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Chapter Text

“…And when you’re done with the stables, you may take the rest of the night off,” Arthur said.

“Gee, thanks,” Merlin sniped before flouncing off in a huff and muttering something about royals that probably would have been deeply insulting, had Arthur cared to listen to it; only Arthur hadn’t listened, because he’d just given Merlin a list of chores that was, well, utterly unreasonable, even by his standards, and he knew it.

But really, he didn’t have a choice, because he needed Merlin distracted and out of the way, for vitally important Reasons of State.

Namely: for the Reason that Arthur didn’t want to deal with the smug State Merlin would be in, if he knew what Arthur was about to do.

Sighing, Arthur reached beneath the wardrobe— a hiding place Merlin would never think to check, for fear of having to actually to clean under something— and took out the book he’d secretly accepted from a visiting noble out of Nemeth, and thought about how much easier his life would be if he’d just admit that Merlin could be right every now and again.

Then he remembered the look in Merlin’s eyes when he’d told Arthur that ‘you know, if you cracked open a book for yourself every now and again, we wouldn’t have half the trouble we do with these sorts of things’ just after he’d brandished a live rooster at some ghastly snake creature that a full score of Arthur’s own knights had tried and failed to kill, making the thing drop dead on the spot, and thought better of it.

“He’d be insufferable,” Arthur muttered to himself as he set his crown to one side, wishing for the thousandth time that the King’s crown didn’t have to be twice as heavy as the one he had as a Prince, and opened the Bestiary Mysterium. “And I’m not doing it because he told me to, I’m doing it because this kingdom has turned into a magnet for monsters, somehow, and I’m responsible for its defense.”

* * *

A few moments later, Arthur managed to forget all about how irritated he was, because, as it turned out, the book was fascinating in the same obscene, slightly sickening way that watching Gaius when he was busy with a particularly bloody and unpleasant procedure— lancing over-large boils, for instance— was fascinating.

For example, there was, if the book was to be believed, a sect of cavalrymen in northern Éire that rode about with their heads tucked under their arms, and whipped their horses with lengths of human spine, and that was an image that would probably haunt Arthur for weeks. And that was nothing compared to the women who would go out at night after leaving their skins at home, or the blood thirsty, mean-tempered demons who took great pride in hopping about whilst pretending to be slightly-larger-than-average white rabbits!

He did, privately, have some doubts about some of it— especially about the evil rabbits— since the book had made the same claims about gryphons and the like being impossible to slay without magic being involved in the slaying, and he’d seen that disproven, but still, if even half of it was true….

Well, if even half of it was true, then the world was a great deal stranger than Arthur had previously thought, and after spending his life in Camelot, he’d thought it quite strange indeed.

Then he turned a page and saw a rather morbid illustration of a woman in a nightgown tearing at her own hair, and had to stick his head out and call for a passing servant to fetch him a large jug of wine after he read the words.

In speaking of the Creatures of Magic, the book had read, we must also speak of those who may count themselves as Men, but who bear magic in their veins. The common folk may persist in attributing all magic to sorcerers, but the learned amongst us ought to know that there are distinctions; sorcery, of course, is the Art and Practice of utilizing the Powers of the Earth and its many Creations by means of the words, amulets, icons, and symbols of the Old Religion, but not all with magic depend upon such methods. Indeed, there are many who are born with the Power, such as the Seers, who develop Foresight, usually upon the onset of puberty; this is, in fact, the most dangerous of the Gifts, at least for its wielder, for the Sight often begins in nightmares and ill-omens, and it is not at all uncommon for these poor souls to fall prey to madness, if they are not trained to manage their Sight. Worse yet, the strongest of them nearly always manifest some active magic, usually in the form of random pulses of Force, made more frequent in times of strong emotions, which may shatter clay and glass or cause fires to start or to flare up to dangerous proportions.

Arthur wanted, badly, to throw the book into the fire and count that passage among the half that was clearly untrue; only, he couldn’t, because it explained everything, and it left Arthur feeling distinctly ill. If it wasn’t a choice, if it just happened….

Arthur read on.

The next passage, which calmly read there are also Witches and Warlocks who are born with active magic, and who, with relatively little effort, can lay claim to the sort of Powers that most sorcerers must spend years striving to attain, if the sorcerer can ever manage it, made Arthur uneasy; the passage about Hearth Witches, who possess the uncanny ability to make bread to rise, perfectly season soups and foods of all sorts, and keep their homes clean with hardly any effort made him snort and wonder if there was something exactly the opposite of a Hearth Witch, and if Merlin was one— and then he felt a bit guilty for accusing Merlin of having magic, if only in jest and in the privacy of his own head, even if it would explain his nearly supernatural incompetence at being a servant.

But then he turned another page, and felt his entire world come apart at the seams.

Arthur surged to his feet, went out to the hallway, and seized the arm of the nearest servant.

“George, thank God!”

“Your Majesty?” George asked, doing his best to hide his confusion and displeasure at being touched, and largely failing.

Arthur took a moment to narrow his eyes at the man and think about Hearth Witches again, remembering the times that George had stood in when Merlin was off getting drunk or doing God knows what else, then shook off the thought as being unimportant— if still very interesting— and said, “I need you to fetch my Round Table, and send them to me immediately, and whatever you do, be discreet, and if you see Merlin, don’t ask him to come, but tell him I also need him to oil my saddles before he finishes tonight. And send someone up with a few trays, too; we’ll be working late! And some chairs!”

* * *

Gwaine and Percival arrived together, naturally, then Elyan and Leon, with Guinevere close behind.

“Arthur, what’s wrong?” Guinevere asked at once. “You look pale.”

A moment later, Gwaine looked around, stiffened, and said, “Where’s Merlin? Is he hurt?”

Arthur sighed, and said, “He’s fine, he’s probably still in the stables.”

“Should we send someone to fetch him, sire?” Leon offered.

“No!” Arthur shouted. He cleared his throat, seeing their concern, and said, more softly, “No. I want him to stay exactly where he is. This is… well… there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m trusting all of you to keep this secret, for now, even from him. Especially from him!”

“Your Majesty, forgive me, but hasn’t Merlin proven his loyalty?” Elyan said, hesitantly, and Arthur was gratified to see everyone nod.

Well, everyone but Gwaine, who was glaring at Arthur instead, and looked fully prepared to throw a gauntlet down and defend Merlin’s honor, if Arthur tried to say otherwise.

“He has, many times over,” Arthur said. “And that’s precisely why I don’t want him to be involved! This is about him, you see. Well, more accurately, it’s for him, and I don’t want to alarm him until we’re ready.”

Arthur held up his hands, stopping the rest of their questions, and took a deep breath. “Merlin is the most loyal man I know, and I trust him with my life,” he said, solemnly. “I want him to be safe, and protected, but he’s in danger.”

Arthur had to gesture again and glower forbiddingly at Gwaine, to stop him from interrupting when he heard the words Merlin and danger in the same sentence. “We need to fix that, and that means that the laws must change.”

Nothing could have stopped Leon from interrupting at that, though. “The laws?” Leon asked, incredulously.

Arthur tried to come up with a delicate way to phrase it, and failed.

Instead, he said, bluntly, “Merlin has magic.”

“Merlin would never—” Guinevere said, murderously, at the same time that Gwaine stood and put a hand on his sword, and Leon said, “Merlin?” in a tone which suggested that, if Arthur had just tried to convince him that the grass on the training field was purple, and always had been, it would have been more believable.

Elyan put a hand his sister’s shoulder, and on Gwaine’s wrist, and said, “You said the law must change; you mean to repeal the ban,” which silenced the lot of them and had Gwaine lurching heavily back into his chair.

Arthur lifted the book from his desk, and showed them the cover. “There have been too many attacks from magical creatures and the like; I decided it would be best to prepare for them, and learn more about the forces that may threaten our people,” Arthur said, deliberately not mentioning that it had actually been Merlin’s suggestion, for fear that it would eventually get back to him that he’d been right. “But this book also refers to people who are born with magic.”

“But sorcery is learned,” Leon said, furrowing his brow.

“Sorcery is,” Percival said seriously, “But magic isn’t always. Some people have… knacks. Little tricks they can just do, without really trying.” When they looked at him in astonishment, he shrugged. “I’ve met druids, before; I knew a man who could tie a knot that would never come loose unless it was touched by human hands, a hunter who could sniff out rabbits better than any hound could, and I even met a woman once who never burnt herself or her food while she cooked, no matter how drunk and reckless she got with her fires.”

“Thank you, Percival,” Arthur said, with true gratitude; it put him at ease to hear some of what he’d read confirmed, firsthand. “The book also spoke of people, usually woman, who could gain knowledge of the future. It detailed, quite plainly, the way that their power usually starts out as nightmares, and can lead to madness if it goes untrained. And the way that they might break things, or start fires, after a time, without meaning to. I was inclined to take the book a lot more seriously after that.”

Arthur favored his First Knight and his wife with very significant looks.

Guinevere whispered, “Morgana,” and covered her face with her hands while Leon pressed his lips together, tightly, and rubbed at his chin. Many of the other knights shuddered.

“Merlin doesn’t exactly run around prophesying, and I would hardly call him mad,” Gwaine said, “except for the bit where he manages to put up with you.”

Arthur might have grimaced at him if Gwaine hadn’t managed to cut through the tension beautifully, and if he didn’t strongly suspect that had been the man’s entire reason for making the joke in the first place.

“No, he doesn’t.” Arthur hefted the book again, opened it to the marked section, and read.

“Rarer still are the Hedge Wizards and Hedge Witches, who have an affinity for living things, warmth, and even Luck itself,” he quoted. “Under their hands, even the dampest wood will light without smoke. Under their eyes, the path to their desires becomes clear, without the need of a map, and they are invaluable in campaign, for they have a keen sense for danger, and often experience a shiver along their spines when they are watched or targeted for attack, and their enemies often fumble their blades, fall without reason, or suffer from other small misfortunes which may turn the tide of battle. Indeed, their Gifts are subtle, but mighty; often, they do not even know that they are so blessed, but if they do, it is not uncommon for them to gain some middling skill at the sorcerous arts, for they are often also blessed with keen memories and surprising wit.”

Arthur put the book down, and said, in a tone far lighter than his actual feelings on the matter, “Sound like anyone we know?”

“Shit,” Gwaine breathed, with something like awe.

“Falling branches,” Elyan whispered.

“I think,” Arthur said, ruefully, “that we’ll be here all night if we try to lay out all the little things Merlin might have helped us with, without us knowing. Hell, there’s probably a lot he does for us that he doesn’t even know about; the book says that a lot of what people born with magic do is instinctive.”

“Do you really think he’s unaware of it?” Percival asked. “I mean, he’s always been oddly observant; I can’t imagine he wouldn’t recognize it, eventually.”

“For his sake, I hope he hasn’t,” Arthur said, darkly. “Because if he has, it means he’s been living in a kingdom that would see him dead for something he couldn’t help, and sticking around anyways. I always knew he was loyal, but that….” He shook his head and reached for the food, to give him something to hide behind for a moment.

“He must have been so afraid,” Guinevere said.

“It’s a lot worse than that,” Arthur grumbled.

“What could be worse than thinking he could be burned, just for being who he is?” Gwaine asked, darkly.

“Hearing nearly all of his friends regularly condemn the evils and corruption of magic and all who practice it,” Arthur said in an even darker tone.

There wasn’t much more anyone could say, after that.

* * *

If Arthur spent the rest of his life doing nothing other than singing Leon’s praises to anyone and everyone in earshot, it still wouldn’t be enough; Arthur had anticipated pitched uphill battles with the Council, and worse, with their allies, given that the ban on magic was part of nearly every treaty Camelot had. And when Arthur had first presented his proposal to the Council, they’d reacted exactly the way he’d imagined they would.

Then, after a long bout of people shouting over each other Leon had stood, hurled a plate into the wall like a discus, then said into the ringing silence that filled the room after the ensuing crash, “My Lords, if you cannot have compassion for those who are being punished for the way that they were born, which is no more right than if the peasantry were to suddenly decide that all those of noble blood must die for the crime of having something by right of birth that they themselves do not possess, then perhaps you may consider the benefits of allowing magic into the land. You may consider, for example, the growth of crops that might otherwise have withered, the healing of sickness and injury which may otherwise have been fatal, and vanquishing of foes which may otherwise have decimated full scores of our men.”

Gaius and Geoffrey nodded, forcefully, and several nobles appeared to be considering this when Lord Henrich, one of Uther’s staunchest allies, rose. “And yet allowing magic would certainly cause the peasantry to rebel, should we allow them that power,” he argued. “We would not arm each serf with swords; they would be a danger to themselves, and to us! Why, then, would we allow them the weapon of sorcery?”

Arthur’s heart sank, but Leon scoffed. “I’d call it a tool, not a weapon, and allowing the practice does not allow every usage of it. We can always restrict certain aspects of the craft, if we have to, or, more simply, restrict the results; we would condemn murder the same if it was done by a knife as we would an axe, and a thief who snatched a purse at market is treated just the same as a servant who steals from his master’s household, and so we could easily say that any crime which is done by means of magic would be punished as if that crime was done by mortal means.”

Lord Henrich still looked unconvinced; then Leon said, “And you show a remarkable lack of foresight, for a man of the treasury.”

Lord Henrich spluttered, glowering— at least until Leon finished by saying, “After all, people will want magical aid, once they see it in action, and flock to buy it… think of the taxes!”

And suddenly a lot of people found themselves much more sympathetic to the plight of magic’s children.

* * *

Of course, having the Council’s cooperation didn’t mean it would be quick; they still needed to address Camelot’s allies, which would take time, even if they were as easily persuaded, and there would be a great deal of paperwork to go through. Uther, in his fervor, had included language condemning magic into nearly every piece of legislature, when he could find a pretense to do so, from provisions against enchanted cloth in the allowance for the Textile Guild, to specific ratifications on the nature of farming practices that forbid planting by the phases of the moon, of all things.

All of which meant that Arthur was going to have to put up with George far more than he’d like, and that he needed help, if he wasn’t going to damage his relationship with Merlin irreparably.

“Gaius, a moment,” Arthur said after calling a close to the meeting. When the doors shut, he said, “Can I trust in your support—”

“You have it,” Gaius said immediately, looking up at him through watery eyes. “I have never been prouder of you, sire.”

“Thank you, Gaius,” Arthur said, studying the reports in front of him for a moment, to hide his blush. “But please, allow me to finish. I need your support, and your discretion.” He hesitated, thinking of how best to word his request. “I would ask you to keep this from Merlin, and to help me keep him busy; the rest of the Council already knows not to speak of this, outside of these rooms, but I’m asking you to do the same.”

“Arthur,” Gaius began, but Arthur cut him off, gently.

“Please, Gaius,” Arthur said. “I know that Merlin has magic.”

“He told you?” Gaius said, falling back into his chair.

Arthur sighed. “No, I read about people being born with magic, and too many things added up to ignore it; and now, you’ve confirmed it.”

He moved to the chair next to Gaius, leaning in. “I know he didn’t have a choice in his magic, but honestly, I had hoped he was unaware of it. That it was an instinct he learned to ignore. I hated to think of him going round protecting us, caring for us, and worrying that I’d despise him for it, or worse.”

“I don’t believe he truly thinks you would,” Gaius said, as kindly as he could. “But I do know he fears it, sometimes. It’s an old fear, rooted in his earliest years, and that sort of thing doesn’t just go away because you tell it to, even when your mind knows it to be foolish.”

Arthur nodded. “Thank you for your honesty, Gaius.”

“Sire… Arthur… surely, then, you should speak to him about it?” Gaius advised. “It would do him a world of good to know that you know, and that it hasn’t changed the way you look at him.”

“Gaius, it has changed the way I look at him in at least a hundred ways, and all of them for the better!” Arthur replied. “I don’t blame him for the magic, or for hiding it; I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same, in his place, although, truthfully, I’m not entirely sure I wouldn’t have simply fled Camelot ages ago were I in his shoes. But I don’t want to give him empty promises. I want to come to him when I can promise him that he’s safe, and not a moment before.”

“I see,” Gaius said, slowly, and Arthur couldn’t tell if he agreed with him, or had simply decided against arguing.

“But at the same time, I can’t keep giving him make-work to keep him from getting underfoot,” Arthur said, grinning, “Or he’s liable to kill me before I can work all this out, and then where would we be?”

“He may have made some complaints along those lines,” Gaius admitted, laughing.

“I thought as much. Which is why I need your help, Gaius; he doesn’t mind helping you, so long as there aren’t any leeches involved. I know he’s taken on more responsibilities from you, over the years. Perhaps we could find some pretense for those responsibilities to increase, for a time?”

“I am an old man, sire,” Gaius agreed, almost impishly. “A minor injury of the back— lingering, and painful, but non-threatening— is certainly not out of the question.”

* * *

Merlin came to Arthur the next day, bringing a better-than-usual lunch, to give him the bad news.

“He’ll be fine,” Merlin said, reassuring him, “He’s sworn that up and down, but he can’t stand for long periods, and doing his rounds are completely out of the question. I can still wake you, serve you breakfast and dress you and the like, and bring up your dinners, but he wanted me to ask if I might be released to him for the rest of the day.” Then, hesitantly, sounding truly remorseful, he said, “I am sorry, sire, but I really think he needs me; he’s never asked for anything like this before.”

“Merlin, it’s alright, Gaius is a good and loyal friend to me and the Crown,” Arthur said, soothingly. “And more than that, to you. Of course, you must help him; whatever he needs.” Then he frowned and added, hastily, “But you’d best hope he heals quickly, Merlin, before I get too accustomed to a competent servant!”

Merlin smirked. “You’ll be bored to tears in a week.”

Arthur’s frown deepened; not, as Merlin probably thought, from the teasing, but because Merlin still seemed nervous. No, not quite nervous— afraid!

Arthur considered that, for a moment; then, inspired, he said, “Of course, I can’t promise all of your time; if I should need you for a hunt, or a patrol, we’ll have to find someone else to assist Gaius while we’re gone,” and watched Merlin’s face clear.

Arthur didn’t know whether to feel enormously pleased that Merlin was still worrying about Arthur leaving the castle, even when his mentor was ostensibly injured and in need of assistance, or if he ought to be irritated over Merlin assuming he couldn’t take care of himself, and decided not to dwell on it too much either way.

“Thank you, sire,” Merlin said, sounding genuinely grateful, and Arthur thought, that’s that, then.

* * *

Of course, it wasn’t, quite; Merlin, curse him, had been entirely right about how quickly Arthur would miss him, and by the end of that first week, Arthur found himself loathing the sight of his own chambers.

He wanted, badly, to knock over a few candlesticks, and to drape a few old shirts over some of the lesser-used furniture, to restore some semblance of Merlin’s usual orderly disorder, only he knew George would right it all the second he looked away. It was almost worse knowing that he’d still see Merlin night and morning; it only made his absence through the day that much more conspicuous.

Arthur felt his mood growing fouler and fouler, and nearly lost sight of the reason for putting himself through all of this, until one morning, halfway through the second week, he caught Merlin looking at him oddly, and snarled, “What?”

Merlin ducked away, and said, “Nothing.”

“Merlin,” Arthur growled, warningly, because, well… just because he’d forgiven Merlin the secret of his magic, that didn’t mean he was inclined to allow any other secrets between them.

Merlin sighed, worried his lip between his teeth, and said, in a rush, “It’s just— I miss you! It’s silly, I suppose. I mean, I’m still around, and we see each other every day, but….”

That’s it, Arthur thought. That’s the reason I’m doing this, and it’s worth every blasted moment in between.

Ruthlessly, Arthur shoved down the warm feeling in his chest and said, “We could always start up your training again if you’re that desperate to see me; I’m sure Gaius could spare you for an hour or so in the afternoon. How’s your mace work coming?”

He grinned when Merlin stammered and said “Well we wouldn’t want both Physicians injured,” then fled until dinner.

* * *

Still, the next morning, when Merlin woke him, Arthur said, with a deliberately casual air in his delivery, “Oh, Merlin, it occurs to me that I should know more about that sort of things you do for Gaius, in case we do need to assign someone else to assist him, if there’s an emergency. Why don’t you bring up a double portion for supper this evening, so you can fill me in?”

Merlin’s beaming face told Arthur quite clearly that he wasn’t fooling anyone, but Merlin looked so pleased that he couldn’t bring himself to care that his deception had failed.

* * *

They dined together almost nightly, after that, and Arthur found he could forgive George for his zeal much easier, especially once Guinevere joined their dinners, too.

* * *

One month, two weeks, and four days after Arthur had called the first secret meeting of his Round Table, he stood on the balcony with his Queen, with Merlin waiting behind them, and announced that magic would no longer be outlawed in Camelot.

“Camelot’s greatest treasure is its people. You, all of you, are what makes our kingdom great. Without our farmers, we could not eat; without our tailors, we would not be clothed; without our smiths, we would have no armors, and no knights; without our knights, we would not be defended. It is only by working together that we can truly be great.”

“But for too long, we have ignored, and worse, shunned and punished a large part of our people. Those who have great skills, and knowledge, and those who were born with certain talents. Healers, fire-starters, wise men and women… we do ourselves a great disservice, and we do them great evil, in our treatment of them. And so, it is with the hope that we may all do better by our kingdom that I humbly announce that magic and sorcery shall never again be outlawed in Camelot. Sorcerers, witches, seers, and warlocks… I ask that you use your skills to benefit your kingdom, as all good citizens must; do that, and you have nothing more to fear from us! Do that, and we shall celebrate you, as we celebrate our knights, our bakers, our farmers, and our lords!”

“But remember that vice and violence of any will not be tolerated. Those who are found using magic to harm shall be punished to the fullest extent of the law, and will face swift justice for their actions. But I also promise this, though it is only a small thing, as apologies go: that justice will be swift! No one, from this day forth, shall ever fear the pyre again under my rule. So, say I, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.”

The last part, outlawing the pyre as punishment, had been Gwaine’s idea, and Arthur had been almost ashamed that he hadn’t thought of it first, for a while, but when he heard Merlin’s little gasp even before the first cheers erupted from the crowd, he found that he couldn’t begrudge the man his due, and promised himself that he’d foot the bill the next time he caught Gwaine in the tavern.

When Arthur finally drew back from the balcony and turned to face Merlin, he saw exactly what he’d expected to see. He took in Merlin’s tear-streaked face and the fierce pride and profound relief in his eyes, and when Merlin opened his mouth to speak, Arthur drew him into his arms instead.

“I know,” he said softly, “I know.”

“But—”

“You were born with it,” Arthur whispered. “It’s instinctive, and you can’t help it, and you use it for me. For Camelot.”

“How?” Merlin asked, his voice cracking.

“I’m not entirely useless, you know. It took me far longer than it should have, but I figured it out own my own. I see you, Merlin; I understand, now.”

Neither of them said much, after that. Merlin couldn’t— the poor man could hardly catch his breath between his sobs— and Arthur knew his servant was past hearing him, so he abandoned speaking, too, and just held on, until Guinevere came, and wrapped her arms around them both.

Eventually, between the two of them, they managed to settle the man, and make him understand that they were beyond grateful for all that he had done, over the years, and that he didn’t owe them any explanations at all.

* * *

When the three of them finally pulled away from one another, and Merlin seemed to have calmed down, Guinevere asked, “Merlin, I’m sorry, but I have to know… when my father fell ill, did you really cure him? That time you confessed?”

Merlin pulled Guinevere into another hug and said, “I’m so sorry you were arrested because of me; it was the first time I’d ever tried something like that, and I was so exhausted after that I didn’t even think about the poultice. I should have taken it back with me.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Guinevere told him, sternly. “You saved my father, Merlin, and it all worked out. You gave me more time with him, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Merlin nodded, though he didn’t look quite convinced, then turned to Arthur, and said, “Arthur, about your father—”

Arthur put up a hand, and said, “There’s no need, Merlin; Gaius told me that Morgana used Agravaine to curse my father. I already know that there was nothing that Dragoon person could have done, and that he truly regrets what happened. No one is to blame, apart from Morgana herself.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said, seriously. “For trusting me, for doing all of this… Arthur, I’ve always known you had it in you to move past your father’s prejudice, but seeing it! It means more than I can ever say.”

“So does your loyalty,” Arthur said. “I don’t know much about what you’ve done, but even what I do know is…. Well, it’s more than anyone else has ever done for me.”

“For us,” Guinevere corrected. “For all of Camelot.”

“Just promise me that you won’t lie to us again, Merlin,” Arthur said. “I’m not asking for you to tell us everything tonight; I understand that everything has happened rather quickly, from your perspective, and it’ll probably be easier for everyone if we just deal with things as they come up naturally, but I do want you to promise me that.”

Then Arthur decided that was really quite enough feeling for one day, and said, “Well, that, and that you won’t accidentally blow up the tavern next time you go out drinking, now that you can actually use your magic.”

Arthur had expected Merlin to protest, or hit him with a pillow; instead, he laughed, loudly, and said, “Arthur, now that you know I’m magic, do you really think I was ever actually in the tavern? You know I can’t hold my drink!”

Arthur blinked at him. “What, so you were off doing secret illegal sorcery whenever Gaius said you were there?”

“Usually to save your life, or Camelot in general, yeah,” Merlin said, nodding.

Guinevere saved Arthur from having to respond to that by frowning and saying, irritably, “Then why on earth would Gaius use that as an excuse? Couldn’t he have chosen something that wouldn’t get you punished?”

“I’ve asked that same question for years,” Merlin said, with the barest touch of bitterness, and rolled his eyes. “I think it was his way of getting back at me for being ‘too reckless.’”

Then, more seriously, Merlin said, “Arthur, d’you think I could start training with you and the knights?”

“So, your mace work has been improving then?” Arthur drawled, grinning, and did get a pillow thrown at him, that time.

“Prat,” Merlin laughed. “No, I mean, can I lead them in some training? Most of the time, when there’s a magical threat, they get knocked out— or worse— pretty quickly; I’d like to teach them more about how they might actually defend against magic, and now that you all know, I’d love to have some backup, but I only want that if I can practice with them, so they know how not to get in my way, and the best way to act as backup, for a sorcerer. Sort of like how you have them train with the archers, sometimes, with the formations and such.”

“Huh,” Arthur said, “that actually makes a lot of sense. I didn’t think you understood military strategy at all, Merlin; you’re usually the last place I’d want you to be in a fight.”

“Only because I’ve had to be where people wouldn’t look for me, so no one would see golden eyes and cry sorcerer,” Merlin countered. “But I’ve been with you for ages, Arthur, I was bound to pick up on a few things, here and there.”

Arthur blinked at him, thinking he really ought to have figured that out for himself— and not even for the first time that night— then wondered how many times he’d find himself having that exact thought before all of Merlin’s various secrets came to light in their proper time.

“Alright,” Arthur said. “On one condition.”

“Oh?” Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur snickered and said, “Don’t tell the others what to expect.”

* * *

“Right, men,” Arthur said. “The most important part of any battle is the ability to think on your feet. Your enemy may try to surprise you, and they may often have the element of surprise, but a good soldier, a good knight, won’t let surprise rob him of his ability to fight.”

Then he spun, and swiped at Gwaine with his training sword.

Gwaine, to his credit, lifted his own blade into a quick parry; unfortunately, Arthur’s dull training blade was still sharp enough to cut through a flower, and Gwaine was still looking aghast at the bit of stem he was left holding when Arthur jabbed his pommel into the man’s stomach.

“No fair,” Gwaine wheezed a moment later, pulling himself off of the ground.

Merlin stepped out from behind one of the training dummies and said, “And if you were actually fighting a sorcerer, he probably would have done worse than that once he got the drop on you.”

“Nice trick,” Elyan said, grinning.

Merlin inclined his head, accepting the praise with only the faintest hint of a blush, and said, “Today, gentlemen, you’ll be training with me; you lot are frankly terrible when you’re confronted with a sorcerer. We’ll probably fight against them far less often now that Camelot isn’t actively persecuting magic, but that doesn’t mean we won’t face any; sorcerers may have magic, but they’re people first and foremost, and people aren’t always good. And that means that we’re going to have to work on your skills, unless you’d rather be tossed around and turned into stepladders.”

“Oi!” Gwaine cried.

“How’d you know about that?” Percival asked, flushing a deep crimson.

“I know more than you could possibly comprehend,” Merlin said, grinning impishly and tapping his nose before shooting Arthur a wink.

Arthur frowned; there was something extremely familiar about that turn of phrase, and that gesture.

“Now,” said Merlin. “Jokes aside, let’s start with how to identify a sorcerer. Obviously, we come in all shapes and sizes, but a good rule of thumb? If someone shows up to a battle without armor and doesn’t look all that concerned about the men with metal sticks rushing at him, there’s a good bet they’ve got a few tricks up their sleeves.”

Arthur and the knights groaned heavily at that, as they were expected to, letting Merlin have his bit fun at their expense; really, they deserved it, seeing as how often they’d made him the butt of their jokes over the years, especially now that they realized just how far off the mark their own jests had been.

“They’ll also probably be keeping their distance, but staying in plain sight, because most sorcerers can only bewitch what they’re looking at directly. Some of them might wear chains upon chains of talismans, or carry a staff, or hold a crystal, y’know, that sort of thing. But the stronger ones probably won’t need to; you can always watch their hands, though, because almost everyone makes a gesture of some sort when they cast. Any questions?”

Leon stepped forward, and said, “That’s all well and good, but once we know they’re there, what then? When they can just throw us back with a wave of their hand?”

“First of all, most of them can’t,” Merlin said. “The powerful ones, sure, but your average sorcerer will also need to say something. Honestly, even the powerful ones will probably use incantations for most things, because it’s easier, and more precise. And yeah, it’s true, they can probably toss you around, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do anything about it. For instance, Leon, you’ve been thrown about by Morgana before, right? What did it feel like?”

“Usually, it felt like getting shoved in the chest,” Leon said.

“Or kicked by a bloody horse,” Gwaine said.

“Right,” Merlin said. “A bit like this?” Then he put out his hand and let his eyes flare gold; the knights flinched, and staggered back, but they didn’t go flying. “Tell me how that felt.”

“Like a love tap, Merls,” Gwaine said. “But don’t feel bad, power isn’t everything.”

Then he landed on his back about three feet away, groaned, and said, “What is this, Everyone Pick On Gwaine Day?”

“You just make it so easy, is all,” Merlin grinned. “I held back for a reason Gwaine, this is training, not a battle.”

“Are you implying you could take us in a real battle?” Percival asked, furrowing his brow.

Before Arthur could laugh at that, Merlin said, very seriously, “Without breaking a sweat,” and Arthur frowned, because it didn’t sound like he was joking at all.

“But that’s not the point,” Merlin said. “Percival, what did it feel like to you? Take your time, and be serious.”

Percival frowned and furrowed his brow again, and raised his arms, tracing a rough oval covering the bottom of his chest, his solar plexus, and lower stomach. “Like an invisible fist, right here.”

“Very good!” Merlin praised. “You’ll notice, that’s right about the height of my hand, when I cast the spell; the rest of you probably felt it a bit higher up on your bodies, since Percival’s taller. Most of the time, those magical ‘pushes’ are going to be concentrated blasts, just like he described, and that means they can be dodged. Arthur?”

Merlin turned, and raised his hand, moving at about three-fourths speed.

Arthur threw himself sideways, and cursed as the blast clipped his shoulder and threw him off balance, but he kept his feet and heard a crash as the dummy behind him took the full force of the blow and was thrown off of its stand.

Merlin clapped his hands, delighted, and said, “You see? If this were a real battle, Arthur would have lost his balance, true, but he wouldn’t have gone down, and he might have been able to advance on the sorcerer or get behind some cover before they managed to attack again.”

“Yeah, mate, but most sorcerers aren’t going to slow up like you did, there,” Gwaine pointed out.

“True,” Merlin said, “But, remember, most sorcerers use spells, and it does take time to speak, and unless the sorcerer is really, really good, they can’t just rattle off incantations at lightning speed, either, because if they mess up the pronunciation, it might not work at all! That’s something of another rule of thumb for you, too: the weaker the sorcerer, the more precise and careful they have to be with their sorcery. Only the strong ones can get away with shortcuts.”

“You make it sound like you’re powerful,” Elyan said.

“I can hold my own,” Merlin demurred. “If there are no more questions, I’d like you to practice dodging, for a bit; I won’t be demonstrating the theory behind it this time, it’ll be actual practice, so I’ll be acting as though I were a run-of-the-mill sorcerer by using incantations paired with gestures. Who wants to go first?”

* * *

Arthur and the knights held their tongues until Merlin flounced off the field to fetch them bruise ointments and bandages for the minor wounds they’d picked up, but the second he was out of earshot, they groaned almost as one and collapsed onto the ground, or onto the stacks of hay that sometimes served as targets, or chairs, when they were called for.

Like now.

“Sweet Mercy!” cried Gwaine. “My bruises have bruises.”

“Our Merlin packs a punch,” Elyan agreed, rubbing his lower back. Percival prodded his side, gingerly, and nodded.

Leon huffed in agreement, then lifted his waterskin, and drank greedily. After several deep pulls, he took it from his lips and squeezed the remaining water over his head, shaking out his hair. Finally, he said, cautiously, “Sire… none of that was what I’d call middling sorcery; are you entirely sure that Merlin is a simple Hedge Wizard?”

“Of course he is!” Arthur said, indignantly. “It makes perfect sense!”

“He just seemed a bit stronger than I thought he’d be, is all,” Leon said.

“Well, it’s like Merlin said, we don’t know what to expect, with sorcery; that’s why we’re learning! It only seems powerful to us because we aren’t used to it,” Arthur replied, looking very pleased with his own logic.

“Of course, sire,” Leon said, dubiously.

* * *

“So, let me get this straight,” Leon said, slowly, staring at Merlin and the various brushes that were floating about, polishing armor and boots alike, at the whetstones that were honing the edges of a sword far sharper than anyone with actual hands could have managed, and at the bath that was filling itself and expanding greatly in size. “You’re an extremely powerful warlock— possibly the most powerful warlock ever, past and future— and there are countless prophecies centered around you and Arthur and what you’ll accomplish together?”

“That about sums it up,” Merlin agreed, flicking a finger at the empty table and conjuring up a tray full of food.

Leon narrowed his eyes, and said, “Are you aware that Arthur thinks you’re a Hedge Wizard who picked up a bit of sorcery here and there?”

Several pieces of armor crashed to the floor.

“What? Shit, no wonder he was so calm about everything; I’ve got to tell him!” Merlin stood, abruptly, and made for the door.

Leon grabbed him round the shoulders, and said, “Hang on!”

“What?” Merlin asked, warily.

“Wouldn’t it be better to not do that, and see how long it takes for the others to catch on?” Leon said, grinning broadly the way he did when he knew that he was about to get away with what he took to be an extremely excellent joke that no one would ever blame him for— because naturally, Sir Leon would never do something like that. “And get back at them for constantly underestimating you?”

Merlin’s answering grin was just as broad. “Leon, there’s a reason I’ve always said you were the smartest knight in Camelot.” 

Chapter Text

“Gods be good, but that hasn’t gotten a bit easier,” Gwaine moaned, leaning against the stone wall; it was cold, and that meant it felt wonderful pressing against his bruises. Almost like putting ice on them, really.

Arthur thought about taking him to task for abandoning decorum and tarnishing the knightly image, but—

But the armory was empty apart from the other Round Table knights, Gwaine’s image had always been at least a little tarnished, and Arthur was just as bruised. “Budge over,” Arthur hissed, shrugging his way out of his maille to lean back against the wall, too. He couldn’t help his sigh; sometimes, Gwaine did have good ideas. In short order, the others had joined them; only Leon remained standing. He was the only one who’d caught the trick of watching Merlin’s eyes as well as his hands, and, as a consequence, wasn’t nearly as bruised as they were. He even went so far as to smirk at them all, the bastard; that was probably treason, punishable with a large number of boots to polish, and if it wasn’t, Arthur would write that law into effect.

Just as soon as he could feel his legs again.

“Weeks,” Gwaine groused. “It’s been weeks, and he still tears through us like wet paper!”

“We’re improving, though,” Elyan argued. “You made it almost a whole minute and a half that time.”

“He really ought to be the new knight’s test,” Leon said, smirking again. “Make it more than twenty seconds against the King’s Manservant, and you’re in!” He moved his hand in a broad arc, snapping his fingers at the last word. It was unexpectedly theatrical, for Leon.

Percival, the traitor, actually laughed at him. Arthur glared at them both and thought some more about boot polish and brushes and working until your fingers were sore before heaving himself to his feet. “Right, well, we’ve got to get moving; there’s Council to attend, gentlemen.”

“Slave driver,” Gwaine said, hotly. But he rose nonetheless, and helped Elyan stand.

* * *

Council went exactly as it had every day since magic was repealed, which was to say: extremely well. Arthur’s Councilors looked younger, healthier, and happier right down to the last man; part of that was probably because of their pleasure over the new taxes, but a not insignificant part of it was due to the sudden prevalence of supernaturally clean water, larders that could prevent food from spoiling, and wine that didn’t give you a hangover no matter how much of it you drank.

When Gwaine had discovered that, he’d proudly declared that he’d worship Merlin as his personal god until the end of his days for providing it. Merlin had gone a delightful shade of crimson at the merest thought of Gwaine worshipping at his altar, stammered out refusal after refusal, and a good time had been had all the way ‘round.

Uther was probably rolling in his grave, but Arthur had never been more sure of a decision in his life, because it wasn’t only his Councilors who were in a better mood: the mood of his entire kingdom had greatly improved. Everyone benefitted from the newfound goodwill of the magical population, and problems Arthur hadn’t even seen before were being solved left and right.

There were, of course, a few lingering issues to work through. For example: should they provide some sort of restitution to the families of those who had been lost to the purge, and if so, what should it be; should they build a separate order of knights who wielded sorcerous force as well as more ordinary weaponry, or should sorcerers simply be integrated into the preexisting knightly orders; if a merchant sold purportedly magical goods that proved false, was that a clear case of caveat emptor, or should there be additional laws to prevent such falsehoods to ensure there would be no rising bitterness towards sorcerers resulting from the charlatans’ actions; and, most troubling at all, what the hell had happened to Morgana, and would she accept the ban’s repeal as an end to their hostilities, or was she still planning Camelot’s downfall?

Merlin had been a godsend throughout it all, truthfully; for every question Arthur had, Merlin either had an answer or a better question that, once asked, put the question into an entirely new perspective, one that was much more easily dealt with. Today, Arthur decided it was time to address one of those lingering problems.

“Council is dismissed. If the Round Table will please remain….”

The Councilors left without protest; they’d long grown accustomed to Arthur’s Privy Council holding back, and had decided that, so long as the kingdom kept prospering as it had, it didn’t bother them a whit to be left out.

As soon as the last Councilor left and the doors closed behind them, Merlin collapsed into one of the chairs, sitting sideways so he could put his feet up into Gwaine’s lap; Gwaine accepted the weight easily, in spite of his earlier complaints of Merlin’s brutality during training. It probably helped that touching Merlin usually meant your bruises faded with unnatural alacrity, but, then again, Gwaine probably would have forgiven Merlin anything at all even without his healing presence, particularly after the revelation of ensorcelled wine.

Arthur had, of course, given up on trying to get Merlin to maintain some semblance of decorum, especially since he knew his lack of manners was deliberate; he was still silently protesting Arthur’s repeated efforts to make him a Lord, by way of acting like even more of a country bumpkin than he had when he first arrived in Camelot’s Court.

Still, he could be relied upon to jolt to proper attention the second Arthur put an actual problem before him, so it wasn’t much of an issue, and hardly worth fighting over; let Merlin have his fun. He’d more than paid for it in blood, fear, and tears throughout his time protecting Arthur. Arthur knew that much, and he’d still just barely scratched the surface of Merlin’s stories.

Arthur shook his head in an attempt to reorder his thoughts. “Merlin,” he said after a moment, “I wanted to discuss the lingering effects of the Purge.”

As expected, Merlin sat bolt upright, bringing his feet in front of him, flat on the floor, as he leaned forward, suddenly attentive. “You’ve gone a long way towards remedying that, My Lord,” he said at once, without the slightest hint of sarcasm in the title. He didn’t often use Arthur’s titles, and they were still usually spoken with a sharp edge, but he’d been using them properly far more since the repeal. Arthur was man enough to admit— if only to himself, in the privacy of his own thoughts— that it was rather pleasant. He didn’t need titles, not from Merlin, but hearing them meant that Merlin was still extremely pleased with him, and it was rather hard not to preen every time he did.

“Yes, but is it enough?” Arthur shuffled a stack of parchments that had absolutely nothing to do with the current topic in his hands, just to give him something to focus on. “So many people died, and even the survivors lost family and property. Do you think we should do something for the direct descendants or survivors of the Purge?”

Merlin frowned. “That was before my time, Arthur; I can’t speak for those who lived through the Purge, but I can say that most of the sorcerers I’ve spoken to since the repeal have expressed only the purest joy at what we’ve accomplished already. I doubt they’re holding out for more. Although….”

Merlin’s eyes settled on Gaius, narrowing speculatively. “Perhaps a special sort of pardon? Forgiveness for crimes that would never have happened if the Purge and subsequent laws had not been in effect. I can think of a few sorcerers— gifted healers, for example— who wouldn’t dare show their faces in Camelot, but would be quite the asset if they knew they’d be welcomed back without fear of reprisal.”

Gaius gasped and clutched his throat. His mouth worked soundlessly, and he turned suddenly moist eyes in Arthur’s direction.

Arthur had absolutely no clue what they were about.

“I take it you have someone in mind?”

“Alice,” Merlin said. The name rang a bell, but it was a distant one. “Technically, there’s still a warrant out for her arrest for poisoning Uther, even though she was the victim of a magical beast’s thrall. And that wouldn’t have happened before the purge; other sorcerers would have recognized the signs and broken the thrall long before it escalated to attempted regicide.”

Oh.

It had been years since Arthur had thought of that debacle, but now that Merlin mentioned it…. “The two of you were… close, if I recall correctly, weren’t you, Gaius?”

Gaius, still overcome, could only nod.

Arthur nodded, slowly, took two blank sheets of parchment from his stack, and wrote out a quick pardon in duplicate. One would go to Geoffrey; the other—

Arthur extended the writ to Gaius, who took it with shaking fingers. “If you have a way to contact her, please do. Send this to her, along with a personal invitation. Let her be the first to receive this new clemency.” Arthur looked to Merlin again, allowing Gaius some semblance of privacy to compose himself with, and cleared his throat. “Are there any other sorcerers you know who might benefit from such a pardon?”

Merlin shook his head. “None that come to mind.”

Arthur frowned. It was entirely possible that was true, but for some reason, there was a lingering sense that they were all missing something incredibly obvious.

Then, like a flash, it hit him.

“Wait! Morgana and Agravaine killed my Father; you and Gaius both said so,” Arthur said, suddenly excited. Merlin raised his brow, as if to say, ‘yes, and?’ and Arthur barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His excitement mounted; it was so obvious, and Merlin had somehow missed it! “So, the old man didn’t kill Uther, and yet he’s been hunted ever since!”

The knights suddenly groaned and slapped their hands over their faces; they should have thought of that, too, given that they’d encountered him in the forest.

Instead of looking chagrined, Merlin looked distinctly amused. “And you want to pardon Dragoon, then? He didn’t actually commit any real crimes, you know, but if you want to forgive him, I do know how to contact him.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin and, for the second time that day, realization struck; this time, it hurt, just a bit, but he pushed that back so he could focus on just how impressed Merlin would be when he realized that Arthur had finally caught on and seen what was right in front of him.

Those eyes….

“Yes, Merlin, I do. I want to forgive him for all of the casual insults he gave me and my knights, and cordially invite him to Court. In fact, I want to treat him to a stay in the Royal Wing for an entire week. A spot of luxury to apologize for how ill we treated him when he only ever wished to help.”

Merlin blinked at him, astonished. Gaius barked a strange, harsh laugh. Guinevere smiled approvingly, and the knights looked at each other as though they thought Arthur had lost his mind. They’d understand why he was being so generous in a moment.

Arthur leaned in, and delivered the coup de grâce. “So, Merlin, why don’t you send a message to your grandfather?”

Merlin’s blue eyes widened in shock; Gaius spluttered; Guinevere looked as if she might fall out of her chair; the knights swore.

Then Merlin’s eyes crinkled in amusement, and he said, archly, “So you’ll forgive Grandpappy Dragoon all of his insults, without punishment? All of them, even if he happens to be a bit too snappish when he arrives, and manages to insult you again? He is a bit irascible, you know, and he’s got a famously strange sense of humor; I can’t promise he wouldn’t call you a stupid prat on sight, or something.”

Arthur grinned, basking in the knowledge that he’d been completely, utterly right.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Arthur said, waving his hands. He fished out another paper, wrote out a pardon and a cheekily worded exception to the rules of Courtly decorum for one ‘Dragoon the Great’— which had to be an assumed name, and it made a certain sick sort of sense that someone who’d call themselves that would be connected to Merlin’s utter ridiculousness— and passed it to Merlin. Merlin read it, bit his lower lip, and passed it to Gaius, who choked and put his head down on the table when he’d finished reading it.

“Merlin, my boy,” Gaius gasped, “I thought nothing could have made me happier than Alice’s pardon; I stand corrected.”

Before Arthur could ask what that meant, Merlin rose gracefully to his feet, spread his arms, and chanted some of that sorcerous gobbledygook; it was a much longer and more complex incantation than Arthur had ever heard him use. He leaned forward, wondering whether Merlin was trying to summon his grandfather straight to the Council Chamber or simply sending him a message.

Then Merlin’s eyes flashed, his face grew haggard and sagging, his hair turned white, and whiskers erupted from his chin.

“Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin declaimed, in what was now an obviously false rasp, “you are a stupid prat!”

For a moment, a dead silence descended on the Council Chambers. Then Percival stood and said, in extremely put-upon tones, “You used us as a ladder!” and Gwaine, Merlin, Gaius, and Guinevere started laughing fit to burst. After a few moments, the other knights joined in, the insults forgotten in the wake of the utter absurdity of the situation.

Arthur felt his face flame, and realized he’d probably gone redder than his cloak; he ground his teeth, fought the urge to stamp his foot, and finally decided a strategic retreat was in order. His chair scraped the ground as he stood, abruptly, and he strode towards the doors with his head held high and his Kingly dignity held firmly in check. Then, halfway across, Merlin called out, “Don’t forget about my Royal Suite, Arthur, I have it all in writing!” in a high, sing-songy voice between his guffaws, and Arthur abandoned dignity in favor of sprinting out, chased by the renewed vigor of his Round Tables merriment at his expense.

* * *

Merlin gasped, clutching his chest and fighting for breath.

“Merlin?” Gwen asked, once she’d finally caught her own breath. “That isn’t minor magic, is it? Being able to do all those impressive things the knights talked about while you’re also making yourself old?”

The other knights’ laughter cut off at once; they leaned forward, anxious to hear his response— apart from Sir Leon, of course, who leaned back and smiled knowingly— and eyed him expectantly.

“It’s magic of an extremely high order, My Lady; I am not, actually, a Hedge Wizard. I’m a Warlock, and a damned powerful one,” Merlin said.

A moment of silence.

“Why not say so, if you knew we’d made that mistake?” Gwen asked, sounding deeply confused and a bit put out.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Gwaine grinned, leaning in. “He’s fucking with Arthur. And we want in!”

Merlin looked around the table; everyone, even Gwen, was grinning and nodding along at the idea.

“Alright; let’s really confuse the prat, then!”

Gaius cleared his throat and cast his most disapproving stare at the lot of them; they cringed back, but only until he said, “Just remember that pardon only extends to Dragoon,” before tossing his head back, laughing, and leaving, presumably to find a courier.

Chapter Text

Arthur barged into the guest chambers, fully prepared to demand Merlin’s obedience this time; his little joke had gone on quite far enough. Too far, even!

He stopped no more than a foot inside the door, shocked. He’d expected “Dragoon” to be there, but he hadn’t expected the “old” sorcerer to have an equally old visitor.

“I call that rude!” snapped a shrill, shrewish voice. “Barging into someone’s rooms without warning, like he has a right to them; what sort of monster raised you, young man?”

Arthur blinked owlishly at the ancient, accusing woman sitting next to Merlin. She looked ninety if she was a day, and her face was as ragged as the dress she was wearing. Her green eyes were milky— the left one nearly pure white from cataracts— and at least half-covered by drooping, swollen eyelids. She lifted knobby hands and tugged at her dress. Arthur was pretty sure the shoddy excuse for a gown would have been better off at the bottom of a rag-picker’s bin somewhere, but the hag straightened it with a regal sniff of her scrunched-up nose just as if it was fine silk instead of torn and oft-mended wool, glaring at Arthur with narrowed eyes all the while.

“Well?” hissed the old woman. “Nothing to say?”

Arthur, recovering from his shock, pursed his lips. “I do have a right to these rooms. They’re in my castle.”

The old woman harrumphed with enough force to lift her backside out of the chair for an instant, then turned her attention back to Merlin, who held out a teacup at once, obligingly. She took it, doctored it up with a generous dollop of cream, and looked back at the tray searchingly. “Is there no honey?”

“There ought to be,” Merlin quavered, leaning in himself to look for it. “Or sugar. Let’s see here, where did it go…”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Merlin, I need—”

“Haven’t seen him,” Merlin snapped without bothering to look up from his tea service. He hunted for the sugar pot and frowned mulishly when it turned out to be hiding behind a hank of snow-white hair, then solved the problem by tossing the end of his beard over one shoulder, revealing the pot in all its glory. He let out a triumphant sort of “aha” and held it out to his guest, then added, unctuously, “Have you tried the tavern, sire?”

Arthur gritted his teeth and said, with exquisite patience, “Merlin, this is getting ridiculous.”

“Oh, aye, I agree, My Lord,” Merlin replied tonelessly. “Utterly out of hand, that drinking problem of his. Absolutely astonishing how often he disappears, really. Now, I’ve never seen him touch so much as a drop of ale when it wasn’t with a meal or during a Kingdom-wide celebratory feast where everyone was drinking, mind.” Merlin plucked a biscuit from the tea tray and lifted it to his wrinkled mouth, nibbling daintily at the morsel. He chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and sighed. “But then again, there are certain things a man tries to keep from his grandfather, so I suppose that doesn’t mean much. You’re probably a much better judge: I’m sure you’ve seen him drunk time and again. Otherwise, how could such a rumor persist with no other evidence for it?”

Merlin finally looked at Arthur, then, and raised one snow-white brow meaningfully. Arthur threw up his hands, groaned loudly in exasperation, and turned to leave.

The door opened just before he reached it. A servant entered, carrying another tray of biscuits and pastries.

“Ah, my favorite grandchild!” Merlin cried.

The servant beamed in response. Arthur nearly bit through his lower lip holding back a curse. He dodged past the servant, slipped out the door, and stalked towards his own chambers.

“Three bloody days,” Arthur grumbled.

Three days of Merlin putting his feet up in a richly decorated suite in the Royal Wing only two doors down from Arthur’s own, staunchly refusing to drop his Dragoon persona; three days of increasingly creative insults on Dragoon’s part; three days of everyone, right down to the last servant, calling Merlin “Grandad” whenever Arthur was in earshot.

As petty revenge went, it was damnably effective. Arthur admired it, and hated that he admired it.

He also hated that he didn’t actually hate it; it was godsdamned funny, even if the joke was at his expense, but really, Merlin was taking it a touch too far. Arthur really did need to talk with him— with the real Merlin, not with his put-upon cantankerous old man routine— and sooner or later, one of them was going to break.

Technically, he could end the joke at any time. He knew full-well that Merlin would drop it the second Arthur brought up a truly serious topic, just as he’d always dropped his country bumpkin bad servant routine whenever Arthur deigned to call on him in the Council Chambers.

But Arthur was determined not to break first!

Sooner or later, Merlin would get tired of the joke; either that, or Dragoon’s week-long stay would end, and Merlin would be forced to return to his own form whether he wanted to or not.

Arthur could wait.

* * *

It was mortally hard holding back his laughter until after the door closed behind Arthur and the servant who’d shown up to bring them more food, but Merlin managed it. The moment the door closed, though, he let out a laugh so strong he practically choked on it, and wasn’t at all surprised to find his visitor laughing just as hard as he was.

But she really did choke on her laugh, hacking out a rasping, painful sounding cough as the sound caught in her throat— she hadn’t aged half so well as he had.  

Merlin took the tea from her hands before she could spill it and patted her back soothingly. When the fit finally passed, he said, hesitantly, “You know, I could just lock the door.”

The old woman considered him for a moment, then dug around in her skirt until her fingers dipped into a hidden pocket and came back out with a phial of bright blue potion. She drank it down and shuddered as her skin tightened and her hair darkened. Merlin winced in sympathy, knowing as he did that de-ageing was nearly as hard as ageing was in the first place.

Morgana sighed in relief, took the first deep breath she’d taken since she first entered Camelot in disguise and tracked him down, and said, with more than a touch of envy in her voice, “I really don’t know how you’ve managed to keep this up for as long as you have, Emrys.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and flicked his fingers in the direction of the lock. He passed her back her teacup and tried not to be offended when she sniffed it carefully before sipping it. “I said I was sorry,” he mumbled.

Morgana cut him a glare.

“Well, I did,” Merlin huffed, “and it’s not like you haven’t already paid me back for it, either. More than, really. A serket’s sting is so much worse than hemlock! And anyway, you wouldn’t be here having tea if you weren’t ready to forgive me.”

“Forgive might be a bit too strong a word. Mostly I just wanted to see for myself if the rumors of the repeal were true; I confess, I expected it to be a trick. But he… he’s really done it. He doesn’t even seem angry with you.”

“Oh, he’s plenty angry,” Merlin laughed. “Dragoon has been driving him up the wall for days!”

“But he’s not angry about the magic,” Morgana retorted.

Merlin nodded. “No, not about that. Honestly, Morgana, the second he realized it wasn’t a choice, he fell over himself trying to make things right. I wish you could have heard the speech he made when he overturned the ban. It was beautiful: everything I ever hoped for, really. We… we both gave him too little credit.” He hesitated. “He misses you, you know. He grieves for you. For what you’ve gone through. For his part in it. He’d love to have you back.”

Morgana grimaced. “He might, but there are plenty in Camelot who’d call for my head on a pike. What I’ve done to Arthur might be forgiven, but what I’ve done to the Kingdom… I’ve killed too many, Merlin.”

“So have I,” Merlin said, softly.

The chambers fell silent for some time. Eventually, Merlin said, hesitantly, “We could blame Morgause. It wouldn’t exactly be a lie.”

Morgana’s answering glare was half-hearted at best.

“She manipulated you,” Merlin said, pressing on. “Hell’s teeth, she might even have enchanted you! Who’s to say that bracelet didn’t do more than just ward off your dreams? Huh? And what about the time she spent healing you? There might well have been magic there, too!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Morgana said, softly. “It doesn’t change what I’ve done, not really. People will still look at me and see the woman who killed their friends and family. Who invaded Camelot time and again. I’m their villain. Their evil witch. The fact that they know some witches are good won’t change their opinion of me now.”

Merlin swallowed. “Alright, maybe that’s true,” he conceded. “But Arthur… will you at least let me arrange a meeting between the two of you? We could find some neutral ground. It would do him a world of good to know you aren’t hiding away somewhere, scheming against him. Knowing there was peace between you would take a weight off his shoulders, and I think you’d benefit just as much as he would from clearing the air.”

Morgana drummed her fingertips along the side of her teacup. The porcelain rang against her fingernails. “I’ll consider it,” she said, after a moment’s thought. “And… and I’ll write to him either way, even if I decide I’m not ready to see him.”

“Thank you,” Merlin whispered gratefully, reaching out to pat her hand. Astonishingly enough, she let him.

“On one condition.”

“Oh?” Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Promise me you’ll write and fill me in on how long it takes him to realize how powerful you are, and how much you’re able to get away with before he does.”

Their laughter filled the chambers, then. Merlin leaned forward and clinked his teacup against hers in a toast. “Promise,” he swore.

* * *

Arthur and his knights arrived as one to the training fields, took a moment to bask in the warm, clear morning, then set about warming up. Halfway through their exercises, they heard a few grunts and turned.

There, still clad in ridiculously flowing robes that looked older than Gaius, was Merlin— or, rather, Dragoon— twirling a rather elegantly carved staff topped with a glowing gemstone through the beginnings of an exercise the knights always started with on the days they trained quarterstaffs.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Merlin called out pleasantly. “Just limbering up; we wouldn’t want the old joints to lock up, would we? Exercise is important, especially at my age.”

He spun the staff around his body, tossed it in the air, caught it, and lashed out in three rather perfect strikes that probably would have seen his opponent unconscious or dead from a broken neck and cracked skull if he hadn’t been fighting empty air. He nodded once, then smoothly settled into a ready stance, his staff held perfectly parallel to the ground.

His hands didn’t shake; they didn’t even twitch. Arthur was, begrudgingly, impressed.

“Since when can you fight?” he said, aghast.

Merlin shrugged. “You pick up a thing or two over the years,” he said, sounding for all the world like a wise, world-weary old man.

Arthur bit his tongue. “Well, I couldn’t possibly spar with someone your age; why don’t you fetch Merlin for me, and he can train with us? I know we’ve missed him on the field these past few days.”

Someone— Gwaine, probably— groaned out a protest that he certainly hadn’t missed being thrown around the training field, and Arthur ignored him on principle, even if he did sort of agree that it’d been nice having a break from being so thoroughly trounced on a regular basis.

Merlin grinned wryly. “I’m sure he’s far too hungover to fight today,” he drawled, “but I can hold my own.” He spun his staff around until he held it back in a one-handed grip and used the other hand to beckon Arthur forward.

Warning bells rang in Arthur’s mind, but he ignored them; he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, after all. He shrugged off his sword belt, set it aside, took off his maille to allow for a little more mobility since they wouldn’t be using edged weapons, and went into the armory to fetch a quarterstaff of his own. He returned to the field, sank into a ready stance to match Merlin’s, and went to battle.

If Merlin had thrust out a hand and knocked him flat on his arse with a burst of raw magic, Arthur could have handled it. If his eyes had glittered like new gold as he used magic to strengthen his blows and knocked Arthur around with the help of his sorcery, Arthur could have handled it. If he’d fought him without magic and won fair and square after a long and drawn-out bout, Arthur still could have handled it.

What Arthur couldn’t handle was Merlin, aged-up until he was about eighty, disarming him in two moves flat, then gracefully letting him reclaim his weapon for another round.

What he couldn’t handle was Merlin dodging his every blow with increasingly showy maneuvers until he finally jumped directly over Arthur’s head, angled sideways and spinning like a top as he did to keep up his momentum, only to sweep Arthur’s feet out from under him with a decisive blow of his staff the second he landed, without having the courtesy to put gold in his eyes first.

Or, at least, Arthur hadn’t seen him use magic to do it; he might have simply missed it. It all happened so fast!

And Arthur especially couldn’t handle Gwaine cheering loudly and starting up a chant of “Go, Grandad, go!” that was taken up joyfully by everyone watching the bout, including the servants and guards who’d set aside their duties to watch.

The third time Arthur went down, he stayed down, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning in pain and sheer overwhelm. He waited until Merlin dropped down to his ageing arthritic knees next to him to ask, hesitantly, “Arthur? Sire? Are you alright?”

Only then did he grind out, “You’d better fetch the Physician’s Assistant if you want to find out.”

He expected Merlin to protest; he thought he’d hear “Dragoon” saying something about how he’d forgotten more about medicine and magic than that boy will ever learn, or something similar; instead, he heard Merlin’s voice— his real voice— saying, “Oh dear; I took things a step too far, didn’t I?”

Arthur cracked open a single eyelid, then sat up so quickly he almost crashed his forehead into Merlin’s blissfully unwrinkled face, and said, spitefully, “Well, rather!”

He heard the distinct sound of several men pressing their hands over their lips in an effort to hold back their laughter— ineffectively— and ignored it. Merlin sighed and reached out to brush some of Arthur’s hair away from his face.

Arthur leaned into the touch on instinct and found himself smiling, relieved beyond measure to see Merlin’s true face again.

“Come on,” Merlin muttered. “You need a bath, and you’re probably sick of George; I’ll draw one up, and we can talk about whatever it was you wanted to discuss yesterday.”

* * *

Merlin’s new method of drawing a bath was, it seemed, waving a hand through the air and magicking one up, already steaming. Arthur wondered if he’d always done it that way when he wasn’t looking.

Merlin fetched food and drink the same way, without a single incantation or any sign of visible strain. He snacked as Arthur bathed, and answered Arthur’s every question about the sort of qualities a proper Court Sorcerer ought to possess.

Arthur had, originally, been intending to invite the Kingdom’s best sorcerers to come and apply for the job and to go through a variety of tests, all culminating in a sort of magical tournament in order to find the right fit for the job, but the more Merlin talked…

Well, the more Merlin talked about what a Court Sorcerer was meant to do and what abilities they’d need, the more he thought Merlin was the perfect fit.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said, after a rather illuminating hour’s worth of conversation. “That will be all for now.”

When Merlin left, Arthur sat at his desk and frowned, thinking carefully. Guinevere found him there several minutes later.

“Arthur, are you alright?”

“Guinevere,” Arthur said, slowly. “I’m beginning to think Merlin’s rather powerful.”

Guinevere blinked at him guilelessly. “Merlin? Our Merlin? The man who still trips over his own feet on a regular basis, and still turns your white tunics pink at least half the time when he launders them? That Merlin? Powerful? Arthur, have you hit your head?”

“Several times,” Arthur answered, without thinking. He shook his head. “You’re right; I don’t know what’s come over me.”

It was a lucky thing he’d talked things out with Guinevere first; if he hadn’t, he might’ve confronted Merlin and asked him to take over Camelot’s magical defense on a permanent basis, and then Merlin would have had to turn him down for fear of falling short of the mark.

He simply wasn’t used to magic, yet, and he had taken a few ringing blows that very morning. Head trauma was a much more reasonable explanation than Merlin being some sort of… of warlock instead of the Hedge Wizard Arthur knew him to be!

Resolved, Arthur started drafting a proclamation to invite the Kingdom’s sorcerers to present themselves for testing, should they wish to be considered for a place in Camelot’s Court.

He would host a tournament, damn it! It was a good idea; it would help him find the best possible candidate, and it would be entertaining besides.

* * *

“Arthur’s beginning to suspect,” Gwen said, storming into Merlin’s chambers without so much as a knock.

Merlin blinked up at her; Gwaine, Percival, and Leon all groaned.

“Already?” Leon gasped.

“Well, Merlin was a bit showy today,” Percival said, shrugging.

“Well tone it down, then,” Gwen snapped. “I think I put him off, but dammit, this is far too fun to stop now!”