Camelot's party. 

Quickly, Merlin got to work keeping an eye on his friends, tugging on tree roots and tripping up enemies. Most of The Sarrum's men were in combat with Camelot's knights, attempting to plow their way through to their prize, but some of them still had weapons pointed high. 

And Aithusa wasn't going to be brought down without a fight. 

Fire burst from the heavens as the sun dipped below the horizon. Men screamed and flailed as they tried to escape the flames, only to collapse in burning heaps by the forest edge. All The Sarrum's men. 

Lucky, Arthur thought, seeing how the wind bent the arch of the fire as it streamed down upon them, just barely avoiding catching Leon's hair. 

He sparred with two men, one mounted, another dancing around his horse's feet. He struggled with the horseman as his own steed panicked, throwing him off as the footman sliced its chest before it fled into the night. Arthur recovered quickly, facing the footman with his blade and sparring. 

He was distracted in the fight, eyes darting around in search of a dark head of hair. He bested the footman easily, but the other was still atop his horse, coming down on him in large, sweeping motions. He blocked as best as he could, but the height aided in his opponent's force and he felt it pulse through his arm each time. 

Suddenly, the horse reared, evening the playing field as the enemy fell to the ground. 

Lucky. Instead of taking advantage of the change, Arthur spun around, searching the faces of the frantic crowd. 

The Sarrum's warrior recovered but had lost his weapon, opting to lunge at Arthur with his bare hands from behind. They both tumbled to the ground, Arthur dropping his own sword as he rolled to the side. Pinned by his opponent, Arthur became very aware of how dangerous his wandering mind had become. The man picked a knife out of his boot and held it aloft as Arthur failed to tug his arms out from under his knees. 

Instead of meeting his end however, Arthur watched as a blade poked through the man's middle, his mouth falling open in a short scream before he was discarded to the side. 

There, above him, was Merlin, holding Arthur's sword. It looked heavy in his hands and he offered a tight smile as he returned excalibur to its proper wielder.

His eyes were blue. 

Arthur roughly took his sword back and begrudgingly allowed Merlin to help him to his feet. The battle still loudly surrounding them, Arthur rushed to rejoin the fray, shoving Merlin to the side and refusing to look back as he heard Merlin fall over his own feet.

Merlin grunted and Arthur could see his servant stand out of the corner of his eye as he spun his weapon. Merlin put a hand to his head and stopped for a moment before stomping out of Arthur's view. 

The war raged on, the heat of the flames making the fight thick and warm. Heavy breaths filled the air between battle cries and pained screams. Man after man skewered on Arthur's blade. But just as many men seemed to just drop dead around him. Fallen branches and odd bursts of fire knocking many of the men off their feet. A few laid slumped against distant trees and not a single one of Arthur's men had been downed. 

Lucky, Arthur thought bitterly as a tree creaked and tipped to the side, crushing the warrior who was admittedly proving to be a challenge for Camelot's king. Again, Arthur forgot the fight and searched for Merlin, finding him standing oddly close to the center of the chaos. 

He was looking up with a frown on his face, a fever high on his cheeks. Glossy blue eyes scanned the burning leaves above. His mouth parted, breathing heavily, and he leaned back to look even higher. 

Arthur frowned at him, the noises of the fight fading from his notice as he focused on his charge. Burning bits of forest fluttered down from the sky around the knights, the lights flashing to and fro on Merlin's face and he seemed to murmur a long string of words.

And then, finally, after long tortuous days of searching, Arthur saw it. 

Merlin's eyes flickered, a light shining from within them, and they turned gold.  

Flames meant for Arthur's men veered to the sides, instead striking down their opponents. But Arthur barely noticed, eyes still on Merlin's as they faded back to a dilated blue.

And then they promptly rolled back into his head. 

Their luck had run out.

Merlin collapsed, crumpling where he stood, and suddenly panic gripped Arthur. Gwaine cried out as a sword caught his arm and Elyan tumbled down off of his horse as fire caught his cape. 

The dragon, their target, crashed down through the branches, a horrible crack like thunder following it as it shook the ground. It roared as it breathed fire against the weapons pointed towards its pale, shining scales. The Sarrum's men began to fall back, several wounded being pulled away from the carnage. Arthur's knights sought him out, looking for instruction. 

"Regroup!" he yelled, the crack of the flames nearly drowning him out. He sheathed his sword and moved away from the blaze. "Fall back!"

Those injured hurried their way away from the bright beast in the middle of the heat as the others made sure that they made it past the walls of fire. Percival saw the empty space beside Arthur and urgently scanned the area. Gwaine was rushing through a clearance and pointing frantically. Percival followed his gesture to Merlin, laying motionless, nearly indistinguishable from the bodies around him. 

Arthur watched him eagerly, heart pounding in his ears at the sight of Merlin's slack form. Percival hastily grabbed at Merlin under his arms and pulled him up and away from the angry blaze. He winced at the ever growing heat as the dragon took to the skies, wind from its wings feeding the flames even further. 

By the time Percival made it to the pocket of flat earth the rest had settled into, Merlin was already stirring, blinking heavy eyelids with great effort. 

Gwaine took one look at him and turned on Arthur. Holding his hurt arm, he stormed over to the king. "What's gotten into you then?" he yelled.

Elyan stepped forward and tugged on Gwaine's good shoulder. 

"You going to give him a beating next?" 

"Gwaine," Elyan warned, trying to keep his brother at bay. 

Arthur stuck his nose up, looking very much like his late father. He didn't feel like him though. His ears were ringing and his limbs all ached from exertion, his mind doing flips inside his head. He thought ruling like this would make him feel strong and sure, but instead he felt very hesitant and lost, and oh so very vulnerable.

"Gwaine, stop!" Elyan was fully holding Gwaine back, as the knight shouted accusations over his shoulder. 

"-downright sorry excuse of a friend!" 

Arthur swallowed hard, his frantic thoughts crashing violently into action. "He has magic." He said it in a loud, booming voice, but not angrily. In fact, there were hardly any readable inflections in the statement at all. "He has magic," he said again, blankly, "Gwaine." 

Gwaine stopped shouting, panting loudly with the crackling swells of the fire. "What?" 

Arthur's gaze moved across the group, four sets of shocked eyes staring back into his own. He should be angry, furious even, but instead all of the hostility and grudge that had been bubbling up in him over the past month seemed to have been sucked away. He too was exasperated from the fight, his body feeling more tired than it ought to. He hoped that his knights might rekindle that anger he had been holding onto, hear this news and turn sharply towards the slack form in Percival's arms. But they didn't. They just stared as dumbly as he did back at them. 

Minutely, he nodded. "I saw . . . I finally saw him." 

Things seemed to piece themselves together in the knights' minds. But still, nobody moved. 

"He used magic in the city," Arthur said, mouth running without much thought now. "He's been practicing for at least a few months, it would seem." 

"And what of it?" 

"Gwaine!" Elyan hissed, gripping onto the fabric of his cape.

"What of it?" Arthur echoed, only more confused.

"Yeah," Gwaine said, shaking Elyan off. "You've still been an ass to him."

"Sire," Leon said, astutely. His expression bore a warning, convincing Arthur not to strike out without so much as a word. 

But Arthur wasn't sure he was at any risk of lashing out, not anymore. The confirmation of Merlin's treachery seemed to dampen his vigor against him instead of encourage it, and Arthur didn't have the slightest idea why. 

"You gonna say something or just stare at him like he's a bit of slime on your boot?" Gwaine growled. 

"I . . ." 

Merlin hummed and Percival tore his eyes away from his king to look down at him.

His face was wrung up in woe as he finally convinced his eyes to stay open. The dancing lights of the burning woods swayed in his blurred vision. There was a long silent pause as he came to. He could feel everyone holding their breath. But then bodies rushed towards him and began checking him over. Distorted voices spoke of him as he was guided into a sitting position, someone rubbing circles into his back. 

Blinking long and slow, the swirling colors started to line themselves up into recognizable shapes, the soft outlines of trees and faces settling into place. In the middle of it all, his vision sharpened, honing in on one particular sight. 

Arthur's face. 

It was blank, but not entirely neutral. His brows were perched lower than usual and his stare was intense, a whole world of questions behind his steely gaze. 

And all at once, Merlin could tell, Arthur knew.

Merlin's furrowed brow smoothed out as the realization hit him. His face fell, breath leaving him in a stunned sigh. When he next inhaled, it stuttered, and he huffed out a few dry sounds of fear as his heart began to rabbit away in his chest. Tears sprung to his eyes and a lump formed in his throat, choking him. 

Percival moved to pat Merlin's back, to help him sit up, but when he saw the way Merlin's petrified stare was locked on Arthur, he stopped.

Arthur just watched him. Merlin's heart wrung up into a tight ball and he brought a hand to his chest, the past month or so flittering by in his mind's eye. Arthur had been probing him, poking him like a rabid dog. 

The knights all broke into loud sounds of protest as Arthur drew nearer. Merlin gasped, shaking his head minutely. "I'm sorry," he breathed out, trying and failing to compose himself. "A-Arthur- I-I-" 

Arthur crashed to his knees beside Merlin, who fell into hiccuping sobs of panic. He raised his hands to Arthur, showing them bare and trembling. Arthur took them, gripping them hard and Merlin's breath caught in his throat, eyes widening as his lungs struggled to find air. 

"Stop." Arthur squeezed his hands tighter, commanding him with as much authority as he could muster in his stunned state.

Someone seemed to snap to action, hands shoving Arthur away as Merlin's attempts at breathing became less and less successful. Something cracked as pain bloomed on Arthur's cheek and he sprawled back into the dirt. 

Merlin was hefted up, eyes glazed over and hands coming to his throat as he gulped down heaves of painful air until his tense muscles slackened and his eyes rolled back once again. Percival scooped him up, pressing his head to his chest to check his breathing and his heartbeat as Arthur blinked against the throbbing round his eye. 

Elyan was wrangling Gwaine, who was cursing Arthur out despite cradling a bloodied knuckle, and Leon lost composure, a rare sight, and crawled up to Arthur. He reached to touch his face, but Arthur swatted it away, looking past him to the limp man in Percival's arms. 

"Sire."

"Leave it," Arthur snapped, resisting the urge to nurse his face. 

"Sire."

"He's breathing," Percival said, voice small. 

Gwaine pushed Elyan off of him and stomped over to Percival, taking a look at Merlin himself. He nodded when he confirmed Percival's observations. Then, he turned back to Arthur. "Now, is that a good thing?" he shouted. 

Arthur didn't answer him. 

Gwaine growled and stormed off, sucking on his knuckles as he went. 

Elyan put a hand on Merlin's forehead. "He's burning up." 

Percival nodded, adjusting his grip. 

"We need to find shelter for the night," Leon said, half to Arthur, half to the others. 

Arthur nodded. "There are caves between here and Landshire."

"How far?"

"An hour's walk." 

Percival sighed. 

"Are we bringing Merlin with us?" Elyan asked, looking pointedly at the king. 

"Of course we are," Gwaine said, a challenge in his voice. He was holding a horse's reins as he returned. "Is he?" 

Everyone looked to Arthur. Even Leon, who had been Arthur's right hand man since before he could remember, did not question the ultimatum. 

Arthur swallowed. "We better get moving."

Arthur led his party through the night, itching to look back over his shoulder but not knowing what he wanted to see if he checked. 

He was fairly certain Percival was at the back, walking the horse, with Merlin laying atop it, hot face pressed into the horse's neck. 

Gwaine and Elyan walked in front of them, the former staring so horribly into the back of the king's head that he could feel it like spikes being driven through his skull. Elyan had done his best to patch up Gwaine's arm and fist, but it was no physician's work. 

Leon stood directly behind the king, his loyalty proving true but conditional. He seemed deep in thought, as though foreseeing any action his king may take and preemptively deciding whether or not he'd follow.

When they reached the caves, they tied up their remaining horse and shuffled in. Merlin got the bedroll, of course, Percival laying him out beside one of the cave walls. Elyan made a fire and Gwaine sat by him, massaging his hand tenderly. 

Leon helped set up, before stepping beside Arthur quietly. 

"Sire."

Arthur ground his teeth. 

"What do you intend to do with Merlin?" 

Arthur glanced around at the others, to see if they'd heard. They hadn't. "Does it matter?"

Leon huffed. "I believe it does."

"I mean, does my decision matter? It seems my own men would go to war for him, even if it is with me."

Leon sighed. "I think . . . that is exactly why it matters. Whether your orders are followed through or not is one thing. But what your orders are . . . I think that determines who you are to these men."

Arthur's expression softened slightly, though he still had his brow pinched in thought. He looked around at the great knights he had rallied–Merlin had rallied–and watched them tend to each other; Elyan sitting beside Gwaine as he prodded his wounds, and Percival settling down to hold a cool rag to Merlin's brow. 

"Would you do it?" Arthur asked Leon.

"Do what, sire?"

"You know what." He looked to the ceiling for a moment, in deep contemplation. "If I told you to, would you follow orders?"

"No." Leon said it easily, softly. 

"Why?"

"It is my duty as a knight of Camelot to protect its citizens."

"And uphold its laws."

"Yes," Leon agreed, warily. "But some laws are bound to be broken." He glanced down at the shining band around Arthur's ring finger. "Some are meant to be changed." 

Arthur followed his gaze and fiddled with the jewelry, rubbing it as it rotated about his digit. 

"I don't think you'd want me to."

"What?"

"To follow orders."

Arthur closed his eyes then. "I don't . . . He's betrayed me."

"Do we know that?"

Eyes and mouth snapping open, Arthur turned to answer in exasperation, but Leon cut him off.

"He's lied. Committed treason. But he's here, isn't he? At your heels again."

Arthur relaxed. "He is."

The king looked back at the campfire to find Elyan quickly looking away. The knights all shared looks, poorly hiding their eavesdropping. 

"I think maybe you should sleep on the opposite side of the fire," Leon suggested. "To help Gwaine sleep."

Arthur scoffed, noting the way Gwaine's sword was out, resting on the ground beside his good hand. 

"Yeah, alright."

It was Elyan's turn keeping watch when the dragon found them.

It was surprisingly quiet, slinking into the cave and sniffing at the air. Elyan froze, eyes wide and unblinking in the dark. He moved, slowly, and drew his sword. 

The dragon cooed, tilting its head and shifting. 

Leon and Arthur stirred awake, blinking hard against their sleep. When they realized what had happened, Arthur sprung to his feet, sword at the ready. Leon followed suit. The rattle woke the others and soon the damp cavern dove into chaos. 

Metal flashing and red capes waving about, the dragon reared, bringing its front legs up to shield its face. It cried as it did so, the noise turning into something like a hiss as it came back down.

It didn't seem likely to flee, instead being irritated by the violent display and coming further into their dwelling. 

It opened its mouth, a rumbling deep within its belly, and light began to glow from its throat. Hot breath filled the cave amidst the commotion. 

They were trapped. 

"Min vláptete aftoús tous ándres." 

The light faded, the night suddenly feeling incredibly dark. 

Merlin, stood on shaking legs, walked unsteadily towards the beast with his hand outstretched. 

Arthur and the knight's ogled at him, stunned that they hadn't been burnt to a crisp. 

"Eínai fovisménoi." Merlin's breath was labored. "Tous tromázeis. Pígaine mésa sti nýchta kai tha eísai alóvitos." 

The dragon lowered its head submissively but did not move, looking up at Merlin with big, blue eyes. 

Merlin lowered his hand. "Me xéreis, Aithusa."  

The dragon bowed even lower, taking small steps back. It closed its eyes for a moment, moving in a way that almost resembled a nod, before turning swiftly and taking flight. 

The knights all jumped at the movement, Leon even dropping his sword. 

The cave was very cold. 

"What the hell," Gwaine whispered. 

The others murmured in agreement. 

Merlin turned. His eyes were glossed over and they didn't seem to focus on anything. "He was going to nest in here," he said, speech slurred and out of breath. 

Arthur, shaking, sheathed his sword and held out his hands. "Alright, Merlin," he rasped, voice getting caught in his throat. He slowly approached him, gently reaching for his arm. He was surprised the knights allowed him, but perhaps they were too stunned to do much of anything. He began to guide Merlin back inside the cave, towards his bedroll. 

"You frightened him," Merlin mumbled, stumbling as he was lowered back towards sleep. 

Arthur hushed him. "That right?"

Merlin nodded, eyes fluttering. He passed out before Arthur could finish laying him down and he fell back into the blankets, fever high on his cheeks and chilled sweat covering his face. 

"What the hell?" Gwaine said again, louder this time. 

"I don't know," Arthur answered, mind reeling.

Everyone sat in a tense silence for a while, taking in the strange phenomena that had occurred. Then, shyly, Percival began to speculate.

"I don't think that was a spell."

"No," Gwaine agreed. 

"Sorcerers all over would be sending dragons after people if it were," Leon said. After a moment, his brows shot up and he looked to Arthur, a realization perched at the tip of his tongue but too afraid to suggest such a thing. 

Arthur knew what he was thinking though. "A dragonlord."

"Our Merlin?" Elyan asked in shock. 

Something painful stirred in Arthur's chest. "Why didn't he . . . I got knocked out . . ."

"What?" 

"When the Great Dragon attacked Camelot, I got knocked out."

"I thought you killed him," Gwaine said. 

"So did I." Arthur looked down, eyes flitting through his memories. "I was told I had."

Percival sighed. "By Merlin."

Slowly, Arthur looked up and nodded. "By Merlin." 

They all sat for a moment, swallowing the news. 

"Oh god," Arthur uttered, eyes going wide. "God, his father. "

"What?"

"Who?"

"Balinor," Arthur hissed, looking to Leon. "He was Merlin's . . . He was killed right in front of him and I . . ."

Percival hushed him, the king's voice having grown loud. "He sleeps."

"So it's been more than a few months then," Leon pointed out. 

Things seemed to line up for Arthur then, memories shoved their way to the forefront of his mind and he reeled, hand coming to his head and gripping his hair. "When?" 

"He got into Gaius's old things, maybe?" Percival suggested.

Gwaine sighed, fiddling with his injured hand again. "I'd reckon he's always had it."

"And how would you know?" Elyan asked, teasing.

But Gwaine's face was guilty.

"You knew." Arthur felt his breath leave him. 

"No," Gwaine said with a grunt as he adjusted how he sat. "I had an inkling though."

"Why not say anything?" Percival asked. 

Gwaine shrugged. "'Was none of my business." 

"To hell it wasn't your business," Arthur seethed. "Your duty as a knight is to-"

"To protect the king," Gwaine finished. "At least, that's what I signed up for. And that's always what Merlin's done."

"What do you mean?"

"I may not have known Merlin had magic, but I knew he was doing things . . . He'd sneak around at night or break into people's rooms. I was suspicious a few times but after a while . . ." He shrugged again. "You know our Merlin. He'd never do anything to harm you, as much as you may deserve it at times." He laughed. "I just sort of stopped guessing and figured he was working on keeping your head on your shoulders."

"Merlin? Protecting me?"

Percival scoffed. "You saw the dragon."

"Yeah," Gwain continued. "I don't ask why he does it. I just know you're always at the forefront of his mind."

Leon hummed in agreement. 

"That's true," Elyan said, moving to replace the cold rag on Merlin's head. "I've see the way he looks for you."

Arthur let his hand fall down into his lap as he slumped back into the cave wall. "All this time . . . why wouldn't he–"

"Because you've been treating him like a butcher treats his chickens for the past week," Gwaine said, cutting him off again. "It's why I didn't say anything. You assume the worst in him."

"I–" Arthur stopped himself. He didn't. Did he? But he supposed over all these years, the lies were easy enough to believe. He was in the tavern. He tripped over his own feet. He was too dumb to understand propriety. It all came so naturally to him, to think that all Merlin was capable of was doing a half assed job of washing his sheets. "I never realized," he said instead.

"But Merlin did," Gwaine pointed out. 

Face heating up at all of the accusations, Arthur tried to stop the defensive rage from boiling up, but some spilled over. "How are you all being so calm about this? Merlin has magic." He couldn't stop a shiver running up his spine as he said it aloud. 

Gwaine shrugged. The others looked at one another sheepishly. 

"You've known for a bit," Percival pointed out. "And yet he still sharpens your sword." 

"We've all known Merlin as long as you," Gwaine added. 

"We know that if Merlin had actually tried against the crown, he wouldn't be here right now," Elyan said.

Leon looked to his king. "I think, what is trying to be said, sire, is that you do trust Merlin, despite what has happened."

"Aye," Gwaine approved. "You trusted him enough to bring him along and shove him about while you thought of a way to not believe it."

The knights all chanced a laugh, relieved when Arthur too smiled in response. 

Chapter Text

Merlin blinked awake, mind fuzzy. He shivered, a cold chill wracking through his body. He moaned, trying to sit up and feeling a horribly cold breeze slink under his back, wet with old sweat. 

A hand snaked its way under him and he was lifted further into a sitting position, the motion sending the world spinning. He brought a hand to his head, blinking against the vertigo. 

"You alright there, Merlin?"

Looking up to find Gwaine holding him steady, he thought to answer. He sucked in a sharp breath as the image of Arthur's knowing gaze snapped to the surface of his memory.

"Arthur," Merlin said in a harsh whisper, eyes going wide as he scanned the cave. Aithusa's glowing silhouette and his own outstretched hand filtered through as well. "Oh . . ." He felt like he was going to throw up. 

"You've been on his mind, yeah," Gwaine said, trying to make light of the situation. 

"What . . . I . . . Gwaine, you don't understand, I-"

Gwaine raised a hand to cut him off. "I don't need to know, Merlin." 

Merlin stammered, mouth gaping as he took in his memories. Somehow, he was sat here, in the back of a cave, unrestrained and being tended to. And everyone knew.

"If you're wanting, you can go talk to him." Gwaine nodded towards the mouth of the cave, where Arthur was sitting against the bright light of day, his mouth kissing his ring as he thought. 

Merlin nodded mutely, eyes fixed on Arthur. He pushed the blankets off of him and stumbled to his feet, almost tripping on the pile he'd made.

"Easy!" Gwaine warned, jumping up and putting a hand on Merlin's arm to steady him. 

Merlin shrugged it off, Arthur having turned to look over his shoulder. He promptly tripped, slowly losing balance as he clumsily fell into a crawl at the mouth of the cave.

Arthur reflexively held out his hand, catching Merlin in the chest before he could crash into the hard, stone floor. Merlin breathed heavily against his touch, hands coming up to hold the king's arm tightly. 

"Merlin?"

Breath coming loud and eyes wide, Merlin nodded, allowing Arthur to pull him to his side and situate him seated next to him. 

They sat there, quiet, for a long while. The forest was signing its morning song, the birds chirping and the trees rustling their leaves as they waved their greeting to the new day. Merlin was still panting, hair all stuck to his forehead, but the sound of his breathing fit well with the tempo of the earth, as if it blew the breeze. 

"Arthur-"

"Why don't you start with the dragon?"

Merlin swallowed, looking down and fiddling with his hands. "Which one?"

Arthur huffed and couldn't help a smile creeping onto his face. This idiot. "The one we're after."

"Aithusa."

"What?"

"That's his name."

Arthur looked at him, confused. "And how would you have known that?"

Merlin's expression fell, his eyes going wide again.

"Merlin."

"I may have . . . named him." 

"Is that so?"

Merlin nodded. "Hatched him actually." He took a deep breath to try and calm himself, but it came out shaky. 

"Don't suppose you know if Gwaine's story has any merit?"

Merlin stared at him, heart beating loud in his ears. "I don't . . . Arthur . . ." 

Arthur gave him a sideways glance. "I'm furious with you. But I think I've already made that clear." He gestured to Merlin's frame, how he was hunched over himself and very clearly recovering from illness. 

"Maybe," Merlin agreed. He gulped. "How did you–"

"Gwen told me." Arthur turned away slightly, fiddling with his ring. "Not to accuse, mind you. She'd seen you bring the wall down on Morgana when she'd cornered her . . . And it just got her rattled. After all, the last time she saw a friend's eyes glow, she . . . She was scared for you." 

Merlin's breath hitched. "I'm not like her, Arthur. I would never use my magic against you or–" 

"Yeah, I figured that bit out." He nodded to the knights, who were busying themselves just out of earshot within the cave. Percival coughed. Perhaps they weren't as far off as Arthur thought, prying bastards.  

"So these past weeks? You . . ."

"Been shoving you around to see if you'd use magic? Mostly. I know Gwen wouldn't lie to me, so I was also partially just letting you have it, but I also wanted to see for myself." 

For the first time, Merlin chanced a smile. "You could have just asked."

To his surprise, Arthur barked out a proper laugh. "Could I have?"

Merlin joined in the laughter. "Yeah."

Their joyous sounds died down and Arthur smiled, sad. "I understand why you didn't tell me. Or rather the knights did, and rather harshly clued me in."

"I wanted to. I had always wanted you to know."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." And oh, Merlin sounded so desperate for it to be true, for this moment to be real. It was like a wall was crumbling down between them, made from hazy glass, and Arthur was allowed to see Merlin clearly for the first time. 

"Tell me then," the king said.

"What?"

"Tell me."

Merlin seemed to understand the second time, and he stared at Arthur in awe. Then, he quickly composed himself, clearing his throat and adjusting so that he faced Arthur more. "Arthur." His voice cracked. "I have magic." The words oozed out of him, slow and hesitant, like they dragged along the sides of Merlin's throat as he'd said them. 

Arthur nodded. "That's good to know."

Merlin laughed, tears spilling from his eyes. He sniffled. 

"Don't tell me you're getting sick again."

"No," Merlin said through his tears. "No." 

"Good." Arthur leaned back, gazing out at the verdant landscape. "When did you . . . pick up this hobby?"

"What?" 

Arthur gave him an incredulous look.

"Oh, uh . . . I didn't."

"It's a bit late for that now, Merlin."

"No, I mean, I was born . . . with it." It felt silly to say, especially to Arthur. He wasn't sure if Arthur knew how unheard of that was, or if he'd already had some idea of why Merlin might have turned to sorcery. 

Arthur's attention snapped to him, looking very concerned. "That . . ." Whatever thought he had about the phenomenon quickly left in place of his thoughts about Merlin. "So you've always been . . . Huh."

"Sorry."

Arthur didn't answer. 

A sob made its way out of Merlin then, all the years of hiding and lying being stripped away in an instant leaving him feeling very naked. Arthur didn't move to comfort him. He knew it was cruel to do so, but he was still angry, despite it all, and he couldn't quite bring himself to think that Merlin shouldn't feel guilty. 

Arthur sure did. 

All of these years spent hunting and destroying people like Merlin, like the man who proved time and time again that he was nothing but loyal. They were wasted ventures. Wasted lives. 

And Merlin was stood behind him, watching it all over his shoulder. 

"We still need to hunt that dragon, you know," Arthur said, after a long while. 

"He won't hurt Camelot," Merlin said. It wasn't an objection, just a statement.

"We can't know that."

"But we can."

"I understand you're a dragonlord."

Merlin flinched.

"But can you really guarantee that a beast as powerful as that would make peace? You would do myself a great favor by slaying it, as I assume you did the last one."

Merlin made a startled noise. 

"Yeah, I thought my way through that one."

"I never . . . I mean, I didn't–" 

"I know I didn't slay it, Merlin. It's fairly obvious, now."

"No, what I mean is that–"

Arthur looked at him. "You didn't."

Merlin gulped. "I may have already made peace with a particular dragon."

Arthur took a deep breath and clenched his fists at the revelation. All these years, he thought his kingdom was safe from such a beast and the Great Dragon was out there, still, god knows where. The idea of it nesting on smoldering forests or feasting on far off villages made his stomach churn.

"Imprisonment drove him mad. He is Camelot's ally now."

"You mean it's still in Camelot?" Arthur growled, turning on Merlin with fury he had been trying to keep subdued. 

To Merlin's credit, he kept composure, only a wet breath escaping him. "Mostly."

"And you are able to forgive that thing for what it did? To my people?"

"No! No . . . Never. But I can't . . . Arthur, they're like family."

Arthur's heart jumped into his throat. Family, he could understand. He thought of Morgana, wild and seething with fury. She'd done much of the same to his people as the dragon had in her time as queen. She'd killed and tormented them in his absence. Yet, if there was some sliver of hope that she might come home to him, he would take it. 

As hard as it was for him to empathize with Merlin's strange life, Arthur knew that, if he were in Merlin's shoes, he'd find that he'd do much of the same.

"Right," he uttered, fight leaving him. "So this Aithusa . . . He's important to you."

"Very." 

Arthur hummed. 

"As are you." 

They locked eyes, the truth filling the gap between them like hot air. 

Arthur smiled. "Right, so we find this dragon. Then what?"

"What?"

"What happens next, if not battle."

"I could talk with him, let him know where it is appropriate to fly and to nest, and keep away from settlements."

"And if it refuses?"

Merlin's expression hardened, and Arthur was shocked to notice that he'd seen this face on him before. 

"He cannot."

Treacherous hunting trip turned diplomatic quest, Arthur led his men with a new goal set in their minds; to find the white dragon and make peace with it.

And to ensure it's freedom from a certain bounty hunter. 

Arthur and Merlin had talked for hours the day before, the latter still recovering from exhaustion and whatever sickly cold he'd caught. But his fever having broken in the night, and a day's rest full of questions and stories told, he was back on his horse, uneasy but no longer nodding off towards sleep. 

Details about the dragons and Balinor had been discussed, Arthur having trouble wrapping his mind around the whole ordeal but taking it in stride. 

"What about Morgana? And my uncle?" he had asked. 

"Agravaine is dead," Merlin said, that eerily familiar look in his eyes again, like he carried a hurt he couldn't let himself feel. "I don't know about Morgana. But I would guess she's survived." 

Arthur had sighed, having already mourned his uncle after the betrayal. "Could you find her?"

And that idiot, Merlin, had smiled. "I might try." 

Now, they were discretely searching for the white dragon, careful not to run into The Sarrum or his bounty hunters. Goodness knows the man was cruel enough to take the opportunity if he found himself in the possession of a Pendragon, and poor Guinevere had enough to worry about with her first try as regent. A ransom note is the last thing Arthur wanted to return home to her. 

Their first two days of searching were unsuccessful, Merlin claiming he'd reached out to the dragon in his mind, but gotten no response. The tension wasn't entirely gone from the group, as the knights slowly dared to ask their own curious questions, but it was "a matter we can deal with once we return home," according to Arthur, whenever Merlin's stories revealed more questions than answers. The king would keep his temper in check, knowing he'd already let it run rampant on his poor servant. If any of what Merlin had done warranted more discussion, then he'd rather wait until this whole ordeal was over. 

The way Merlin talked about dragons, though hesitant, was mystifying to Arthur. He recalled his dismissal of the dragon's dangers before they had set out on their quest, and realized that Merlin had been ever so gently suggesting that they do not hunt down a friend. No, probably more than that. Whatever strange connection Merlin had with the dragons, it was innate. There was some deep determination within him to ensure their prosperity, and a glint of hope in his eye whenever Arthur seemed to humor the idea of pacifistity. 

By the end of the third day, they were thoroughly dirtied and tired, falling down into their meager camp. Arthur declared that they would begin the return journey home in the morning, to recover their horses and restock on supplies before searching any further. Going on foot didn't cover much ground, and with their target in flight, it was hardly an optimistic chance of success. 

In the deep quiet of the night, however, a booming sound from within the trees startled everyone awake. Greeting them was a raging orange light, flashing through the leaves and branches. The knights all scrambled for their weapons, but Merlin was staring very knowingly into the heat, almost as if he were listening.

In an instant, he took off at a sprint, swatting away bushes and thorns, leaping over rocks and roots. Arthur cursed and ran after him. 

Another boom shook the earth and Merlin staggered, nearly falling over as he reached the source. A ball of fire was burning hot and bright amidst a sea of men wearing the Amata colors. Shouts and commands filled the air and the scent of burning flesh hit Merlin with a wave of nausea. He looked to the sky and saw Aithusa hovering cautiously, crying out against the onslaught of arrows. 

"Aithusa!" he shouted, trudging into the fray. 

"Merlin!" Arthur screamed at his carelessness, beginning to fight back attackers. 

How Merlin managed to become so careless with his magic over the course of a few days was beyond Arthur, but still he was impressed as he threw back opponents with the wave of his hand. He fought his way through the crowd, yelling as a snare was shot up into the trees, catching Aithusa by the leg and tugging him down. He wriggled and blew fire wildly in a panic, until the snare snapped and he was able to climb back upward. 

"Flee, Aithusa, I will come find you!" Merlin said to him, in his mind, but he was ignored. Merlin frowned, desperate to save his beast but not being able to reach out to him. 

"Merlin!" 

Merlin turned and saw that Arthur and Percival were struggling to hold their own in battle. He whipped back around and tried to speak to Aithusa again. "Please! You need to get out! Go or they'll take you!" 

"No." 

Merlin felt the world slow at the declaration, dread creeping up his spine. Why would Aithusa refuse? Why take so many lives? Had he become mad with hunger like Kilgharrah had when he had first escaped? No, he thought. There was something else. 

He had no time to ponder, however. He needed to leave, willingly or not. So, Merlin ran even closer, standing nearly beneath him in flight, and opened his mouth to command the white dragon to retreat. 

But no words came out, instead a great pain blossomed in the side of Merlin's head and everything tilted to the side. His vision went black for a moment, and he heard the muffled noises of battle, as if from a distance. He blinked open his eyes, bright colors glaring against his vision. The sound of more snares being shot made him flinch and he watched as Aithusa was violently forced down into the ground with a roar. 

Elyan's face came into view then, blurry and very close. He felt himself get lifted, then tumble to the ground again. Breath was shoved out of him and he gasped against the charred grass, reaching out for whomever he could find. 

Booted feet crashed in front of his face, lights and noises growing too loud. He squinted against them. There was a flash of white. Gold. He thought he saw a horridly familiar mess of black hair. Fire. The dark night sky. 

And then he was gone. 

Chapter Text

Creaking floorboards brought Merlin back to consciousness. He blinked against the fog in his brain, trying to remember how he'd gotten back into his shabby old room in Gaius's chambers with little success. He could hear the old man working in the main chamber, glass clinking together and liquid sloshing in the distance. 

He turned his head to check the time of day, but obscuring his view of the window was the king, sat in a bedside chair, his chin pressed uncomfortably against his chest in sleep. 

Merlin tried to speak, but all that came out was a hum at first. It did the trick though, and Arthur stirred awake, eyebrows going up when he saw Merlin looking back at him. 

"Merlin?"

"Mm, that's me." He smiled tiredly.

"How are you feeling?" 

Merlin groaned, a headache pulsing in his left temple, as well as a sting covering a portion of his thigh. "I could be better. What happened?"

Arthur looked less pleased at the question. "What do you remember?"

"We found him," Merlin said, hopefully. "But not much after that."

Arthur sighed, brows knitting together. "The dragon caught you with its tail. Gaius says it was a nasty blow."

Merlin looked down at his covers, trying to make sense of the vague memories. "What else?"

Arthur swallowed. "I'm sorry, The Sarrum has him."

Hope drained from Merlin then, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest. 

"They had Morgana too."

"What?"

Arthur nodded. "We saw her, prisoner. Suppose that makes for two novelties for his collection."

The notion made Merlin nauseous. 

"There we are." Gaius crept into the room, a nasty looking remedy held gingerly betwixt his fingers. "Glad to see you in the land of the living, my boy."

Merlin smiled for Gaius, fatigue creeping up on him already.

"Arthur's told me about what's happened." Gaius sighed as he sat on the edge of his bed. "Very careless of you, Merlin. You ought to have known better than to use magic so openly."

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur cut him off.

"Well I'm glad he was," Arthur argued. "By the sounds of it, Gwen wouldn't have fared so well against Morgana if he hadn't." He looked to Merlin, cocking an eyebrow. "And goodness knows how long it would have taken you to tell me otherwise."

Merlin laughed, trying to think of a witty response, but feeling far too tired and far too defeated to do so. 

Eventually, Arthur excused himself to attend to kingly duties, and Merlin was made to drink the horrible concoction Gaius had prepared. He fell back to sleep to the sound of the physician listing off his injuries and how long he would wait before returning to normal.

Or whatever normal would be. 

Arthur sauntered up to Merlin, coming to lean against the battlements beside him. He had been gazing off into the woods, eyeing the horizon as the sun set in the glowing reddish sky. He sighed as he felt Arthur settle next to him. 

"I am sorry, Merlin," Arthur said after a long moment. 

"I know."

"Not just for how I treated you, but also for your dragon."

Merlin turned slightly, catching Arthur in his peripheral. "What do you mean?"

"I know he meant a lot to you."

Merlin smiled. Arthur and he had talked much about their destiny over the course of his recovery, and he very much noted the small changes in which the king spoke about magic, even in such a short amount of time. 

"What was his name again?"

"Aithusa." The name felt like honey on his tongue, and he closed his eyes, trying to remember his face. 

"Aithusa," Arthur echoed, though a bit sloppily. He nodded to himself, looking out at the view. "We'll find him."

Slowly, Merlin opened his eyes and turned to Arthur. "What?"

Arthur smiled, looking Merlin in the eyes with a sincerity that was rare on his face but that Merlin treasured oh so much. "We will. Took everything we had to make it out of there in one piece, but once you're back on your feet, maybe we'll have to pay The Sarrum a little visit."

Merlin huffed, wincing at the shift of the burn on his thigh. Apparently some stray embers had found their way onto his pants in the chaos and he'd caught fire. He hadn't recalled any of that though. The retreat must have been a difficult endeavor without his aid. 

He looked back out as the sky grew darker, wondering how many nights Aithusa would have to spend in a cage or a tower.

Or a cave. 

"I have a friend who may be able to help," Merlin said after a while, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face. 

"Is that so?"

Merlin grinned, already seeking out the giant golden beast in his mind. "Yeah.

"Maybe I ought to introduce you."