Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arthur Pendragon groaned internally as he dressed himself in the quiet of his bedchamber. He was running behind, having only woken up when a guard had knocked to let him know his breakfast had arrived. Usually, Arthur was awake and dressed by the time the morning meal was delivered, but as it happened, it appeared Merlin was late this morning. Again.

This meant that not only would Arthur have to dress himself, but that he would be skipping the eating of the aforementioned breakfast in order to make it to his father’s morning summons on time. Seriously, what was the point of having a manservant if he was never around to actually serve?

As it was, Arthur knew he could, technically, do some things for himself. He could certainly dress himself at least. He supposed if Merlin were actually on time in the morning, he’d disagree. Merlin, despite being a peasant boy and a servant, seemed to think teasing him, the bloody Prince of Camelot, was a wise thing to do. He’d often mock Arthur, making fun of his inability to do mundane chores - chores that as the prince, he’d never needed to learn how to do anyway. Arthur would usually respond back with a quip about Merlin’s non-existent intelligence, and possibly lob a cup or a plate at him.

Arthur knew it was unbecoming of a prince to throw cutlery at the servants, but there was something about this particular servant that really riled him up. Maybe it was his sarcasm, his inane teasing. Maybe it was the way he was utterly useless at all manservant duties (and where did he get off mocking Arthur when he couldn’t even carry Arthur’s armor without falling over?). Or maybe, it was his big piercing blue eyes -

The prince startled out of his internal rant, the train of thought silently drifting away as he realized he’d finished getting dressed, and was now awkwardly standing in the middle of his room, staring at the floor, thinking of his manservant. Gods, what was he doing? He swept towards the door and out passed the guards. Hopefully, he wasn’t too late, and his father wouldn’t be too mad, but if he was, well, then Arthur had no qualms in blaming his idiot manservant.

As he exited his room and passed the guards, headed towards the throne room, Arthur cast aside the notions of his foolish young manservant, and began fantasizing about his favorite topic: Emrys. Since he’d first heard of Emrys all those years ago, from the great big bloody dragon his father had chained under the castle, Arthur knew he and the mysterious warlock were destined for something greater. The dragon had told him that Emrys was made for him - made specifically for Arthur and no one else. He’d stressed the importance of Emrys’ role in the young prince’s life; that Emrys would help Arthur unite Albion, bring magic back to Camelot, and become the Once and Future King.

All of this sounded delightful to Arthur; as good as he was with his sword, he loathed killing and battles, and he worried about losing his men. And despite his father’s opinions, Arthur really had no issue with magic, just a general caution. In his own opinion, magic could be used for good, just a sword might be; but in his experience, well, magic was often used to hurt the Pendragons and Camelot. He could understand it, abstractly - his father had slaughtered most of sorcerer-kind in The Great Purge twenty years ago, which was bound to leave some hurt feelings. But still, the attacks lately had felt as though they occurred at least once a week, which Arthur personally felt was a bit dramatic of the magical community.

As far as being the Once and Future King, Arthur felt the least strongly about that part of the prophecy. He didn’t really understand what it meant, and he also didn’t really feel the need to question it further. He was destined to be a king, and his father had always set a particular example of what a king ought to be: calculating, ruthless, unforgiving. But Arthur didn’t want to rule like his father. Uther Pendragon was one of the most deeply unhappy men Arthur had ever met, and though his people did not live in active fear of him, they did live in fear of magical attack, or being accused of sorcery and sentenced to death without a fair trial. Arthur wanted his people to love him, to trust him, to feel protected and free. He wanted to rule fairly and justly and without prejudice. It didn’t matter to him that the prophecy said he’d be the Once and Future King, all he wanted to be was a Good King.

Of all the elements of the prophecy that apparently dictated his fate before he was even born, the part that intrigued him the most was Emrys. The dragon had said that they were two sides of the same coin, and that Emrys had specifically been born for Arthur. The dragon had meant as an advisor, a protector, and a helper; but to Arthur, a lonely little boy of nearly nine summers, it sounded like this Emrys was his soulmate.

He’d read about soulmates in books, about how their souls were literally entwined with one another, never separating, never wavering. Soulmates were a part of each other for the entirety of their lives, and they were bound by love. And oh, did little Arthur wish and wish for love. He imagined if his mother had been alive, she’d have loved him. She wouldn’t have left him to be on his own all day, everyday. His father might’ve been more loving as well, although it was hard to picture Uther ever doing anything “unbecoming” of a king. Even Morgana, who would waltz into his life a little over a year later, older and brasher, and bolder than Arthur had ever dared to be, never wanted to strike up a true friendship. And so, Arthur had grown up alone.

But once he found Emrys, his soulmate? Then he’d never have to worry about being lonely again.

As Arthur approached the throne room, he heard a commotion, and rushed forward towards the large, heavy doors separating him from the King. Arthur burst into the room, just in time to see one of his father’s servants fall. There is only a moment's hesitation before Arthur is kneeling before the fallen man, gently turning him over. It was Ean, one of his father’s personal manservants, and his face looked as white as a sheet. Arthur sat back on his heels as he took in the appearance. His face was stark white, and his eyes had lost all coloring, staring idly into the distance. There were slightly bluish lines covering his cheeks, as though his blood had somehow run dry. Arthur glanced up at the King, whose face reflected his alarm.

“Arthur, go and inform Gaius that he is needed. At once.” His father ordered somberly. Arthur didn’t need to be told twice. In as fast a pace as he could, while still maintaining a princely stride, he made his way to the tower where Gaius’ chambers were. It occurred to him that this is also likely where his tardy manservant was hiding, and resolved himself to collect Merlin as well.

“Merlin!” he heard himself shout down the hall as he approached the physician’s chambers. He reached for the door, but as his hand brushed the knob, it sprung open to reveal his wayward servant.

“Em…I’m on my way. I’m sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t worry,” Arthur quipped. “I’m getting used to it.” His eyes were down to Merlin’s scarf, at a flower that was tucked there. He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, uh… Gwen gave it to me.” Merlin said sheepishly. Arthur chose not to comment.

“Tell Gaius my father wants to see him now.”

“Okay.”

Arthur took his leave, making his way back to the throne room.

“What’s happened to him?” Arthur watched on as Gaius inspected Ean’s body, still lying prone in the throne room. Merlin and Gaius had only just arrived, having made good time since Arthur had summoned them.

“I don’t know sire. It’s the second case I’ve seen today.”

“Why didn’t you report it to me?”

“I was attempting to find the cause.”

Arthur had to discreetly roll his eyes. His father had every right to be concerned of course, but to expect that Gaius would report every single suspicious death immediately rather than doing his job was a typical sign of his father’s overbearingness.

“I’ve seen nothing like it. The victims are dying in 24 hours, and it’s spreading fast,” Gaius told the King.

“What is the cause?”

“I think you should say that the cause, the most likely cause, is sorcery.”

Arthur watched as his father’s eyes widened. He turned to the prince.

“We must find who did this.”

“I will, Father,” Arthur assured.

“Conduct door to door searches. Increase your presence in the town. Double the guard on all the gates. And lend the physician your servant.”

“Merlin? But…”

“We need Gaius to find a cure. He needs all the help we can give him. If Gaius is right, believe me, this city will be wiped out. This is the kind of magic that undermines our authority, challenges all we have done. If we cannot control this plague, people will turn to magic for a cure. We have to find this sorcerer, and quickly.”

Arthur knew his father was right, but did Gaius really need Merlin? He was Gaius’ apprentice to be certain, but he was just a boy, and he’d only been at the castle for a few months. It wasn’t like he had years of training. In Arthur’s opinion, he would more than likely get underfoot, rather than be useful. At least, that seemed to be Merlin’s greatest talent yet, outside of witty remarks. But, there was no arguing with the King, and there was a sorcerer to catch.

Searching Gaius’ chambers every time there was a sorcerer afoot was one of Arthur’s least favorite parts of being the prince. He hated it so much that he’d often save the physician’s chambers for last. He knew that Gaius had been his father’s friend for a long time even before The Great Purge, and that in his youth he’d dabbled with magic. But Gaius was one of his father’s most loyal subjects and advisors, and Arthur had been fond of him growing up. Not for a second did he believe Gaius would ever do such a thing as use sorcery against Camelot, or even harbor a sorcerer for that matter. Unfortunately, he was tasked with looking into every subject, and his father was…touchy when it came to magical threats against his throne and his people. Having found no evidence of sorcery in the towns, he had no choice.

“Sorry Gaius, we’re searching every room in town.” He watched as his knights and guards swept into the physician’s chambers and began searching for any signs of magic. He’d instructed them to take care, as many of Gaius’ things were breakable and expensive, and he didn’t want to have to force Gaius to buy new equipment (in all honesty, should anything get broken, Arthur would probably pay for it out of his own purse, his father be damned).

“What for?” Gaius exclaimed, clearly affronted. Arthur suppressed a wince.

“The sorcerer.”

“Why would he be here?”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“We have nothing to hide. Go on then, search.”

Arthur made his way over to some books, and began leafing through them under Gaius’ watchful eye. Ugh, this was so annoying. Of course Gaius wasn’t harboring the sorcerer. He considered calling off the search at that moment, declaring that they’d done enough, that clearly there was no sorcery to be found here, when he noticed a door at the top of the steps.

“What’s this room up here?” he asked, purely out of curiosity. His feet started taking him to the steps.

“Er, it’s mine.” Merlin stammered. Interesting; Arthur had a sudden rush of curiosity. He knew next to nothing about Merlin’s life outside of his service, and he felt compelled to take a peek at the boy’s room, to get a glimpse of the person behind his manservant.

“And what do you expect to find there?”

Oh. Think of an excuse! “I’m looking for material or evidence suggesting the use of enchantments.” A perfect reason to invade his manservants privacy without looking like a buffoon. He really didn’t expect to find anything in Merlin’s bedroom; Merlin was about as likely to be a sorcerer as Gaius was to harbor one!

Merlin’s bedroom door swung open, streaming light from the chamber behind onto a small bed, unmade, in the middle of the space. Strewn around the place were clothes and objects. Arthur saw a stray pair of boots shoved hap-hazardly in the corner, and books much like the ones out in Gaius’s chambers littering the nightstand. What a mess it was - and it made sense, Arthur supposed, considering Merlin was rubbish at cleaning the prince’s rooms. Of course his own would look like a wild boar had trampled through it.

“Merlin,” he called, smirking. “Come here. Look what I found.”

Merlin came bounding in, a nervous look on his face.

“I found a place where you can put things. It’s called a cupboard.”

Arthur chuckled to himself and Merlin’s nervous expression became deadpan at the joke. It was Merlin’s fault, really. He should clean up after himself if he didn’t want Arthur to make fun of him. He looked around the small bedroom for a few more moments before declaring the sweep of the physician’s chambers complete, with no signs of sorcery. He apologized to Gaius for the intrusion, and collected his guards to leave. As they made their way down the corridor, his thoughts wandered back to Merlin’s room, and he smiled to himself unconsciously. For whatever reason, the fact that he got to see Merlin’s personal space, as messy as it was, pleased him. It was almost enough to distract him from the fact he’d have to report his failure to find the sorcerer to the king. Almost.

If there was one thing Arthur liked less than searching Gaius’ rooms for sorcery, it was disappointing his father. Uther Pendragon was an obsessive, controlling, and obstinate man, afraid of only one thing and one thing only: losing his power to the evils of magic. Not that Arthur would ever disclose this opinion to anyone; he needed to lead by example, and it would hardly be appropriate if any of the staff or citizens knew he had a poor opinion of the King and his rule. The only person in the whole kingdom who may have understood was Morgana.

Morgana was almost as stubborn as Uther, but much braver than Arthur could ever be. She stood her ground in disagreements she had with the King, and somehow, she usually got away with it. Arthur supposed it was a result of misplaced sympathy: Morgana had come to stay at the castle as the King’s Ward when she was ten summers old, Arthur nine. Being close in age, Arthur had secretly hoped they would get along, and she could be his friend; but when she arrived, she was terribly quiet and withdrawn. Gaius had explained that Morgana’s parents had died, and that her father had been close friends with Uther in their youth. It was many months before Morgana seemed to progress towards feeling better, but when he tried to reach out to her, all she wanted to do was practice fighting with her dagger. She was a girl! She wasn’t to learn to fight like she was some sort of knight! Unfortunately for him, Arthur made the grave error of saying this to Morgana, and she immediately told him she wouldn’t want to be friends with such a prat as himself.

Arthur often regretted how that happened. He did eventually come to the conclusion that helping Morgana train would have been better - she could learn to defend herself, and he would get to spend time with a child his own age. But alas, he didn’t really come to this conclusion until he was much older, and much lonelier.

Morgana argued with his father like it was her sole purpose for being, about everything - the laws that governed Camelot, the right for the women of the kingdom to perform jobs that traditionally employed men, and whether or not she should be allowed to go out on her own, unescorted by the Royal Guard. Uther generally took her arguments with little care and good humor. He found that Morgana being well-learned and strong-willed was largely a good thing, if not mildly irritating. After all, she was a Lady of the Royal Court, and it only made the monarchy look better if every member of the Royal House was intelligent and poised. The one subject which Uther never tolerated her insubordination was when it came to magic.

It was no secret that Morgana did not share the King’s views about magic users. She did understand that many sorcerers sought to bring harm to Camelot and Uther’s reign, but she did not believe that one deserved to die simply for having magic. She had always bristled at a sorcerer’s sentencing, and she attended each execution with a somber and disapproving expression. Arthur had heard her even question her father on a few memorable occasions, which more often than not landed her confined to her rooms for the duration of the sorcerer’s sentencing. So, if anyone could understand his feelings about his father’s practices, it would be her. But he couldn’t trust her not to bring him into the argument the next time she tried to oppose one of the King’s sentencing. So he said nothing.

Arthur entered the throne room, and in an effort to get the interaction over with, just began speaking.

“We have searched everywhere, the entire city.”

“Nothing?”

“I don’t know where else to look.”

“I want you to impose a curfew. No one is to be allowed onto the streets after the great bell.”

“Father?”

“And cordon off the lower town.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where most of the victims are. Let’s isolate it, stop the disease from spreading.”

“But what about the people who live there?”

“Don’t you think I haven’t considered it? What else can I do? I have to protect the rest of the city.” In truth, Arthur didn’t know what else his father could do. He was also at a loss. His heart ached for the people of the lower town, who didn’t deserve to be left to die, but those still healthy didn’t deserve to contract the illness either. In light of the situation, he supposed his father was making the best, soundest decisions that he possibly could.

Or at least, he thought so, until the next day.

In a horrible twist of fate, Gaius revealed that the town’s drinking water was contaminated by some unknown spell, and that it was the cause of the plague. Of course, this meant that they could no longer drink it, but there was no other source of water, and without water, they would die anyway. On top of that, Arthur had received word that Tom, the blacksmith, had miraculously recovered from the illness overnight. Upon questioning Tom and searching his home, Arthur had no choice but to come to the conclusion that Guinivere, Tom’s daughter, and Morgana’s trusted maid and friend, was the witch responsible for the plague.

It was such horsedung.

Gwen was a sweet, kind girl, and there wasn’t an evil bone in her body; yet the evidence was incriminating, and his father would not see sense as she sat on the throne room floor and begged for her life. Morgana, equally passionate, pleaded for the King to be reasonable.

“I’ve seen the way the girl works. Her fingers are worn, her nails are broken. If she were a sorceress, why would she kneel on the cold stone floor morning after morning when she could make these things happen with the snap of her fingers? Like an idle king.” She hissed.

“You have no right.” Uther rounded on her, and oh gods, here we go.

As Morgana and Uther spit back and forth at each other, Arthur realized he’d have to step in. And in this case, he had to agree with Morgana. There was no way Gwen was evil, sorceress or not.

“She’s right, father. You hear the word magic, and you no longer listen.

“You saw it for yourself. She used enchantments.”

“Yes, maybe. But to save her dying father, that doesn’t make her guilty of creating the plague. One is the act of, of kindness, of love, the other of evil. I do not believe there is evil in this girl's heart.”

Arthur swallowed as his father paused, and leaned closer to him. In a low voice he spoke. “One day, you may become King. Then, you will understand. Such decisions must be made. Dark forces threaten this kingdom.” Arthur took a deep breath, feeling Morgana’s wide eyes on his back. He didn’t turn to look at her, knowing his father would see the loss of eye contact as a weakness.

“I know. Witchcraft is evil, father. So is injustice. Yes, I am yet to be King, and don’t know what kind of king I will be, but I do have a sense of the kind of Camelot I'd like to live in. It would be where the punishment fit the crime.”
Uther looked at him a moment, and then leaned back. “I fear you’re right.”

What? He was? Was it that easy?

“She’s played with fire, and sadly she must die by fire.” And with that, the conversation was over. Uther swept out of the room, and Morgana stormed back to her chambers presumably, not uttering a single word. And Arthur could do nothing else but stand there and contemplate what had just happened. He had tried to stand up to his father, but it was for nought.

His father had said he may become King one day. But Arthur knew he would become King. And he would never, never, sentence an innocent to death simply for being different. After all, Arthur himself was different, even if his father did not know it. He had a magical destiny, and a soulmate somewhere out there in the great kingdoms of Albion, who wielded magic like mortal men breathe air. There may be nothing he could do while his father still had the throne, but he could always try his best to do what was right. It was with this conviction that he stormed out of the room to rest before that afternoon’s advisor meeting.

If you asked anyone who lived in Camelot if there was ever a dull moment, many would say: yes actually, but it seems as though they only occur in King Uther’s advisory meetings. Despite being the Prince, and a knight, Arthur secretly found the meetings absolutely mind-numbing. Listening to old lords and courtiers give their opinions to the King was incredibly frustrating, especially since Gaius was the only one who ever seemed to disagree with their outdated views and horrid advice. Arthur had no idea if his father actually considered what anyone said, as he often did whatever he wanted anyway, or if they were around simply because it was tradition for the King to have a group of wise advisors to help him make and enforce policies. Among the paranoid discussions of sorcery and the plague, Arthur caught himself thinking again to his future as the Once and Future King, and vowed that he would only ever take advice from competent people he actually trusted and respected. And they would never last longer than an hour, two at the most. Uther’s sometimes went on for five or six, which was ridiculous.

As they approached hour number four, today however, something decidedly not dull occurred. Out of absolutely nowhere, the council room doors burst open to reveal…Merlin? Oh by the gods, what now?

“It was me! It was me who used magic to cure Gwen’s father!”

By. The. Gods.

“Gwen is not the sorcerer. I am!”

Across from Arthur, Gaius had turned almost the same shade as the victims of the plague. “Merlin! Are you mad?” Arthur seconded the question. Either he was mad, or even more of an idiot than Arthur had realized. Maybe both.

“I cannot let her die for me. I place myself at your mercy.”

Gaius turned to Uther in a panic. “He doesn’t know what he is talking about.”

“I do,” Merlin argued.

“Then arrest him.” Uther said cavalierly. Oh for -

“Father, please! I can’t allow this! This is madness! There is no way Merlin is a sorcerer.”

“Did you not hear him?” With a quickness that even Arthur didn’t even know he possessed, Arthur racked his mind for a way to get his idiot servant out of this mess. As he only had a few seconds, he blurted out:

“As Gaius said… he has a grave mental illness.” Which, based on his behavior only moments before, might not have been that far off.

“Really?” The King questioned.

“He is in love.”

Out of the corner of Arthur’s eye, he saw Merlin’s head whip towards him. “What?” he exclaimed. But Arthur marched on with his story.

“With Gwen.”

There was a hushed beat that fell over the room as Uther stared at him.

Merlin found his voice. “I am not.”

“Yes you are.” Yes you are you bloody idiot!

“No way.”

“I saw you yesterday with that flower she’d given you.” Gods, Merlin, play along!

“I’m not in love with her!”

Arthur briefly suppressed the urge to smack him, instead settling for putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “It’s alright, you can admit it.”

“I don’t even think of her like that!”

“Perhaps she cast a spell on you.” Uther’s voice cut in, startling the two boys out of their argument. Arthur surveyed his father’s expression. Did he succeed? Did his father think Merlin was inflicted, or enchanted?

A sudden chuckle left the King’s throat, and suddenly, Arthur could breathe again.

“Merlin is a wonder, but the wonder is that he’s such an idiot. There’s no way he’s a sorcerer.”

Uther turned to Merlin. “Don’t waste my time again. Let him go.”

Arthur watched Merlin scamper off as he made his way back to his seat at the table, and Geoffrey launched into some sort of explanation of some issue or another, Arthur hardly listening. Arthur didn’t truly believe Merlin was in love, but he was an idiot. And a good friend. Clearly, he agreed with Arthur and Morgana that Gwen couldn’t have possibly created the plague, and in all his stupid loyalty, had opted to take the blame away from her. Which probably meant that Gaius agreed with them as well, not that Arthur would expect anything different from the old physician. He may be good at hiding it from Uther, but Arthur had noticed that Gaius hardly ever approved of his father’s actions when it came to magic. Perhaps then, tonight, he’d make a trip up to the physicians chambers again - only this time, to enlist Gaius’ assistance in catching the real sorcerer and clearing Gwen’s name.

With a new determination, Arthur sat back in his chair and got comfortable for another two hours of his father’s advisors’ unbearable droning.

It was dark before Arthur was able to get away from his father, and began making his way towards the tower where Gaius and Merlin lived. He tried to make haste, knowing his father had moved Gwen’s execution to later that night. They had very little time to make a plan to save her.

As he approached the physician’s chambers, Arthur heard voices floating down the hall.

“We need to destroy it. Then the plague will stop and Uther may see sense,” came Merlin voice.

“And that’s why you need Arthur.” Was that Morgana? It made sense that she too would try to conspire with his mischievous manservant to save Gwen. From what Arthur understood, they both were mutual friends with Gwen, perhaps even those closest to her, beside her father. But still, it made Arthur wonder: how had Morgana and Merlin become close enough to meet in cover of darkness to conspire no less than treason? Morgana had a habit of making friends with the staff, and Merlin had very clearly demonstrated his lack of care for hierarchical etiquette, but was it just that?

He didn’t have time to question it, because as he arrived at the door, he heard Merlin speak again. “He’s our best chance. But he won’t want to disobey the King.”

“Don’t be so sure, Merlin.” Arthur strode into the room, quietly basking in the looks of shock adorning Morgana, Merlin, and thankfully Gaius’ faces. “What is it that we need to destroy?”

“Arthur! How long were you listening?”

“Only enough to know you’ve figured out what’s causing the plague and you need my help to fix it.”

“There is a creature living in the water supply below the city. It’s called an Afanc, and it’s a creature born of powerful magic. We believe only fire and wind can destroy it.” Gaius replied.

“And this…Afanc is causing the illness?”

“Yes, I am certain of it.”

“Very well Gaius. Then we must do what we can to destroy it and fast, before my father carries out Guinivere’s execution.” Arthur turned and headed to the door, but stopped when he realized no one was following. He turned back.

“Well, are you coming? Gwen doesn’t have all night.”

Merlin still looked a bit shocked, and Gaius raised a critical eyebrow. Morgana was looking at him with calculation, as though trying to solve a puzzle. “Yes, we will come.” She grabbed Merlin by the arm and the three of them left Gaius’ chambers together, to confront the beast.

The trio crept down to the water supply, sneaking past the guards enforcing the curfew. They made their way beneath the city, keeping their eyes peeled for the Afanc. It had been several minutes, and so far no sign of any magical beasts.

“You’d better be right about this, Merlin,” Arthur warned, concern and irritation lacing his tone. What if they did not find the beast, and his father burned an innocent woman? How long would the plague go on for? How many other innocents would die?

Suddenly, a low growl echoed down the corridor, and Arthur’s worries for the town morphed into worry for himself and his companions. He turned to Morgana.

“You should stay here.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.”

“Scared I’ll show you up?”

“Father would slam us both in chains if he knew I’d endangered you.”

“Well good thing he doesn’t know about it then.”

“I’m telling you, Morgana, turn back. You could get hurt.”

“You could too. If you don’t get out of my way.” Arthur rolled his eyes, and beside him Merlin suppressed a laugh. There really was no use in arguing with Morgana. She would just do whatever she pleased, damn the consequences. Well, if she wanted to risk her life, then who was Arthur to stop her?

A louder growl echoed out, this time closer. “Stay behind me,” Arthur spoke softly to both Merlin and Morgana. A shadow crossed the glow of the torch light, and Arthur braced himself to fight. With a roar, the beast rounded the corner, teeth baring and in an attack stance. Arthur swung at it, but dodged his blow; instead it swiped the sword right from Arthur’s grasp, sending him down onto his back. The prince was quick to get up, but the Afanc was now between him and his weapon, and advancing towards himself and the others. Just as he thought all hope was lost, he heard Merlin’s voice, just inches from his ear: “Arthur! Use the torch!”

Without a moment's hesitation, Arthur thrust forward with his torch. At the same time, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through the tunnels, catching his fire and billowing it up towards the creature, setting it alight. It was over in mere moments. The Afanc was dead, and Camelot was saved.

Arthur took an extra moment to look at the burned carcass of the Afanc, before turning to face Merlin and Morgana. Merlin had a large, stupid grin on his face, and Morgana was wearing a pleased smile.

“Come on,” Arthur said. “Let’s go tell my father to stay the execution.”

And with that, the three took off running.

As the next few days passed, the curfew was abolished, and the cordoning of the lower towns were torn down. Gwen had been released as a free woman, and after only a day off, insisted on coming back to work. Arthur had seen her and Morgana walking the perimeter of the castle grounds just yesterday, giggling and gossiping, and whatever else women got up to. He’d also seen Gwen with Merlin. She returned to work, he’d seen her hugging Merlin in a corridor. He had not drawn any attention to himself, feeling mildly put out for some reason, but had gotten over it shortly. Gwen had even come to see him herself, to offer her thanks.

“Thank you for what you did, sire.”

“It was no problem Guinivere. Really. I was just doing my job.” He’d said, offering her a smile.

And so, the adventure was over and done with. Gwen and Morgana were back to normal, the town was as bustling and as healthy as ever, and Merlin was just as terrible of a manservant as he had been prior to the plague, although now he had several days of work he’d missed while helping Gaius to catch up on.

Hopefully, it would be a long while before anyone else chose to attack Camelot, magically or otherwise. Especially since next week, his father had invited King Bayard of Mercia to a feast to celebrate their new treaty. Yes, Arthur had high hopes of everything going rather smoothly.

Because well, Camelot couldn’t be attacked by a sorcerer every week, surely?

Chapter Text

Arthur was feeling pretty pleased with himself. He’d gotten Merlin to wear those ridiculous robes to the Banquet celebrating the peace treaty between his father and Lord Bayard of Mercia, and it was a sight to behold. He’d gotten a little more comfortable with Merlin, as the weeks since the boy was appointed as his manservant went by, and as Merlin proved that despite his uselessness as a servant, he was loyal and relatively fun to be around. Not that Arthur would ever tell him so, of course.

Now, nothing could make the night turn sour: Merlin was off galavanting with Gwen or some other servant, his father was in a good mood for once, and nothing was amiss. Arthur was ready to eat, drink, and be merry. As Bayard handed him and Uther the silver chalices, as a gift of peace, Arthur found himself impatient for the party to get started. So far, such pleasantries and dignified introductions had been made, but no actual celebration had been had. Once Bayard had finished his toast, the fun part of the evening would finally commence.

“And may our differences from the past remain there. To your health, Uther.”

Arthur stood with the rest of the nobility, raising his glass in toast. As he tilted his hand to drink, Bayard speaks again: “Arthur.”

Arthur smiles and nods in recognition of his inclusion, and goes to take a sip again, when: “The Lady Morgana.”

Of course, Bayard would not want to leave Morgana out of it, she’s the King’s Ward. Great, now that that’s through, Arthur can try and take a sip once more:
“To the people of Camelot.”

Quickly, maybe if I take a sip now he’ll stop speaking and we can move on -

“And to fallen warriors on both sides.” Father, really? You too?

“Stop!”

The chalice Arthur had been trying to sip from for the last several moments is ripped from his hand, as Merlin rushes through the room, yelling. “It’s poisoned. Don’t drink it.”

Distantly, Arthur hears his father ask “what?” in confusion, but Arthur only has eyes for his idiot servant, who once again is risking his hide for a fool's errand. As if claiming to be a sorcerer last week wasn’t idiotic enough, now here he was claiming King Bayard was attempting to assassinate him in the middle of their peaceful celebrations.

“Merlin, what are you doing?”

Merlin ignores him and looks straight at Uther with a confidence that even Arthur himself finds impressive. “Bayard laced Arthur’s goblet with poison.”

“This is an outrage!” Bayard’s men draw their swords. Fantastic.

“Order your men to put down their swords. You are outnumbered,” Uther commanded coldly as Camelot’s own guards rushed into the room.

“I will not allow this insult to go unchallenged!” Bayard cried angrily.

Uther was not deterred. “On what grounds do you base this accusation?”
Oh boy, Arthur knew he had to get control of the situation, and quickly. It wouldn’t do for Merlin to have both the King and Bayard upset with him. “I’ll handle this.”

He moved swiftly around the table and tried to get the chalice back from Merlin, but Merlin pushed him away (which was very unbecoming of a prince’s manservant) and refused to give in to Arthur’s help. “Merlin you idiot. Have we been at the slow gin again?”
Merlin had literally, as far as Arthur was aware, never been at the slow gin in the first place - but it was a good excuse for his behavior, and if Merlin had any sense, he’d wisen up and take the opportunity before someone skinned him alive for disrupting the banquet.

Merlin, of course, had no sense, clearly. He continued to wrestle Arthur for the cup. Arthur didn’t have to look at his father to know the King was losing patience.

“Unless you want to be strung up, you will tell me why you think its poisoned. Now.”

“He was seen lacing it.”

“By whom?”

“...I can’t say.” Oh for -

“I won’t listen to this anymore.” Bayard growled.

Uther seemed to agree. “Pass me the goblet.” Merlin did as he was told (for once) and passed the goblet to the King. Uther stepped out from behind the table, joining Arthur, Merlin, and Bayard in the center of the room. “If you’re telling the truth…” he began.

“I am!”

“Then you have nothing to fear, do you?” Uther held out the chalice to Bayard, who looked at it in outrage, before his expression turned smug. This was the exact method of preventing the King from making you drink poison as it happened, because suddenly, Uther changed his mind.

“No, if this proves to be poison, then I want the pleasure of killing you myself.” He turned and with an evil glint in his eye, one Arthur would never admit to having seen there before, held the goblet back out to Merlin. “He’ll drink it.”

What??? “But if it’s poisoned, he’ll die!” Arthur could not let this happen. Merlin may be an idiot, unreliable, bad at his job, snarky, insubordinate, frustrating, and stubborn, but he was also funny and loyal and cute and -

What? He was funny and loyal. That’s it. Nothing else good about Merlin. Nope.

“Then we’ll know he was telling the truth,” Uther says, as though this is clearly the most logical course of action to take.

“And what if he lives?” Bayard asked.

“Then you have my apologies, and you can do with him what you will.”

“Uther please!” Gaius cried. “He’s just a boy! He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”

“Then you should’ve schooled him better.”

Oh gods, no. His father was going to actually go through with this? If Merlin died, it would be in Arthur’s name, and he would have to live with that all of life, knowing he inadvertently caused the death of a frien- of his loyal manservant. But if Merlin was wrong, then he’d be flogged or killed by Bayard. He was damned either way.

“Merlin, apologize. This is a mistake. I’ll drink it.” Whether there be poison or not.

“No, no, no, no, no. It’s, it’s alright.” There was that look again. The look Merlin got when he first met him (I can take you apart with one blow; I can take you apart with less than that), when he tried to warn Arthur about Valiant and his magic shield (I want you to swear to me what you’re telling me is true; I swear it’s true), and only last week, when they fought off the Afanc together (Arthur! Use the torch!).

And just like that, brave, selfless, idiotic Merlin thrust himself into harm’s way again, to save Camelot, to save Arthur.

And for a moment, a brief moment, it seemed everything would be alright. But then, Merlin fell.

Arthur couldn’t tell you what happened when Merlin fell. He didn’t hear what his father said, or what Bayard cried. He doesn’t know that Gwen ran to help him and Merlin, or that Morgana gasped. He is only vaguely aware of how Gaius came beside him, quicker than a man his age typically moves, barking instruction. All he knows is one second Merlin is alright, he’s standing there perfectly okay. And in the next, Arthur is knelt over him, shouting his name.

After Merlin drank the poison from chalice, time seemed to move too quickly. Gaius explained how the poison was created by the Mortaeus Flower, and how he’d need more of the flower to create the antidote. How the flower was all the way in the Forest of Balor, guarded by a ridiculously deadly beast. Arthur had no doubt in his mind, he must go to Balor and retrieve the flower, and he must save Merlin’s life. It was, of course, the least Arthur could do to repay him for saving the prince’s life, again. It seemed like the logical course of action. So he donned his chainmail and took up his sword and went to get his father’s official permission to take a few knights and head out into the night to collect the means by which Merlin’s life would be saved. What he was not counting on, however, was his father’s blatant disregard for a servant’s life.

“Please Father! He saved my life! I can’t stand by and watch him die!”

“Then don’t look.”

He doesn’t think he’d ever felt this much vitriol for his father. Yes, Uther was an unreasonable, controlling, prejudiced git most of the time, but Arthur had come to learn that his father was not always unkind. It may not be his strongest trait, but he did treat Morgana with some semblance of love and care, and when the mood struck him, he seemed to care for Arthur as well. He’d heard stories of how his father had loved his late mother, and how he’d been a more forgiving man before her death. Perhaps when she died, she took her husband’s soul with her, and in its place sat a despondent tyrant, afraid of only one thing: losing his power. This had the be the case, because there was no other explanation in Arthur’s mind as to why Uther would overlook a young boy’s life, which had been put in danger of his own decree; a boy who’d demonstrated loyalty to Camelot and her Crown far beyond the call of duty more than once in the short time he’d called the city his home; a boy who was the nephew and ward of his lifelong friend.

Uther’s soul must no longer be a part of his person, for if it was, he would not simply let Merlin die.

Arthur on the other hand, knew his soul - it burned for justice for Merlin, with hope that one day he’d be a better King than his father. Until then, it seemed all he could do was watch as his frei - his servant died for him.

“Say what you will about the food, but you can’t beat our feasts for entertainment.”

Arthur looked up, startled. Morgana.

She swept into his room, her expression rather neutral given all they had witnessed this evening.

“Morgana, I’m sorry. I should have made sure that you were alright.”

“Disappointed actually. I was looking forward to clumping some people around the head with a ladle.”

Of course she was.

“I’m sure the guards could’ve handled Bayard and his men.”

“Yeah, but why let the boys have all the fun?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, his fondness for Morgana’s defiant nature bleeding through the despair he’d been feeling only moments before.

“Actually, I’m rather surprised to find you here. I’d expected you to be long gone, on a daring and dangerous quest to collect the antidote to the poison.”

Arthur grimaced. “I would be, if the King hadn’t forbidden me to do so.”

“I see,” Morgana said shrewdly. “And we always do what the King says.”

“Why yes, that is generally what one does when they receive orders from the King. That’s why he’s the King.”

“But you will also be a King one day.”

“Hopefully, but not yet.”

Morgana hummed, as though lost in thought. “Well, I do hope that when the time comes, tonight will be long erased from our memories by time.”

“What are you on about?”

“I am merely pointing out that when one day you are King, it may be best that the city had forgotten about that time you refused to do the right thing because your father told you so.”

“He’s the King, Morgana.”

“And so will you be. And what kind of King do you think the people will want? A King who sits idly by as a member of his household suffers to death because it's too dangerous for you to help? Or a King who cares for his people, who always strives to do the right thing, regardless of the challenges he faces?” Morgana pulled Arthur’s sword from its scabbard, and turned to him. “What kind of King do they deserve? One that will risk his life to save that of a lowly servant? Or one that does what his father tells him to?”

Arthur did not answer her, nor did he need to. Morgana presented him with his sword; he took it from her without comment, because they both knew what he had to do.

Tonight, he would ride out to the Forest of Balor.

Arthur had been traveling for almost a day without stopping. The Forest of Balor was relatively far from Camelot, especially when a life hung in the balance. His body was starting to tire, but he pressed on. There was no way he’d stop and rest now, when he was so close to the Mortaeus Flower that would save Merlin.

Soon enough, he’d reached the edges of the forest, and slowed to a cautious pace. He needed to be on the lookout for the Cockatrice: the horribly deadly creature Gaius had warned him about, that stalked and guarded the trees. If asked, Arthur would say it was this alertness that allowed him to notice the soft sounds of crying. He followed the noise.

In a clearing, sitting upon a log, was a woman in a tattered red dress. She looked young, and vaguely familiar to Arthur somehow, though it was unlikely he knew her; they were far enough away from Camelot that Arthur definitely wouldn’t have met anyone who lived in this area. Arthur dismounted from his horse, in order to be less intimidating.

“Hello? Are you alright?” He called out to her, and she looked up, startled. She didn’t try to answer, just looked at him with fear and confusion. Arthur was about to address her again, when he heard a roar from behind. “Stay back!” he told the woman, and turned to face the monster, sword drawn.

The Cockatrice attacked, and Arthur dodged its bared teeth and claws by dropping to the ground and rolling beneath it. Once on his feet again, the Cockatrice had turned, and had lunged forward a second time, towards Arthur; but knew he mustn’t let the creature near enough to him to be bitten, and so he threw his sword at it. The blade landed true, impaling the beast in the chest, and it disintegrated to ash. Arthur stared at the place where it had stood for a moment, contemplating how easy it seemed to have killed such a fearsome creature, before glancing at the woman. For a moment, he could have sworn she looked…disappointed? But when she noticed Arthur’s gaze, her face shuttered back into that of fear.
“It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you. Who did that to you?” Arthur gestures to the bruises on the woman’s arms.

“My master. I ran away from him, but then I got lost. Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded. Her words made sense, but something about the tone of her voice, the way she moved, felt disingenuous. Arthur decided to proceed with caution, and play along.

“I won’t. I’m not going to.”

“You can take me away from here?”

“Not yet. There’s something I have to do first.”

“Why did you come to the caves?”

“I’m looking for something. It can only be found here.”

“What is it? I know this place; I could help you.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed. Hadn’t she just said she was lost and needed help navigating her way out of here? How could she know the area well enough to assist Arthur in his quest, and yet still be unable to find her way out?

“No. You stay here with the horse. I will return.” Arthur left the woman and marched into the caves, lighting a torch along the way.

Inside, it was dark, and he could hear the sounds of light shuffling. He wasn’t alone, but whatever it was he could not see by only the light of the torch. He ventured further into the cave, before coming upon an opening, which revealed a cliff; the cliff looked over a deep cavern, and if Arthur looked down all he would see was shadows, hiding whatever was scuttling around him in the dark. There was a sliver of natural light peeking through an opening high above him in the cave ceiling, and he used to survey the cave walls, looking for any signs of vegetation. Long spans of grayish-brown clay and rock lay before him, and just when he was about to cut his losses and go back to try a different cave, he spotted it: a little yellow flower, with delicate petals and a thin stem sprouting against all odds from the hardened dirt of the cave wall. It was the Mortaeus Flower! He’d found it. Now, there was just one last, small problem:

The cave wall upon which the flower grew was across the cavern, just out of reach. If he wanted to save Merlin’s life, he’d have to get across somehow, and hopefully without falling to his death. He stood there for only a moment, before making his decision: Merlin didn’t have time, and neither did Arthur. He’d have to jump.

Tossing the torch aside, Arthur took a few steps back in preparation. He breathed deeply, preparing himself for his leap of faith. He felt his legs moving, and suddenly the ground was no longer beneath his feet. He landed awkwardly, hand scraping on the stone walls and rolling on the balls of his feet, but it was a testament to his training as a knight with how fast he righted himself. Once regaining his balance, Arthur looked up to where the flower rested against the cool clay, and realized it was still a little too far to stretch and grab. So he began climbing.

As Arthur scaled the side of the cave, the faint scuttling he’d heard before seemed to get closer to him. He tried not to think about it too hard; if he could just get to the flower he could climb out of the cave and would not need to worry about whatever creature was lurking. He was so focused on reaching the flower, so determined to get to it quickly, that he almost missed when, from the corner of his eye, the creature lunged.

Arthur swiftly released his hold on the wall, hanging by the hand furthest from the creature, and began shuffling away from it. He could see it clearly now, in the dimmed skylight: the largest spider Arthur had ever seen the likes of. Well, at least it looked like a spider. It was large about the size of a dog, with eight long hairy legs and two menacing pinchers adorning its head, ready to attack. If Arthur wasn’t the prince and best fighter in all of Camelot, he might’ve been startled - but he definitely was not. Not at all.

The spider-creature skittered closer to the dangling prince, and Arthur realized that without the torch he’d left on the cliff’s ledge, all he had to defend himself with was his sword, the scabbard of which was on the other side of his person to his one free arm. It would be awkward, but he had to grab it if he wanted to live to see Merlin saved from the poison. He scrambled for his belt, pulling and twisting in a way that if he were there, Merlin would have described as frantic and undignified for his royal prattness; but before he was successful at drawing his sword, the light in the cave suddenly changed.

There was a peripheral glow emanating from somewhere above Arthur’s head, moving closer at a steady pace. Arthur looked up in surprise, eyes widening at the sight of a glowing sphere free floating in the open space above him, moving in the direction of Arthur and his arachnoid foe. No, not towards both of them, just the spider. It swung closer to the creature, which scattered back into the shadows beyond the glow’s reach.

This orb, it was…magic. And it was…helping him?

All his life, he’d been told magic was an insidious evil that could not be allowed to continue so long as the Pendragons controlled Camelot under their rule. Magic users were terrorists who sought only to bring harm and inflict pain. Since the age of 9, Arthur had known better. He was destined to bring magic back to Camelot, and unite the five kingdoms through doing so. And he would do it with the help of the most powerful sorcerer of all time.

All of this was well and good, except up until this point, magic had not really been his friend. His father was so horrifically awful to those with magic that they often saw his son as an extension of his cruel reign, and tried to harm him, either to hurt Uther or to hurt the Pendragons in general. But here, in this random cave, this magic had deemed him worthy of its help and protection. All the while the only reason he was even there was because there was a boy, too loyal for his own good, laying in Gaius chambers many leagues away dying on Arthur’s behalf. This was not what Kings and Rulers would consider a “Noble” quest befit of one called the “Once and Future King”; but to Arthur, saving Merlin in return for his own bravery was the most noble quest of all. He wondered if the magic could sense that.

He wondered… No, it couldn’t be. He was not ready to be King, but here was this mysterious magic force willing to help him succeed without hesitation. Was it? Could it possibly be…?

“Emrys.” Arthur whispered the word, staring at the globe of light. It didn’t react, but in that moment, Arthur knew. This was the magic of Emrys, of his destiny.

With all his strength he pushed up from the rock he clung to, and reached for the Mortaeus Flower, now unguarded by the spider-creature. He plucked it easily from its root, and tucked it gently into his pouch. Then, with faith that Emrys’ magic would follow and protect, he began the climb up to the top of the cave. He scrambled up over the harsh, scrapping rock, until he was able to finally pull himself up and through the opening.

As he righted himself, he turned and saw the orb float quickly up into the sunlight and disappear. It wasn’t until it was long gone that he turned and marched back to his horse, only to find it mysteriously devoid of any crying women. Where did that girl go? Arthur spared only a second to look around himself, but he hadn’t the time to go looking for her. He mounted the horse and took off back for Camelot.

One week later, Arthur was released from the cells.

The entire time he was down there, he was allowed no visitors, especially after the incident with Gwen. He had no idea if she’d succeeded in evading the guards, or if she got in trouble, or if they had gotten the flower to Gaius in time to save Merlin. His father hadn’t even come down to scold him, which he supposed was a good sign; but it didn’t stop the constant anxious flutter of his stomach when he thought of his poor servant.

Would he be there when he was eventually released? Or would he be gone?

When the guards released him, his father wasn’t there. Arthur knew he should be offended that after a week of confining his own son and heir to the dungeons, he couldn’t even be bothered to show up to his release, but honestly? Arthur was glad of it. It meant that no one was there to stop him from heading straight to Gaius’ chambers.

He all but ran through the castle, dodging servants left and right. He jogged up the stairs, his body aching from a week sleeping on the uncomfortable floor, but the adrenaline of finding out if he was successful pushed him forward. In what seemed like moments, he burst through the physician’s door, not even bothering to knock, and immediately laid his eyes on the old man himself, brewing some concoction in a pot in the middle of the room.

To his credit, Gaius didn’t seem too surprised by the sudden, rude entrance, only turning to Arthur with a judgemental eyebrow.

“Did you need something, sire?”

Arthur looked at him, eyes wide. “Gaius, is…is he..?”

“Arthur?”
With one word, every muscle in Arthur’s body suddenly relaxed, and his heart found its normal rhythm for the first time in a little over a week. Merlin was standing at the top of the steps leading to his room, clad only in a night shirt and trousers, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

I’m sorry, sire. Am I late?” He asked.

Arthur tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “No. No Mer-lin, you are not late. For once, anyway. I am only here for a tincture for my sore muscles. But if you’re done lazing about, I’d like my breakfast in my chambers in half an hour.”

Merlin groaned and stomped back into his room. If he’d been more awake, he’d probably see the way Arthur’s gaze never left him once. Gaius, on the other hand, saw all. “Here you are, sire.” He handed a bottle of salve to Arthur, who looked down at it in confusion.

“For your sore muscles, sire.” Gaius reminded him. If Arthur didn’t know any better, he’d say the old man was amused. Embarrassed, Arthur murmured his thanks, and quickly escaped to the hall, starting the journey to his room.

And if anyone saw the wide grin on his face the whole way there, they didn’t mention it.

Chapter Text

Merlin knew another noble.

Arthur didn’t know why this fact bothered him so much. It wasn’t as if Camelot was devoid of nobles and their sons; Camelot had many noble families who owned small plots of land courtesy of his father, in exchange for their undying devotion to the crown and its stability. The fact that Merlin would have met any of them outside of Arthur and his knights was very likely - but to be friends with one, well, Arthur hadn’t expected that. Especially when Merlin explained that the man had saved his life. When was Merlin in any danger? Why hadn’t he asked Arthur for help?

Arthur knew he was being petulant; of course Merlin would ask a random nobleman for help. Despite their own disastrous first meeting, Merlin had a knack for attracting new friends, and those who knew him often felt very loyal to the boy very quickly. Even Arthur felt the need to protect his young manservant - though he was loath to admit it - and it had gotten him thrown in the dungeons for a week. So yes, he could understand how it happened, and he could understand how someone else might’ve had to step in to ensure Merlin’s safety if Arthur wasn’t around - but it still rubbed him the wrong way that Merlin had been in danger and Arthur hadn’t known. He mentally smacked himself. Gods, if Morgana could hear his thoughts, she would laugh at him and call him Merlin’s knight-in-shining-armor. Not that Merlin was any blushing damsel. Or that Arthur thought of him that way. He definitely did not.

Not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, as it was unbecoming of a prince, Arthur had agreed to see Merlin’s friend at the training grounds this morning. He’d test him to see if he truly had what it took to be a knight of Camelot. But being one of his knight’s was no easy task: it took the quickest of men, the strongest of men, the most loyal of men to become one. Arthur turned away as many noble sons as he did train them. There was no guarantee that you would be picked; only the best of the best got that privilege.

But Arthur wasn’t one to turn down a man based simply on the fact that he was friends with the prince’s manservant. He promised himself he’d be fair and true to this man, regardless of who recommended him.

It was at this moment when a young man approached him. He was tall, similar in height to Arthur, and he had a kind face. His hair was long and well-kept; his stance was riddled with the nerves of a man who was approaching the prince. This must be Merlin’s noble friend. Arthur hated him on the spot.

“Yes?”

“Lancelot, 5th son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria.”

The fifth son of Lord Eldred? Arthur was certain that the old crow only had four sons. In fact, Arthur had had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting them as a boy, during a rare Yule celebration when the Lord and his family visited. How there could be a fifth son his own age, was lost on Arthur.

“Lance..alot? My servant mentioned you. Have you got your seal?”

“Sire.” Lancelot presented his seal, and Arthur bore it no mind. He was reasonably certain it would be a forgery, and that Lancelot was lying. Arthur had no interest in getting the man in legal trouble - for it was a crime that a commoner would attempt to become a knight under false pretenses - but anger swirled in his gut. Not for the lie, but strangely, for Merlin. Merlin had vouched for this man, and he had clearly taken advantage of his young, naïve servant, once he found out the boy's connection to the prince. He responded by smacking the man down, having caught him unawares. It’s more satisfying than he cares to admit.

“Sluggish reactions. In a battlefield you’d be dead by now. Come back when you’re ready.” Arthur said, only half aware of how unfair he is being. He really had no time to waste on this swindler of servants. But the man just wouldn’t let it go.

“I’m ready now, sire.”

“You are, are you? Fine. You can start by cleaning out the stables.” There, that will show him. If he wants to lie his way into the ranking of knight, he must prove that he isn’t some lowlife con who preys on the innocent minds of boys and princes. Only a truly honorable man would graciously accept the task that Arthur has laid out for him. Now, it was up to Lancelot: would he prove to be worthy or training as a knight, or would he cut his losses and try to lie his way into the army of some other, lesser kingdom?

He stomps away, ready to break for lunch. He would check on Lancelot’s progress later, and perhaps give him a few new chores, just to see how far he’s willing to go. As he left the pitch, he called out “Mer-lin. If you aren’t too busy being awestruck by my knights, perhaps you could fetch me my lunch?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but he heard the servant in question muttering under his breath as he followed behind the prince.

“Arthur.”

“You know Merlin, you really are supposed to refer to me by the proper titles.”

“I just wanted to thank you for giving Lancelot a chance.”

“I haven’t given him a chance. Yet. He must prove himself to be honorable and willing to follow even the most arduous of orders before that happens.”

“Is that the same as other knights? I’ve never noticed.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t. You’re too busy picking daisies with Morgana and her maid to notice.” Arthur included the final jibe as a way to punctuate the conversation, and turned off in the direction of his chambers. He didn’t really think Merlin was off dilly-dallying with Morgana and Gwen, but he felt that the best way to keep Merlin from getting too comfortable, to prevent him from mistaking them for friends, was to tease him in such a way. After all, though Arthur found him rather funny, and sometimes, very rarely, actually intelligent, Arthur could not be accused of being friends with a servant. Not while Uther was King, anyway.

As it turned out, Lancelot was as noble as he claimed, at least in character. He’d successfully accomplished every task Arthur had sent out for him: mucking the stables, walking Arthur’s hunting hounds, sweeping the guardhouse, and sharpening the swords in the armory. Honestly, if Arthur were to give him any more chores, Merlin would be out of a job. He supposed, late into the afternoon, that it was time to test the man again.

Arthur happens upon the man just outside the castle walls, still sharpening the swords. In lieu of a greeting, he picks up an old broom and tosses it at the man, who, to his credit, catches it.

“Not bad.”

“Would you like me to sweep the guardhouse again, sire?” Ah yes, there was the frustrated sarcasm that Arthur expected. He was definitely ready to try his hand at combat again.

“It certainly needs sweeping, but first, I’d like you to kill me.” Arthur quipped, picking up another broom and removing the bristles.

“Sire?”

“Come on. Don’t pretend you don’t want to. Hell if I were you, I’d want to do the same.”

Arthur was fairly confident Lancelot would not succeed in “killing” him; he was Camelot’s finest knight, and he had worlds more experience than this man, especially as a commoner in disguise. But, now that he’d freed himself of the nerves, it might go a bit better for him, and if Merlin was right, then perhaps this Lancelot character was noble enough of skill and heart to turn a blind eye to his misdeeds.

Arthur had never been overly fond of the first rule of the knight’s code. Sure, he’d never expressed his distaste, as it would be a surefire way to draw his father’s wrath, but he didn’t really understand why it was only nobility that could pledge their allegiance to the crown in such a way. Arthur had seen first-hand both worthy common men, and unworthy nobleman’s sons. Why compromise the strength of one’s army for something so foolish as class? Camelot’s knights were unmatched, but still it would be good to have a few extra bodies to fight, especially with strange magical creatures attacking the kingdom with greater and greater frequency. For instance, if Lancelot managed to pass this test, he’d be very helpful in the ongoing mission to defeat the odd creature that was terrorizing the outlying villages.

As it was, Lancelot was doing well so far. He was holding his own against Arthur, but he was brash and untrained. “Come on Lancelot, you’re not beating a carpet,” Arthur taunted encouragingly. He was rather impressed with how long Lancelot lasted, right up until Arthur whacked him in the gut with the pseudo-sword.

“Congratulations, Lancelot. You just made basic training.”

But alas, there is no time to celebrate. Almost as soon as the fight is over, the alarm bells are ringing for all their worth, and Arthur finds himself reacting instinctually. He turns away from his new knight-in-training, and runs towards the castle.

As he stormed through the castle, Arthur could barely help the conflicting emotions he had all jumbled up inside from exploding outward. That stupid, lying, no-good, commoner. He’d bested Arthur! Him! The prince, best fighter in Camelot! He’s lucky Arthur is bound by duty to see him knighted now, or else he’d have half a mind to challenge him to a duel. On the grounds of…emotional damage? Maybe not that. But on the grounds of something!

Practically growling, he turned the corner a bit too fast, and nearly plowed into someone. “Oh don’t watch where you are walking on my account.” Morgana offers sardonically, righting herself.

“Apologies Morgana. I-I was not… I was…” as he searched for a reasonable excuse for a prince to be raging through the castle, Morgana smirked playfully. He hated when she smirked; the expression always meant she knew something he did not, and Arthur hated feeling stupid.

“Does your inflated temper have anything to do with the news recruit to the knight’s training?” Ugh, Morgana was literally the worst.

“Of course not. And even if it were, how would you know?” He asked suspiciously.

“I’ve seen the man fight on the field only this morning. And I saw a few other things as well.”
“Like what?”

“Like that the man seemed to only have eyes for a certain servant.”

Arthur blanched. Oh gods, was he really that obvious? Sure, Merlin was a bit…pretty, and yeah, Lancelot had been spending an awful lot of time with him… but had Arthur really been so obvious with his feelings that even Morgana knew?

“What?!”

“Please Arthur, I know how you feel. You care for someone far below your station, despite what your father would say; it is because of his disapproval that leads you to believe it could never be.”

Oh god, Morgana thought he was in love with Merlin?!

“But you should realize, Arthur, that Uther won’t be King forever. And when you do become king, you can marry whoever you want, servant or otherwise.”

SHE THOUGHT HE WANTED TO MARRY MERLIN?!

“Of course, I think Gwen could do better, but I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Holy - wait. What?

“Gwen?” He choked out. Morgana tilted her head as a sly expression washed over her features.
“Yes, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you were gazing at her while she was helping Merlin carry your laundry the other day. I also happened to notice the way Lancelot looked at her this morning. You have some competition, your majesty.” Arthur could recognize teasing from Morgana, after years of being on the receiving end of it. But what he didn’t quite understand, is where on earth she’d gotten the idea that he cared for Guinevere in such a manner. Sure, she was a fair maiden, and she was kind and good and loyal, but she was a dear friend (if he let himself have friends, that is) and nothing more.

But, he supposed, Morgana thinking he’d developed feelings for her maid was better than her thinking he…liked Merlin. Because, though Merlin was objectively attractive, Arthur had no such desires. Not at all.

“Yes, Gwen. She is… very beautiful.”

Morgana’s face changed to something ugly, and she reached out to smack his arm. “She is more than a pretty face, Arthur. You’d better not just be trying to bed her-”

“What? No! I wouldn’t do that to her.”

“Good. If anything ever comes of it, and you hurt her in any way, I will hurt you worse than anything you’ve ever imagined,” Morgana practically sneered, before stomping off. Arthur watched her retreat, feeling a little lighter. He supposed he had her to thank for it, but as usual, Morgana was a mystery to him. It was a good thing Emrys was said to be a man: Arthur wasn’t sure he wanted to ever be involved with a woman with so much power. She was sure to be more confounding and scary than even Morgana, which otherwise Arthur wouldn’t have thought possible.

Shaking the potential horror of a magical being as confusing as the King’s Ward, Arthur made his way to his rooms to prepare for the knighting and subsequent celebration. Upon his arrival, he noticed Merlin had already beat him there, and was setting out his clothes with a big, stupid grin on his face. It was slightly unnerving. “What’s the matter with you, Merlin? You look like Yule came early.”

“Oh!” He startled, not having heard the prince come in. “Hello Arthur. I’m just happy, I suppose.”

“Well stop it. It's making me nervous.”

“Of course, sire,” Merlin said in that special way of his, which really meant nothing respectful. He continued grinning to himself anyway. And really, Arthur couldn’t truly order the boy to stop smiling. Besides, Merlin’s smile was…kind of nice. Yes, it was fine to let him smile. For now at least.

Arthur kept a close eye on Lancelot at the celebration of his new knighthood. He sat next to him, atop a table, nursing a drink. Lancelot was staring off in the distance, and saw Guinevere walking across the room, moving from her place at Morgana’s side to Merlin’s, intending to gossip no doubt. Merlin and Gwen had become fast friends in the few months that Merlin had been in Camelot, and Arthur often caught his servant giggling with her and Morgana like a group of young girls.

Now, Arthur found no humor in watching Merlin and Gwen whisper to each other, for he had to know which one of them had caught Lancelot’s eye. Gwen, or Merlin? Was Morgana right? Was Lancelot as besotted with Gwen as she guessed, or were his eyes on Arthur’s gangly young manservant?

“Here’s trouble. Tell me, do you think her…beautiful?” Arthur leaned into Lancelot’s space, close enough that he could hear the prince over the sounds of joyous celebration. He pointedly asked about Gwen, in hopes the new knight would confirm that she was the one he was gazing at.

“Yes, Sire. I do.” Lancelot’s longing expression never shifted, and Arthur let out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding in. He wasn’t sure why he felt so relieved, but it was like the weight of the whole world had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Yeah. I suppose she is.” He considered, not one to let on his true feelings. They watched Merlin and Gwen as they giggled and glanced over at the two men perched on the table, directly at Arthur and Lancelot. Oh, he wondered what they were saying. But the prince did not gossip. No, that was for women and apparently, Merlins. Abruptly, he jumped up on the table, dragging Lancelot along with him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please join me in a toast to our new recruit, our new knight of Camelot, Sir Lancelot.”

The crowd cheered and raised their goblets, and from there, the night became a fuzzy blur of jovial laughter and celebration.

“Sire!”

Arthur groaned into his pillow.

“Prince Arthur!”

“Yes?” He called warily to the guard at the door.

“The King requests your presence in the council chamber at once!”

Arthur groaned again. “Tell him I’ll be there momentarily.”

He listened as the guard’s footsteps grew quieter and quieter, as the man made the distance down the hall to inform his father of Arthur’s imminent arrival. Whatever this was about, couldn’t be good.

Arthur dragged himself out of bed, and tried his best to ignore his pounding headache as he dressed himself, only idly wondering where his manservant was. Surely he hadn’t had too much to drink last night as well?

Upon further reflection, Arthur could see how Merlin might’ve indulged a bit on the wine: it was a party, and Lancelot of his friend and the guest of honor. And if Merlin was as much of a lightweight and Arthur suspected, then it would stand to reason he might’ve had a bit too much. Well, he supposed he could let his tardiness go. At least, this time.

He marched himself down to the council chambers, valiantly attempting to remain upright and appear unbothered, and hesitated only slightly before he entered.

“You wanted to see me, Father.”

His father looked up at him, scowl on his face. “Camelot’s honor has been besmirched Arthur. I cannot allow it.”

“Father?”

“That so-called knight, Lancelot. He is a fraud.” What? How did his father find out? Arthur had been very happy to let that go in lieu of the man proving his honor (and his affections for Guinevere rather than others). He seemed to be a good man, not the con that Arthur first took him for, and Arthur didn’t necessarily agree with the first rule of the Knight’s Code anyway. But how did his father find out?

The puzzlement must have been apparent on his face, because Uther answered his silent question. “Geoffrey found evidence of his lies in the court records last night. He informed me of his findings early this morning. The guards are on their way to collect the traitor now.”

Arthur’s eyes widened with alarm as he glanced at Geoffrey (the old git, why couldn’t he have let it go?), as the council chamber doors burst open behind him. Arthur watched as the guards dragged Lancelot in, in his night clothes, and pushed him to his knees before the King.

“Tell him what you told me.” Uther begins. He was clearly speaking to Geoffrey, despite glaring directly at Lancelot, who was still struggling on the floor. Geoffrey, looking mildly uncertain at the knight, stepped forward to speak.

“These credentials are faked. The seal itself is faultless, forgery of the highest possible standard, but a forgery it must be. There is no record of the fifth son of Northumbria. Therefore he…”

“Lied,” Uther cut the old man off. “Do you deny it?”

“No, sire.” Dammit Lancelot! Why did you have to choose right now to be honorable and tell the truth? Distantly, Arthur thought it was very ironic: Lancelot used deception to get the opportunity to prove himself worthy of knighthood, yet it would be his honor that was his undoing.

“You have broken the First Code of Camelot. You’ve brought shame upon yourself and upon us. You are not worthy of the knighthood bestowed upon you. You never were, and you never will be. Get him out of my sight.” With the word of their King, the guards yanked Lancelot up by the arms and dragged him away to the dungeons.

“Sire.” Arthur broached.

“Do you contest my judgment?”

“His deception was inexcusable. But he meant no harm, sire, I’m sure of it. He only wished to serve.”

“The First Code is a sacred bond of trust. It is what binds the knights together. How can you trust a man who’s lied to you?”

Arthur didn’t have an answer, and so he was left to watch as his father scowled his way out of the room.

Great, just great. There was a murderous creature on the loose, and he needed all the help he could get, and his newest knight had been stripped of his position and sent to the dungeons for an indeterminate amount of time, probably for the rest of his mortal life. Not to mention the generally disapproving looks he was bound to get from Morgana for allowing his father to sentence her maid’s new sweetheart to jail, as though he had any real say in the matter. Or worse: she might think he allowed it out of jealousy of Gwen’s affections! Gods, if only it were that simple. No, he had to find a reason to release Lancelot.

It was with this thought in his mind that he entered his rooms, his stomach growling, as he was long overdue his breakfast. Only moments later, Merlin stumbled through the door.

“Sorry I’m late,” he began, uncharacteristically nervous. “Hey, do you know what the King wanted with Lancelot this morning? The guards just burst into our rooms and arrested him. They said it was the King’s orders, but wouldn’t say what the charges were.”

Arthur looked at Merlin, who gazed back at him with hope and apprehension. Oh. Lancelot hadn’t tricked Merlin. Merlin had known. He had known that Lancelot was a common man, not of noble blood, and he had aided and abetted his crimes. Arthur could tell just by looking at him. A part of him wanted to be angry at Merlin, for doing something so stupid and dangerous, a crime that would come with a harsh sentence. Another part of him felt a small twinge of hurt; he’d never thought Merlin would outright lie to face in such a way. And then a third, and thankfully more powerful part of him, felt that maybe Merlin was just doing what he always seemed to do: helping out a friend no matter how misguided his methods might have been. Arthur sighed.

“The Royal Genealogist discovered the seal Lancelot used to prove his ties to nobility was a forgery. My father was incensed, and stripped him of his knighthood and sent him to the dungeons. I’m sorry.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “But that’s not fair! Lancelot proved that he was capable of fighting yesterday! He bested even you!”

“Yes, thank you, Merlin, for reminding me.”

“He is just as noble and capable as any other knight of Camelot, perhaps even more so! He saved my life, Arthur, and he didn’t even know me! He deserves to be a knight of Camelot!”

Arthur held up a hand, silencing his irate manservant. “I understand how you feel Merlin, I really do. But there isn’t much to be done. Lancelot has proven himself worthy in character and skill, and if it were up to me alone I would gladly overlook this one lie for the good of the kingdom. But it is not up to me. The First Code is an important rule that cannot just be ignored easily, and my father intends to uphold it. He is the King, it’s his decision.”

Merlin looked unhappy with this rationale, but had no argument. He knew that Uther could be a bit stuck in his ways, and not even Arthur had historically been able to sway his opinions. Especially not on such established rules such as the First Code. But still, Arthur wished there was a way to fix this. He supposed the least he could do was let his manservant go be miserable in peace for a while.
“Merlin, look. Why don’t you go down and help Gaius today? I am not in need of any of your assistance until tomorrow.” Merlin looked up at him, and nodded, before taking his leave. Gods, Arthur really needed a plan to smooth this over, or Merlin would be all mopey, and Morgana will be insufferable, and his father will just continue being angry and stubborn, and everyone will make Arthur’s life miserable. But what to do?

In the end, the plan sort of came up with itself.

As per usual, Uther would absolutely not see reason when it came to the suggestion that the beast Arthur had encountered in the citadel was magical in nature, not even when his oldest and most trusted advisor, or his son and best knight implored him to. If the situation wasn’t so dire, Arthur might’ve found the humor in his father’s consistency; but alas, there was no humor to be found when a seemingly unkillable creature threatened the lives of your people.

With the fear that Camelot would no longer exist in a matter of days, Arthur found himself in the dungeons, standing before the cell his father’s guards had imprisoned Lancelot in. The man had his head in his hands, no doubt contemplating his life choices, when Arthur cleared his throat.

“You were too nice.”

Lancelot’s head shot up in surprise. “Sire?”

“You were too nice. You didn’t sound like a knight, or even look like a knight. It made everything all the more suspicious.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, well, I’m sorry too. Because Lancelot, you fight like a knight. And I need…Camelot needs…”

“The creature?”

“We cannot kill it. I’ve never faced it’s like.”

“I faced it myself, sire. Some days past. I struck it full square. I wondered how it endured.” Ah, that must have been when he met Merlin.

“There are those who believe this creature, this griffin… is a creature of magic, and that only magic can destroy it.”

“Do you believe this?” And well, if that wasn’t the million coin question. Arthur knew that his father believed magic to be evil, and would not hear a word of a creature being only killed through magic. He’d been raised on this belief, and he himself was wary of magic users as historically they were often trying to kill him and his loved ones. But he also knew of the prophecy of Emrys and the Once and Future King, and he knew his destiny was to bring magic back to Camelot with the help of an all powerful sorcerer. He imagined that there must be some good in magic if that was to be the way his life went. But now, while his father was still King, when speaking such thoughts into the world would be an act of treason, he couldn’t afford to have such an opinion.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. The use of magic is not permitted. The knights must prevail with steel and sinew alone.”

“Sire.”

“There is a horse waiting for you outside.”

“Thank you. Thank you, sire.”

“Lancelot, take it and never return to this place.”

“No. No please I…it’s not my freedom I seek. I only wish to serve with honor.”

“I know.”

“Then let me ride with you, sire.”

“I cannot. My father knows nothing of this. I release you myself, but I can do no more. Now go before I change my mind.”

The man exchanged one more open look with the man, before watching him rush swiftly down the hall towards freedom. He sighed and began the process of mentally preparing himself to die.

As it turned out, Arthur didn’t die. He barely even suffered a scratch. He had awoken on the battlefield, staring up at the sky, and turned his head in time to see Lancelot killing the griffin with what looked like a flaming lance. But that couldn’t be, right? Arthur was clearly seeing things, on account of him having only regained consciousness moments before. He had also thought he’d heard Merlin of all people there as well, but that was surely a hallucination; if Merlin had been there, he’d definitely have been hurt or killed by the beast. He did not question Lancelot about the lance and the mysterious death of a creature he was absolutely sure had been magical. It did not seem like it was something he should be aware of, if it happened.

But just because he didn’t ask the questions, didn’t mean the questions weren’t present in his mind.

If Lancelot had used magic, why was he stupid enough to try and become a knight of Camelot, literally the worst place for magic users. Was he an assassin? Unlikely, given that he had just saved Arthur’s life. Was he an idiot? He didn’t seem dimwitted, but Arthur supposed appearance could be deceiving. Was he…Emrys? Arthur had stared at him the entire way back to the citadel, and he tried to picture Lancelot as an all powerful wizard, and found himself unable to reconcile the two figures together in his mind. Lancelot was charming and handsome, but Arthur felt as though he would know his other half in his soul. And he felt nothing of the sort for the man. So, the likeliest explanation was that Arthur was simply seeing things. Probably.

Now that the beast had been slain, it was time for the hardest part of today’s adventure: reigning in his father’s temper.

“His actions change nothing! He broke the code!” Uther sneered.

“He laid down his life for me. He served with honor!”

“I see you feel strongly about this, Arthur. Under the circumstances, a pardon, perhaps?” Arthur had never known his father to even attempt to compromise, but it wasn’t good enough, and he felt the need to tell him so.

“No, not good enough, Father. You must restore Lancelot to his rightful place, as a knight of Camelot.”

“Never. The law is the law. The Code bends for no man.”

“Then the code is wrong!”

Quite possibly saving his life for the second time that day, Lancelot chose that particular moment to burst through the doors, meekly followed by Merlin. The guards moved to restrain him.

“Let me speak!”

“Wait! I’ll hear him.” Uther looked on with curiosity.

“Forgive me, sire. I’ve come to bid you farewell.”

“What is this Lancelot?”

“I lied to you both and now there is conflict between you. I cannot bear that burden, as you should not bear mine. I must start again, far from here. Then maybe one day fate shall grant me another chance to prove myself a worthy knight of Camelot.”

“But Lancelot, you’ve already proved that to us.”

“But I must prove it to myself,” He bowed. “Your highness. Prince Arthur.”

And Arthur watched his knight walk out of the room, past Merlin, and out of Camelot and their lives.

Later that night, after Merlin had brought him dinner and stoked the fire, and after Arthur had dismissed him for the evening, Arthur laid in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He had been lucky today; he had not been killed by the beast, and he had lost no men. His father had not strung him up by his bootstraps for questioning his laws and his judgements. And Merlin, despite being a bit somber over Lancelot’s departure, seemed to be in better spirits. Not that that was important to him, it's just that, when Merlin was in a bad mood, he did his chores even more poorly than usual. This was the best case scenario if Arthur wanted his armor polished and his laundry done in a timely manner this week.

But still, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d let everyone down.

He rolled over onto his side.

One day, when he became King, he’d change the First Code of the Knights of Camelot, to include all men who could prove their honor, skills, and characters, despite their heritage. And maybe then, men like Lancelot could take their place beside him in the glorious army of Camelot. Yes. One day, Sir Lancelot would fight beside him again.

Chapter Text

Arthur hadn’t liked that Edwin character from the start. When the man had first approached him in the citadel, he’d been wary - he’d only suggested asking for his help when it became clear Morgana would die without any other intervention. It was meant to be a longshot.

So Arthur had been pleasantly surprised at first when the man’s “remedy to cure all ills” had been successful. Morgana would live to give him grief another day. Wonderful. Except, then, the charlatan began undermining Gaius’ work and devotion to the King and medicine, and effectively led to his forced retirement, which Arthur had thought was incredibly odd and suspicious. Who was this man, to waltz into Camelot and poison Uther’s mind against one of his oldest and most trusted advisors? And the worst of it was: Uther fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Even Arthur, who’d been on the sidelines for much of the week’s adventure for once, had seen that something was off with the new physician, and he was surprised that even his father could be so blind as to not see it too. Was Uther the most perceptive man in the five kingdoms? It was treasonous to say out loud, but no, he definitely was not. But even he should have been put off by this mysterious “cure all” Edwin had boasted about.

And if not, then he should have simply done what he always does in the face of change: been an obstinate, stubborn git, and refused to fire Gaius, on the principle of Uther just generally not liking it when people do different things or invoke a disruption of the status quo. It was one of his many talents, to be a pig’s ass. But no, in this case, Arthur couldn't even depend on him to do that right!

And so Edwin got Gaius fired, he almost killed the King, almost killed Gaius when the old man tried to stop him, and then almost killed Merlin! And apparently, he was responsible for Morgana’s initial illness as well!

Speaking of, while Arthur was annoyed Edwin had ingratiated himself to the Royal Court and caused such a ruckus, and was very perplexed that his father hadn’t seen right through it, the thing he was most irritated about was Merlin’s involvement in the whole thing.

First Merlin was happy to welcome the man, as they all were - but for some reason, the way that Merlin looked at Edwin, as though awestruck had really rubbed Arthur the wrong way. And even more so, how Edwin looked at Merlin: he looked like a lion stalking his next meal every time he’d laid eyes on the boy. Arthur had had half a mind to ask the physician his intentions with his manservant, for if no one else was going to protect Merlin’s virtue, Arthur supposed the duty fell to him. Not to mention, Edwin seemed as though he was even a bit older than Arthur - he had no business carrying on like that with a boy on the cusp of adulthood.

But then, once the awe had worn off, and Gaius had been effectively sacked, Merlin had been mopey. A mopey Merlin was a useless Merlin; Arthur had come to know this quite well. Arthur couldn’t say he blamed him, however: Gaius was like an uncle to him, his only real family or guardian in Camelot, and the old man was leaving. For a second, Arthur was afraid Merlin would follow him, but as it turned out, Merlin had chosen to stay in Camelot.

Had chosen to stay with Arthur.

Arthur couldn’t bring himself to be too pleased with this, because Merlin was moping about the place, failing to complete his chores. This meant that Arthur hadn’t had one meal on time in days, had a clean shirt since before Morgana was cured, or gotten ready for knight’s training in a timely manner all week. It was definitely a problem.

Which brought him to now.

Everything, as far as most of the court was concerned, had righted itself: Morgana and Uther were healthy, Gaius had been restored as the Royal Physician and named Freeman of Camelot, Edwin was dead. And yet, his manservant still moped. But this moping was different than his previous moping: this moping was quiet. Merlin had become somehow more efficient than he ever had been before: Arthur would ask him to complete a task, only to find out that the task had been done hours earlier. Now, he watched as Merlin silently stoked his fire.

If Arthur had learned anything about his young servant in the last few months of their forced arrangement, it was that Merlin liked to talk (and that he was funny and smart and loyal and kind and - )

If Merlin wasn’t talking, there was something wrong.

“Merlin, did you remember to polish my boots?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Did you sharpen my sword for training tomorrow?”

“Yes, sire.”

“And did you see that my horses were groomed and the stables mucked?”

“Yes, sire.”
No matter what Arthur asked or said, Merlin just kept repeating the same: yes, sire. No, sire. Of course, sire. And without any sarcasm or insolence! It was almost more alarming than his father believing Edwin.

Finally, he’d had enough.

“Merlin, what is wrong with you? You look like someone has died!”

Had Arthur not been paying attention, he’d never have noticed it, but at his statement, Merlin’s usually pale skin became impossibly paler. His eyes twitched, staring at something far away. His hands, usually ever active, doing little things like fidgeting or folding or smoothing or the like, stilled.

“Merlin?”

Merlin didn’t answer, but, to Arthur’s horror, his eyes began filling with what looked like tears. Oh Gods, was he going to cry? Arthur was not equipped to handle crying. Should he go find Gwen? Or Gaius? Or literally anyone else?

Before he had time to settle on who exactly he should go get to help Merlin through this clearly trying time, Merlin finally speaks.

“Edwin died.”

Merlin was upset over Edwin? Was he really that infatuated over the man? He’d almost killed the King and Gaius?

“Merlin, no man is worth your tears. Especially not a man such as that.”

“I’m not crying over him.”

Oh. Well, Arthur was once again out of his depth here.
“Then what’s wrong?”

Merlin glanced up at him, something akin to shame on his face, as well as something else…fear?

“Merlin, you do not have to be afraid. You can tell me what’s troubling you.” Arthur murmured softly, surprising even himself with how quiet and gentle he sounded.

Merlin looked at him for a long moment, before taking a deep breath, and looking away.

Then, he spoke, so softly that Arthur almost didn’t hear him.

“I killed him.”

Oh.

Well, now that - that was something Arthur could understand. He gazed at the boy in front of him, young and inexperienced in combat or the arts of war, and realized that no, Merlin was not upset the sorcerer was dead; he was upset that it had been he who had taken his life. It was likely the first time Merlin had done such a deed. And if Arthur could take it away from him, take on the burden he had borne for himself since the age of thirteen, he would.

“To take a life is one of the hardest things a man can do, but in many cases an unavoidable evil to protect that which he loves.” Arthur spoke.

Merlin nodded, still not meeting Arthur’s eye. “He was going to kill Gaius. There was a fire.”

“So you did it to protect Gaius.”

“He threw - an axe. He threw an axe at me when I walked in. He - it - it missed. I threw it back.” Merlin whispered.

“And you didn’t miss.” It was a statement, not a question. Merlin shook his head. “No.”

Arthur moved closer to the boy, and hesitantly put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. He could treat Merlin just as he does when a young knight takes a life for the first time, but something about Merlin is more fragile than that. But Arthur knows nothing but nobility and battle, and so what he already knows will have to do.

“Merlin, what you did was very brave. It was not wrong, or bad, or whatever else you may be feeling right now. I know it is hard, but you should not feel guilt. Edwin would have killed you both. You only did what you had to protect yourself and Gaius.”

“But it shouldn’t have come to that.”

“But it did, and it’s not your fault.”

“Yes it is!” Arthur was taken aback by this outburst; anger and yelling were not common for Merlin. He was usually easy going and pleasant. Although, the situation right now was uncharted territory; who knew how one would react.

“How is it your fault Merlin? Did you poison Morgana?”

“No, but -”

“Did you trick my father?”

“I didn’t -”

“Did you start the fire?”
“I might as well have!”

“What do you mean?”

Merlin hesitated, and then sighed. “I thought Edwin was my friend. I thought…I thought he was kind. That I could trust him. I told him something about myself, something I’d hardly ever told anyone. And he said he’d keep it safe. But then he told Gaius that if he tried to tell the King what Edwin was doing, he’d tell everyone about me! Gaius was only there because he was trying to stop Edwin on his own, to protect me! And he almost died! It is my fault!”

Arthur blinked. Edwin had been blackmailing Gaius? By threatening to spill Merlin’s secret? Whatever the secret must have been, it must surely be terrible, or perhaps even mortifying, for Gaius to allow such a thing. But also, Gaius clearly loved Merlin. He would do anything to protect him, just as a father should. It didn’t matter what the secret was, Merlin was obviously upset about the whole thing.

“Edwin took advantage of you, yes, but also of Morgana, and myself, and the King of Camelot. Would you think us foolish?”

“No!” Merlin protested.

“Then do not think so of yourself. He had us all fooled Merlin. Not just you. And how you stopped him, well, I imagine Gaius had gone into his chambers to try and stop him first. To protect you. And Camelot, surely. If he had succeeded in killing Edwin, would you blame him?”

“No?”

“Or what about a few weeks ago, when Lancelot killed the griffin. It was terrorizing the villages, killing people. Should he be ashamed of having slain such a beast?”

“Arthur of course not, but it’s different.”

“No Merlin, it isn’t. You had no choice. It was Edwin, or you, or Gaius, or Camelot. And you did the right thing, even though you were scared, and even though it resulted in Edwin’s death. It is surely not something you will forget, but it is not something you should feel guilt over. He attacked first, you simply defended yourself.”

He could tell Merlin was struggling to process what he was trying to say, but in Arthur’s experience, this was normal. In fact, it was good. It meant that Merlin had a good heart, and his actions had been borne of honor rather than vengeance. It would take a bit, but Arthur suspected it would eventually turn out just fine, especially if Merlin were to speak to Gaius about it.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the night off, and go see Gaius. I am sure he will be waiting for you.”

“Okay. Thank you, sire.”

“And Merlin, I think you should tell him what is bothering you. He most certainly does not blame you, and he will repeat everything I have said tonight.”

Merlin nodded, and turned to shuffle out of Arthur’s chambers. As he reached the door he hesitated, and turned back to the prince.

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

Arthur smiled. “For what? Holding your hand while you cried like a girl? Or for giving you the night off?”
Merlin rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face told Arthur that his little jab had done its job, and cheered Merlin up a bit. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Night Merlin.” Arthur smiled to himself as the door closed behind his manservant. He stood there for a moment, in the middle of his room, basking in the strange warmth that he felt rising from his middle to his chest and shoulders. What was that feeling? He pondered over it for a moment longer, before letting it go, and heading to bed.

Chapter Text

Hunting was a favorite pastime of Arthur’s, ever since he was a boy. His father used to take him out on hunts, accompanied with a select handful of knights, and they would track and shoot the rabbits and deer. His father never seemed happier to Arthur, than when a hunting trip had been successful and rewarding.

In general, Uther Pendragon was a difficult man. He was selfish, stubborn, and cold. He was terrified of showing any sort of weakness, and he put his image of a strong king before anything else. Including his only child.

Growing up a prince and sole heir to an emotionless King had been lonely. He had to behave like an adult in public, never needing attention or expressing sadness or petulance. If he did speak or act out of turn, he would be confined to his rooms without supper. During the day, when his father was busy with court matters, Arthur was tutored in reading and writing and arithmetic, and the history of the glory of Camelot by Geoffrey. If he was to be King one day, he needed to be well educated. As soon as he turned ten, he began training with the knights, having watched their practice battles his whole life. It was his duty and honor to become the best fighter in Camelot, and to lead her army like an iron fist for his father.

It wasn’t very often he’d gotten to slip away, especially as he got older, and he was never allowed to be seen playing. As a result, he had explored every inch of the castle, and he knew where his father hid every magical artifact, book, and scroll in the whole kingdom. Including the godforsaken Dragon.

The only time he and his father did anything fun, the only time he ever felt like his father really loved him, was when they were hunting. Once every few weeks, Uther and Arthur would go on a hunt, and Uther would show his son how to hold a crossbow, how to aim, and how to shoot. His father would get close to him, his large hands over Arthur’s little ones, and he would speak softly for once, so as not to scare away the game. When Arthur would miss, he would tell him encouragingly that he would be more successful the next time, and the first time Arthur killed a rabbit? Uther had smiled so widely that Arthur would have thought he’d just killed an entire invading army single-handedly.

It was the best days of Arthur’s childhood.

When they returned to the castle, Uther had not stopped bragging that his son, his heir, had killed the rabbit they were to eat for dinner that night. It was the proudest he’d ever been of Arthur, and Arthur could pretend that his father was always that proud of him. But then, as Arthur got older, hunts with his father turned into hunts by himself and the knights, and then to sometimes just Arthur and his servant. And Uther’s pride had faded, leaving the cold-hearted King behind.

But Arthur still loved to hunt, because it reminded him of those very brief moments of joy, where he wasn’t a prince and his father wasn’t the king. They were just father and son.

On the other hand, Merlin was terrible at hunting.

He was never careful or quiet, never still, and certainly never patient. He complained the whole time about killing defenseless animals, and how Arthur had plenty of food back at the castle that killing game for sport was unnecessary. As a boy from a farming village, he’d only believed in killing animals for food when people would otherwise go hungry, and Arthur was absolutely not hungry (to which Arthur felt slightly offended that Merlin might be implying he was fat - which he was not, thank you very much).
Today was no different, unfortunately. As Arthur crept up on the deer, crossbow in hand and poised to shoot, Merlin came crashing out of the underbrush beside him, startling both the deer and the prince.

“What is it?” He asked, voice as loud as if he was yelling across a crowded room.

“You really are a total buffoon, aren’t you, Merlin?” Arthur taunted, frustrated yet another hunt was ruined by his useless servant.

“I was just asking.”

“Who? Me or the deer? We’re supposed to be hunting. That requires speed, stealth, and an agile mind.”

“So you’re able to get by on two out of three then?”

Arthur hasn’t the time to cuff him upside the head as he usually would to insult like that, because at that specific moment, there was a scream that pierced the air.

Arthur moves in the direction of the sound, Merlin in tow.

“Help me! Help me!” A woman’s voice called.

In moments, the source of the noise becomes apparent. An older man, unarmed, stood facing a bandit brandishing a sword. A short distance away, a young woman struggled with three other bandits, all shouting at her as she screamed. Jumping swiftly into action, Arthur shoots his crossbow at the bandit with the sword, and the three harassing the woman descend on him. In moments, however, he found himself able to beat them, and two lay dead while the third escaped through the wood. Despite the natural intervention of a stray tree branch falling from above, it was largely very easy to defeat them. Normally, Arthur would have found this suspicious, but there was also a strong possibility that these particular bandits were just bad at their occupation, considering they had chosen to attack an old man and a young woman, which seemed like easy targets.

“Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you?” Arthur asked the young woman.

There was a short moment where she did not answer, before she reached up and removed her hood. “No…Thanks to you. I’m Sophia, and this is my father.”

“Arthur Pendragon, at your service.”

Sophia was very beautiful, and had Arthur not known he was destined for another, he might’ve been swayed by her beauty. But his heart and soul already belonged to Emrys, so he did his best to pay her no mind. Instead, he offered her and her father - Aulfric, the man said his name was - a ride into the city and a promise for an audience with the King.

“My name is Aulfric, heir to TÍr-Mór. This is my daughter Sophia.”

Uther looked regally at the two guests. “You’re a long way from home. What brings you to Camelot?”

“Our home was ransacked by raiders. We barely escaped with what few possessions we could carry.”

“These are dangerous times.” Uther agreed. “What will you do?”

“We’ll travel west to Caerleon where we have family and, I hope, a new life.”

“You must stay here awhile, break your journey. A noble family like yours is always welcome in Camelot.”
Arthur was happy to hear that his father was in an accommodating mood, and had offered Aulfric and Sophia to stay in the castle for a bit, before continuing on their journey. It was always nice to have visitors, especially since they weren’t stuffy nobles or friends of his father. As the prince, it was his job to make sure they were looked after, so he decided to delegate this to Merlin, since the boy needed exposure to other nobles and serving duties anyway.

“Make sure to put them in a decent room.”

“The one next door’s empty,” Merlin said conspiratorially.

“The one next door is fine.”

When Merlin didn’t answer, Arthur looked up at his manservant, who had an odd expression on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh no reason, I just think it's interesting that you would want Sophia to be given the room next door to yours.” The fool was grinning far too wide for Arthur’s liking.

“I do not want her in the room next door.”

“Oh so I should give her a different room then?”

“No! - I mean - Shut up Merlin!” What was happening?

Merlin just giggled like a girl and went back to folding and cleaning. Arthur rolled his eyes, Merlin was truly strange sometimes. He didn’t say much more of anything before taking his leave, probably to fetch Arthur’s dinner.

Arthur busies himself with looking over some patrol reports, when a knock sounds at the door. “Back so soon Merlin? Did you forget your way to the kitchen?”

“It’s Sophia, your majesty,” came a small voice from behind the door.

“Sophia?” Arthur was puzzled. “You may come in.”

The door opened hesitantly, and Sophia stepped just into the frame. He hoped she would not come in any farther, for fear of impropriety. To have a young woman in his room, especially a guest of the King, would be quite the scandal. Luckily, she stayed mostly in the door frame.

“I just wanted to thank you again for saving mine and my father’s lives this morning. I had thought for sure those terrible men would kill us. You were very brave.” She said, her head bowed, her eyes looking at him from behind slightly hooded lids. Was she…? Oh, she was flirting with him! Well, now Merlin’s odd behavior made much more sense: Sophia fancied him, and Merlin assumed he fancied her back. Ah, yes, that made more sense now, despite it being untrue.

“You are welcome, Sophia. But rest assured it is an action I would have performed for anyone in the same situation.”

“Be that as it may, I was wondering if I could ask for another favor?”

“Oh?”

“I would like to see more of Camelot. I was hoping that perhaps, tomorrow you would be able to take me to see it. I am terribly afraid of running into the thug who got away, and I would feel so much better if you were there to protect me.”

Arthur bit his lip. He had to patrol with his father’s guard tomorrow, but taking Sophia out on a ride around Camelot did seem much more enjoyable. He did not fancy her, but she seemed sweet enough, and he thought it would be nice to have a friend, even a temporary one.

“Alright. I think I can manage a ride tomorrow morning.”

“Oh wonderful! Thank you, your majesty.”

“No need for that; you can call me Arthur.”

Sophia smiled. “Thank you, Arthur.” She slipped back out the door, into the hall. Well, Arthur supposed, he had new, more exciting plans for the day tomorrow. Now all he had to do was get Merlin to cover for him with his father, and he would be able to enjoy what was, in his opinion, a well-deserved day off.

The day had not been as fun as Arthur had hoped.

Firstly, his ride with Sophia had been cut off by a guard almost shooting both of their heads off. Then Sophia had acted very strange. Arthur supposed she had just been given another fright, but he could have sworn he sensed an annoyance from her, rather than fear. Either way, they had resolved to try again the next day, and headed back to the palace.

When they had arrived, Merlin had been annoyed with him also, as in his bumbling, had taken the blame for Arthur missing the patrol, and had been put in the stocks. This seemed like a more serious issue, since it was not Arthur’s fault Merlin couldn’t think of a better lie! Either way, he’d better think again quickly, as he was going to need his help covering Arthur's whereabouts again the next day.

And now, Arthur found himself in the strangest conversation with Morgana, who seemed very upset that he was making friends with Sophia.

“You seem very fond of her.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“Not necessarily. I’ve just never seen you fall under a woman’s spell so quickly.”

“I’m not under her spell. Why? Are you jealous, Morgana?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Did she think he meant jealous of Sophia and her closeness to Arthur? Morgana was like his sister, he thought she was jealous of Arthur making a new friend, with a fellow woman no less.”

“Come now. You know Sophia would be your friend too if you wished.”

Morgana ignored him. “Arthur, I’m trying to protect you! She isn’t what she seems.”

“Why, what makes you say that?”

“I just had a feeling. It’s difficult to describe. I had a dream. A nightmare.”

Arthur pondered on this a moment.

Morgana had always had dreams. Horrible, awful dreams that kept her up at night, or caused her to wake up screaming. As a child, when she had first come to live with the Pendragons, Arthur had believed they were likely a result of her parents being killed, and being all alone. After all, his nightmares were about similar things. But after a while, it became clear that this was not the case, and her nightmares were a medical affliction. Gaius began giving her sleeping draughts nightly, the tonics changing overtime to become stronger and stronger. Her room had been moved to the other side of the castle, so that she would not wake anyone else with her screaming. Arthur and Morgana did not have many pleasant conversations that he could remember in their childhood; what with him being trained to one day become the Crown Prince, and after that the King, and she recovering from her grief and dealing with her nightmares. But from what little they did speak, Arthur had come under the impression that Morgana was very afraid of her nightmares, even during the waking hours, because she often believed they would come true. She had sworn him to secrecy, not to tell even Gaius, who would eventually find out on his own anyway. Arthur definitely did not tell his father, for if Morgana was right, well then, prophetic dreams seemed much too close to magic than his father might’ve tolerated. Arthur had just hoped that they were normal nightmares, and any prophecies she might see were more the result of womanly intuition than magic.

But as she stood there in his room, looking at him with a desperate look upon her face, he realized that she was very serious, and she still very much believed that Arthur was in danger from this woman. It could have been the dream, but it also could have been the same odd feeling Arthur had felt after she snapped at him earlier that day in the forest, and Morgana was just better at picking it up. He decided, whichever it was, he should probably listen to her.

“What happened in your dream, then?” He asked, her face clearly betraying her surprise and relief.

“I think she is trying to seduce you, to hurt you. Or worse. In my dream, I saw… I saw you drowning.”

“Okay, well. I will be careful. I had plans to go riding with her again tomorrow, but I shall cancel them. I’ll tell her I have important matters to attend to. And I promise, until she and Aulfric are gone, I will avoid any body of water.”

“Thank you, Arthur. I know you didn't have to believe me.”

“Of course I believe you Morgana. I don’t know if your dream was accurate, but it never hurts to be cautious. Besides, I’d been having a feeling about her as well, and I think it is best I keep an eye out.”

Morgana smiled, and reached out to squeeze his arm, before taking her leave. Arthur smiled too, watching her go. She’d hardly ever shown him any affection growing up, and he’d often felt a little bit intimate by her and her convictions, whether he agreed with them or not. But maybe now that they were both a bit older, and Arthur was coming of age in a manner of two months, they could finally get along. Maybe Arthur didn’t need to look for friends in traveling strangers; maybe he already had one.

The next day, Arthur had been relatively successful in avoiding Sophia and her father. He had sent word with Merlin to her room early after breakfast that he’d had very urgent matters to address that day and would, unfortunately, be unable to take the ride with her. He hadn’t seen her since their failed one yesterday, and he hoped that, with both of them leaving soon, he could continue to avoid them.

His hopes were dashed, however, when he arrived back at his rooms to change for dinner.

Upon entering, where he’d expected his room to be empty, Sophia stood by the table, near the hearth, waiting.

“Arthur, how was the duties you had to attend to today? I trust everything went smoothly?”
“Sophia, what are you doing here? It’s hardly appropriate -”

“I missed you today, and I understand that you were unable to get away from your responsibilities, so I thought we might have dinner together. Alone.” She gestured to the table, where for the first time Arthur noticed a hearty spread of food, enough for both of them.

“I am having dinner with my father and Lady Morgana tonight, Sophia. I am sorry you went through all the trouble, but perhaps you and your father could enjoy this meal. I can have Merlin bring it over to your rooms. Now, if you’d just excuse me -”

“But, I wanted to spend more time with you before I leave. You are very handsome.” She said, moving closer to him.

“Sophia, this is not proper, and you need to leave before I call the guards.”

“Can I not stay for just one moment?” She was almost upon him now.

“No. Guar-” Arthur’s cry was overwhelmed by a sharp blow to his forehead. He groaned. “Did you just hit me?”

“túce hwón frec 'úre, artur,” She chanted. “Þec nom feoh gyse. Cume morðor rice ær-”

“Uh, what is going on here?” Arthur had never been so relieved to see Merlin in his life. Once again, however, his relief was short-lived as Aulfric suddenly appeared from behind Arthur’s privacy screen, and used a spell to fling the manservant against the wall, where he fell unconscious.

“Merlin!”

“There is no time for spells, Sophia!” Arthur heard Aulfric yell from behind him, just before a blinding pain erupted from the back of his skull and into his eye sockets. Everything went black.

The first thing Arthur felt was warmth. His eyes were still closed, and his head hurt like it never had before. Unconsciously, he let out a groan.

“Arthur?” He knew that voice. Where did he know that voice from? Oh, it was Merlin.

Arthur sat up. This was a mistake.

“Ungh.”

“It might be best if you don’t move for a few minutes, Sire.” Gaius, that was Gaius.

“What happened? Where am I?”

“You’re in your own bed, sire,” Gaius’ gentle voice continued. “You took quite the knock to the head.”

Arthur opened his eyes to see the old physician and his manservant sitting at his bedside. “What happened to Sophia? It was her and her father! And - Merlin! Are you alright?” The memory of being attacked in his bedroom came flooding back to him, and he recalled the horror of seeing his friend - no, servant, not friend - be blown back against a wall.

“I’m fine. Better than you, apparently. I only got hit in the head once.”

“Sire,” Gaius cut his ward off. “After Aulfric hit you over the head with his staff, he and Sophia attempted to carry you through the castle corridors. We suspect they’d been trying to enchant you to simply go with them, so they were not as stealthy as they might’ve been. The Lady Morgana, thankfully, happened to be walking by and sounded the alarm. Your father had them arrested, and both were found guilty of sorcery and an attack on the heir apparent of Camelot. They were executed this morning.”

Arthur digested this information. In this case, he figured the punishment fit the crime, since they had used sorcery to try and kill him (and Merlin), but he was not looking forward to Morgana’s smug face when he eventually saw her next. She would, no doubt, lord this over him for many weeks to come. Possibly years.

On top of that, he had a feeling Gaius and Merlin weren’t telling him something. They both always had a…shifty nature about them, especially together. Arthur figured it could be the discussion of magic, since it was banned and when they encountered it, it put everyone on edge. But that didn’t mean he liked the feeling of being lied to. He decided to let it go this time, for his head was well and truly smarting too much to worry about it.

‘We will let you rest, sire. Your father would like to know that you are awake and on the road to recovery.” Gaius bowed and took his leave, but Merlin stayed behind a bit, just for a moment, to blow out the candles and stoke the fire. Arthur closed his eyes and listened to Merlin quietly go about the room, less clumsily than usual.

As he began to drift, Arthur felt the blanket get pulled up higher, from his waist to his shoulders. And, he might have been dreaming, but he could have sworn he felt a hand brush his fringe out of his eyes.

And if it was a dream, Arthur hoped he’d have it again.

Chapter Text

Upsettingly, executions were rather common in Camelot. There was a lot one could do to exact the sentence of death from the King: steal from the crown (treason), practice magic (treason), speak out against the King in a large public setting (treason), harbor a sorcerer (treason), attack a noble or royal (treason), and lastly, simply be a somewhat magical-seeming person (treason). Basically, you never wanted the King to think you were anything but a loyal, law-abiding, non-magical or magical-adjacent subject.

Which is why, just two weeks before his twentieth birthday, and three after the executions of the treasonous Aulfric and his daughter Sophia, Arthur was not at all surprised to see the execution of a druid man whose only crime was passing through the citadel and stopping for supplies. No, he was not surprised, just disturbed. Everything Arthur knew about the Druids was that they were a peaceful people, even to the Pendragons, though it would have been more understandable if they had harbored a distaste for the royal family. Uther was convinced that the Druids magical nature, though that of spiritualism and peace, was a breeding ground for evil plots and assassination attempts. In his mind, somehow the Druids could ultimately be responsible for the downfall of Camelot, though it was not entirely clear as to how they would do such a thing.

Even more disturbing about this execution, however, was the manhunt his father had tasked him to run, looking for a little boy - the Druid’s apprentice. No doubt the boy had some magical gift, and Uther would see him beheaded alongside his older master. Arthur felt a bit sick thinking about it: he knew magic wasn’t as bad as his father said, how could it be? But yes, sometimes it was used for evil. The Druid had not been one of those evil sorcerers though, and his boy was just a child. Surely, a child could have no evil in his heart? From the descriptions given by witnesses in the town, the boy would likely be no older than ten summers, maybe eleven. He could no more kill the king than a sparrow. Thankfully, they had been largely unsuccessful at finding the boy, and Arthur secretly hoped this would continue until his father was satisfied the boy must have escaped, and called off the search.

So no, not surprising in the slightest. Well. There was one thing Arthur found puzzling.

When he’d reported to his father that he had not found the boy as of yet, Uther had been taking dinner with Morgana. When Arthur had even hazarded to question why the hunt for the boy was so necessary and involved, Morgana had pointed out that the Druids were an enemy of Camelot, who would “see your father’s kingdom destroyed.”

Now, Arthur had no doubt the Druids were generally not fans of Uther Pendragon, but they hardly seemed like the type to wish harm on another, regardless of their sin. As mentioned above, they were a peaceful people. Historically, Morgana was the Druid’s fiercest defender in Camelot. She would rage at his father for hours about his practices in executing them until he’d had her sent away to her room. So, for her to just rollover and agree with the King was…unusual. Suspicious.

Oh gods. Morgana was hiding the Druid boy, wasn’t she?

Arthur easily convinced the guards to wait at the bottom of the steps while he went up to “search” Morgana’s room on his own. He figured that it wouldn’t be best for them to be present when he ultimately uncovered the King’s ward harboring a sorcerer. He knocked on the door with a big sigh; this was surely going to be a heated conversation.
“Arthur! To what do I owe this pleasure?” Morgana greeted pleasantly, with no signs of frustration. Yep, definitely hiding something.

“Morgana, you and I both know this is not a social call. You have the boy in here, don’t you?”

“You think that I, the King’s Ward, would be so bold as to hide a sorcerer in my own chambers, right under his nose?”

“Actually, yes. I do think that.”

“Well I can tell you: the boy is not here.”

“So you won’t mind if I look around then?”

“I do mind. I don’t want you messing up my things.”

“I am not interested in your things. I am interested in the boy.”

Arthur began moving through the room, looking for any place one could hide a small child.

“Perhaps the boy is hiding your rooms,” Morgana taunted. “They’re usually such a mess, you’d never know.”

“It’s hardly my fault I have such a lazy idiot for a manservant.”

“If you can’t even find your own manservant, what hope do you have for finding the boy?”

“Morgana,” Arthur was starting to get a bit frustrated, honestly. “Just tell me where the boy is hiding and I swear I won’t tell father you were even involved.”

“The Druid boy is hiding behind that screen,” Morgana jested. “I’m sure your father would love to know how you wasted your time rifling through my things. Go on.” She gestured to the screen hung at the back of the room, clearly daring him. Looking at the screen, Arthur couldn’t really understand why the screen was even there, but he supposed it was some sort of lady’s business. He was about to give up as Morgana was obviously not going to provide any help, but suddenly, a thought occurred to him: what was behind that screen?

Oh. It was the boy, wasn’t it. Arthur sighed.

“The boy really is behind the curtain, isn’t he?” he asked, distinctly wishing his life was significantly less dramatic. Morgana didn’t even need to respond; her eyes widening in panic was answer enough.

“Wait, Arthur -!”

Arthur strode across the room and pulled the curtain back to reveal the druid boy and…Merlin?!

“Uh, hello sire,” Merlin grinned sheepishly. Arthur stared at him for a moment, and was his eye twitching? It felt like it was twitching.

“Well, Morgana, you were wrong: not only did I find the druid boy, but I also found my idiot manservant.”

“Arthur, you cannot turn the boy over to your father! He is just a child! And he has a terrible fever. He doesn’t deserve to be killed for something he hasn’t even done!” Morgana nearly begged.

“Morgana -”

“We don’t even know that he has magic! His only crime is being a Druid -”

“Morgana, please -”

“And if you turn him over to Uther, he will surely be killed, and his blood would be on your hands -”

“Morgana I’m not -”

“Arthur, how could you possibly live with yourself if you take that helpless child to his death -”

“MORGANA!” Arthur shouted, cutting her off on her rant. Her mouth snapped shut with an audible click. “Morgana, I am not going to turn either of you over to the King. Or the boy.”

Now, it was Morgana’s turn to be puzzled. “You aren’t?”

“No,” Arthur shook his head, and glanced back down at Merlin. The boy was watching Arthur with wide eyes and it looked like he was holding his breath in disbelief. Did both of them truly believe he would purposefully allow his father to slaughter a small child when he had the power to stop it? The thought they were surprised by his conviction stung a little; he understood he often was forced to carry out his father’s orders despite how horrendous they were, but he’d thought, of all those who knew him, his pseudo-sister and his best friend - servant, his man servant - would know that he rarely agreed with his father when it came to most things magic.

Arthur cleared his throat. “The boy has done no one any harm, and he has yet to even prove he has magic. Besides, what exactly would he do? He is a child, there is no way he could be so evil as to be embroiled in a plot against Camelot, despite what my father says. Uther rarely sees reason when it comes to sorcery, but I’d like to have thought you both held me in higher regard than him.”

“I do!” Merlin replied, almost frantically. “I know you are not like your father. You will be a great King one day Arthur. It's just… you are heir apparent, yes, but still as much required to follow the law as anyone else. I think we are just surprised by your ease in willingness to break them.”

Arthur could see Merlin was being genuine; it made sense, Merlin was loyal and trusting to a fault. But one glance at Morgana illustrated that this was not the case for her: she was looking at him as though she’d never seen him before.

“Morgana, I will not see the boy die for a crime he did not even commit.”

Morgana seemed satisfied. “Merlin is right. You are not your father.”

The two of them stared at each other for a moment, before Merlin cut in awkwardly. “Uh, so, what should we do now? The boy is very sick, he certainly cannot make it out of Camelot on his own like this.”

Arthur looked down at the boy, and really looked at him for the first time. He was so small and fragile, wrapped in his cloak, sweat on his brow, bandage on his arm. “Well, we can’t alert Gaius,” he started.

“Merlin said he might be able to treat the boy.” Morgana replied, to which Arthur shot Merlin a look of surprise. “You? You think you can help the boy fight the infection?”

“I hope so.”

Arthur doubted Merlin, as the physician’s apprentice for only less than a year, would be capable of such a feat; still, there wasn’t really any other choice. Requesting Gaius was something they ought to avoid if they wanted to prevent the King from accidentally finding out. “Very well. You do what you can for the boy. I will continue the search elsewhere, and keep the guards busy. But the boy cannot stay here for much longer. Sooner or later the King is going to become very impatient, and then it’s all of our heads on the chopping block.”

Merlin and Morgana both paled, but did not argue. As Arthur made his way back down to the guards at the bottom of the steps, he couldn’t help wondering what on earth he’d gotten himself into.

As Arthur suspected, Merlin was a dismal physician.

The day after discovering the boy and his manservant hiding in Morgana’s chambers, Arthur found himself once again in their presence, now with Gwen and Gaius as well. Apparently, Gwen had already known (which was not surprising, truly), and now they’d involved Gaius in the whole ordeal as well. Now, should his father find out, all of them would be punished, and he had a feeling Uther would not take kindly to such a wide conspiracy in his court. Arthur really had to do some damage control.

With Gaius puttering about the boy, treating his infection, the others were forced to sit around Morgana’s room and wait for him to announce whether the boy would live, or die. Arthur sat at a small table in the center of Morgana’s room. The Lady herself stood over by a window, looking forlorn down upon the courtyard below. Gwen sat on the bed, slightly slumped in a way that revealed how tired she must be from helping Morgana care for the boy. Merlin was sitting on the floor, just a few paces away from Gaius, as if waiting to lend his assistance.

So they waited.

And they waited.

And they waited some more.

Finally, Arthur could take no more of it. “I think we should figure out how we are going to get this boy out of Camelot, while we’re waiting here. There’s no use in wasting the time, surely.”

“What do you suppose?” Gwen asked sweetly.

“We won’t get him out the front door,” Morgana chimed in, watching the guards stopping people below to search their wagons and carts.

“There is another way out. A secret door in the armory. It leads to the lower town. I’ll take the boy out that way.”

Arthur’s heart leapt. “And just how do you suppose you’ll do that Mer-lin? You’re about as sneaky as a stampede of elephants. There’s no way you’ll be able to smuggle the boy out. You’ll wake the whole castle. I’ll take the boy out.” He ignored the glare Merlin threw him.

“No,” Morgana turned from the window. “I’ll take him. He’s my responsibility.”

“My Lady, but what about the King?” Gwen asked.

“I am his ward, I’ll take my chances. There’s no use in us all risking our lives anyway.”

Morgana glared at him, as if daring him to stop her. Arthur had half a mind to insist he be the one who took the boy. However, Morgana was right about one thing: she was the one most likely to escape Uther’s ire if she was caught. She argued with the King the most, getting away with what even Arthur could not. Plus, if Arthur was involved, he would be unable to keep the guards from happening across them as they snuck their way out of Camelot.

“Fine. Morgana, you will go with the boy. But, I will take the guards on patrol. I will lead them away from your path, so you can slip out unnoticed. But you mustn’t be seen. I cannot stop them if they see you.”

“We will not be seen.”

“You’ll need the keys for the door,” Merlin interjected.

“And who has those?” Asked Gwen.

Arthur smiled. “Why, the prince of Camelot has them, in fact.” All Arthur had to do was give the key from his belt to Morgana, and lead the guards on a wild goose-chase later that evening. All Morgana had to do was not be seen. Everything was simple. Yes, this plan would do splendidly.

As it happens, the best laid plans often go awry. The night patrol with the guards had been going well, and he had been able to steer them away from the armory so far. In fact, Arthur was considering the fact that perhaps Morgana and the boy had already made it, when a sharp voice cut through his inner monologue of relief.

“Sire!”

“Gerald?”

“I have news, sire.”

“Go on.”

“A serving girl saw two hooded figures escaping by way of the armory, sire. One was small enough to be a child.”

Fantastic. Now Arthur would have to hope and pray that Morgana got out of Camelot faster than the guards would follow.

“Very well, let us investigate.” Arthur knew there wasn’t a whole lot to be done on his end at this point. He couldn’t very well give away their plot by telling his guards not to search for who realistically could be the fugitive and his accomplice. It would certainly get back to his father, drawing his suspicion and wrath. Besides, there was no guarantee that Morgana hadn’t already gotten away, and they would be searching for two ghosts in the night.

And yet, Arthur has never been that lucky.

They were making their way as slowly as Arthur could realistically muster towards the armory, when the recognizable figures of the Lady in question and her charge stumbled into view. Arthur froze for a second, hoping upon desperate hope that the guards had not seen. Alas, the guards were a bit thick, but not so thick as to not see what was right in front of them.

“Halt! By orders of the King!” The two hooded figures took off, running down the length of the castle. In a last ditch attempt to save the situation, Arthur grabbed the senior guard, Gerald, and told him to follow, he would go around the other way and cut them off. The guard did as he was told, and the others followed him.

Arthur cut through the castle, hoping to catch Morgana before the others did. As he got to a location he knew she would pass, he crouched patiently. Before long, he heard the pounding of boots on cobblestone.

“Psst! Morgana! Over here!”

Morgana and the boy skidded to a stop, before Arthur reached out and grabbed them, drawing them into the castle and down. Seconds later, the guards ran by, none the wiser.

“You said you wouldn’t be seen!”

“You said you would keep the guards away from here!”

“Yes, but then a serving girl reported two hooded figures making a run for it. I couldn’t very well ignore that without telling them the whole damned plan!”

“You should have found a way!”

“I am not a miracle worker Morgana!”

It was at this point, in hindsight, Arthur and Morgana really should have stopped shouting, and been a bit more quiet. A terrified whimper escaped the boy, and it was only this sound that broke them out of their narrow-sighted argument. Unfortunately, it was too late.

“Sire!”

Running up to the open door were the knights, and they had clearly seen Arthur and Morgana with the boy. In a moment, Arthur panicked: he truly didn’t know what to do. They would be arrested, and the boy would be executed. There was no way out, or so he thought.

“I’m sorry.” Morgana whispered to him, before swinging a punch right into his jaw.

The familiar pain blossomed up his face, caressing his cheek and shaking his teeth. His temple pulsed and his ear rang. Damn, Morgana threw too good of a punch for a refined Lady of the Royal Court such as herself.

“Run Mordred!” She cried out, and Arthur blinked up at her as the guards descended on her. The boy - Mordred she called him - ran as if his life depended on it (and ultimately it did) towards the woods. A few guards gave chase, but most of them stood around the Prince of Camelot and the King’s Ward, clearly perturbed as to whether or not they were meant to arrest the pair of them. Gerald looked gravely down at the prince.

“I think it’s best if you come with us, sire.”

“All this time, you’ve been hiding the boy in my own palace. How could you betray me like this?”

“I would not see him executed!” Morgana and Uther were well and truly going arguing, and if Arthur's jaw weren’t throbbing he’d probably join in. They’d been taken to the council chambers, and the King had been awoken, to be alerted that not only did the sorcerer get away, but apparently his son and his charge were to blame.

Well, at least Mordred would live to see another day. He didn’t know about himself and Morgana, however.

“My own son. And you, I’ve treated you like a daughter. Is this how you repay me?”

“I did what I thought was right.”

“You think it right to conspire with my enemies?”

“How can a child be an enemy? He’s just a boy.”

“He is a Druid.”

“Is that such a crime?!” Honestly, Arthur didn’t know where Morgana thought she was going with this argument. He knew his father would never relent on his hatred of magic. There was no point in wasting the breath.

“Father, to Morgana’s credit, we don’t yet know if the boy would have made a strike against us. He is just a child.”

Uther spun around on him. “Don’t you tell me what you know, boy. You have betrayed me and this crown. I don’t even know if you are fit to wear it.” Arthur’s eyes widened. Was his father threatening to disinherit him?

“Arthur was not involved! I acted alone.” What? No, he couldn’t let her take the blame for this -

“You mean to say when he was discovered helping you and the sorcerer escape, he wasn’t aiding your crime?”

“He was trying to convince me to turn myself in. I didn’t want to hear it, so I hit him. It caught him off guard, long enough for the boy to escape. He did nothing wrong.” Gods, Morgana.

Uther stayed silent for a moment. He turned back to Arthur. “Is what she says true?” Arthur looked back at his father. His whole destiny could hinge on this answer. On one hand, Arthur could not, in good conscience, let Morgana take the blame for something he’d willingly participated in. But at the same time, he was meant to be the Once and Future King one day. How would he accomplish that if he was disinherited, and likely cast out of Camelot? His eyes slid over to Morgana’s tear-filled ones, and she held his gaze. It’s okay, they seemed to say.

“Yes, father. I was trying to help her see sense. I am truly sorry that I failed.”

The King scrutinized Arthur’s face, as if he was scouring for any sign of dishonesty. Then, after a moment, seemingly satisfied, he leaned back on his heels.

“I expected better from you than to be caught off-guard by a simple hit. You will train three times as hard everyday until your coming of age ceremony. I do not care if it's cold or if there’s poor weather. Every morning, I will wake to see you down on the training fields, working to better yourself. You will not let this happen again, do you understand me?”

“Yes, sire.”

“I told you he did nothing, yet you still punish him. Is no one safe from your wrath?” Morgana spit out bitterly.

With a swift rage that surprised even Arthur, he rounded back onto Morgana, grabbing her by the throat, and pushing her back into his chair. Arthur swallowed a gasp, his hand unconsciously moving to his hip, where his sword would be, before forgetting it was confiscated by the guards.

“Enough! I will not hear another word! Do not speak to me unless you are ready to apologize!” Morgana watched him with wide eyes and clear fear written across her face. She had never thought Uther would raise his hand towards her, and honestly, neither had Arthur.
“If I had not promised your father that I would keep you safe, I would have thrown you in the dungeons indefinitely for such a betrayal.”

Morgana flinched.

“You are confined to your rooms for two weeks. You will speak to no one but the physician and your maid. Upon the end of the two weeks you may apologize for your actions here tonight, and then we can put this whole affair behind us.” He released her throat, and her hands came up to rub where his had been. “Perhaps, this will give you time to realize how heinous your actions this night have been.” And with that, Uther stormed from the room, motioning for the guards to escort Morgana to her chamber.

When they were gone, Arthur was left alone to wonder what the hell had just happened.

“And he just imprisoned her in her room?” Merlin asked incredulously.

“For the next two weeks, yes, Merlin. I’ve already said that part. Do keep up.” Merlin was helping Arthur out of his armor after a grueling training session, one which had neared eight hours by the end, as per his father’s demand. It was only the intervention of Gaius informing the King that if he wanted his son to live to train again the next day, he needed to let him rest, that had prevented the training from going on even longer. Arthur had not seen his father this angry in a long time, and Arthur felt like one big bruise because of it.

“It’s just, if anyone else had done what she did and gotten caught, or even spoken to him in such a way, he’d have surely had their head.” Merlin continued in wonder.

“He is the King, Merlin. He can make whatever decision he wants.”

“Of course, sire. And that is why you are half dead and covered in mud.”

“Merlin,” Arthur scolded. “I am not half dead, and I will only be covered in mud as long as it takes you to get my armor off and prepare a bath.” He could almost hear Merlin rolling his eyes. There was a moment of hesitation, and before Merlin spoke again.

“It's just, well, it doesn’t seem fair. Morgana harbored a sorcerer, albeit a child who had committed no crime, and yet she will get to apologize and we will all just move on as though it never happened. And at the same time, if Uther knew of my involvement, or Gwen’s, or Gaius’, we’d been dead before you could say ‘treason.’” Arthur grimaced.

“You are right, Merlin. It isn’t fair. A law is a law, and a King should not be above it. But my father has many flaws, and his biggest, is his ego. He would not let harm befall Morgana, whether because he promised her father, or because he cares for her, or whatever other reason. To allow harm to come to her would be a personal failing in his eyes, as would her betrayal. I do not know what kind of king I'll be one day, but I will not be like that.”

Merlin’s hand stilled over his shoulder for a moment, before picking the work of untying the metal once more. “I know what kind of King you’ll be, sire.” The way he said it, Arthur could hear the smile in his voice, yet there was a hint of something else about it.

“Oh, and what kind of King will I be, Merlin?”

Arthur turned in time to see Merlin’s smile become a smug grin.

“Why, you’ll be a King Prat!”

And as the two scuffled on the prince’s chamber floor, as though they were friends and equals instead of master and servant, Arthur momentarily forgot the worry he had for Morgana up in her tower; he forgot the fear that his father would never love him like he loved her; and he forgot the ever present feeling s of anxiety that perhaps the Dragon was wrong those many years ago, and Arthur was not the stuff of legend, but was simply just Arthur.

He forgot all his worries, and focused on Merlin before him. And for that moment, he knew peace.

Chapter Text

The morning of Arthur’s 20th birthday, Merlin let Arthur sleep in.

After two weeks straight of training for more than six hours a day with the nights, as per his father’s punishment after the escape of the Druid boy, Arthur deserved the extra rest, especially as this particular birthday was more special than the rest.

Today was the day Arthur would go from heir apparent, to Crown Prince. This gave him a higher authority in the Kingdom - he was still subordinate to his father, the King, as all subjects were, but he had more of a role in the active policy and politics of the Kingdom. He would serve in an advisory role, he would officially be in charge of all the knights and their training, and he would be made responsible for the well-being of the people of Camelot. And, more to the point, should the King drop dead tomorrow, there would be no need to test Arthur’s readiness for the throne: he would become King upon his father’s death or abdication. All of this was made possible by the fact that at 20, as was the tradition of Camelot according to Geoffrey of Monmouth, he was officially recognized as “of age” to hold an official position in the royal court.

Tonight, there would be a regal Coming of Age Ceremony, in which his father would crown him as Crown Prince, and there would be a lot of drinking and celebrating. Or as Merlin put it: “a whole lot of faff.”

Arthur, having awoken with the daybreak, as the sunlight peeked through the curtain into his bedroom, laid quietly in contemplation of the day. Of course, he had always known he would be the Crown Prince one day, he was raised for such a purpose. His whole life had been leading up to this day, and starting tomorrow, his whole life would be leading him to the throne. He’d been well-trained, well-educated, and well-mannered as a child, all for the purpose of representing the Kingdom in a noble and honorable light.

But now that the day he officially stepped into his role as Prince was here, he found himself dreading it. He knew he would have less free time, more responsibilities, and therefore less freedom. I also knew that his father, who already held him to unreasonably high standards, would hold him to even higher ones. There would be no room for mistakes, no room for disobedience, and no room for failure. In this way, he envied Morgana.

Today was also Morgana’s last day of isolation in her rooms. He hadn’t seen her in the whole two weeks, but where he’d had to train tirelessly for simply allowing her to catch him off guard, she’d gotten the shortest and most luxurious imprisonment for aiding a suspected sorcerer since before the purge. All she had to do now was apologize for her behavior, blame it on her womanly wills or other such demeaning untruths, and all would be forgiven and forgotten.

Arthur had come to realize that Merlin was right when he pointed it out that first night, after their disastrous near failure to save Mordred. While Uther did love Arthur, he was the prince and heir first, and son second. He served a purpose; he would carry on Uther’s legacy after Uther no longer could. In many ways, Arthur was a means to an end, a position of power for Uther to control, not a person.

Morgana was the apple of Uther’s eye. He might claim that his fondness for her was rooted in sympathy and a promise to his dear friends and her parents, but in truth, Morgana could steal his throne right from under him and he still wouldn’t see her harmed. She had the freest of wills in the whole of Camelot, and the privilege of being so totally unaware of her importance. In her mind, she was a vague nuisance to Uther, a responsibility of his honor and word, a meek woman to be patronized. And Uther certainly designed his relationship with her to appear as such. But Arthur knew the truth: he loved his son, but Morgana was his heart.

And Arthur couldn’t help but feel a bit saddened by that.

Just as he had resigned himself to a morning of wallowing and depression, his chamber doors creaked open, and his wayward manservant strided in with a platter filled with more breakfast than what was probably reasonable. Arthur could tell by the way he walked through the room that Merlin was in a good mood, which more than likely meant he was about to be insufferably positive about today and try to cheer Arthur up. Except Arthur didn’t want to be cheered. He wanted to wallow. It was his birthday and he’d wallow if he wanted to.

“I see you’re finally awake, sire. I was getting worried you planned on spending all day in bed, lazing about.”

“It’s hardly late Mer-lin, and I’ll have you know that I can do whatever I want. I’m the bloody prince!”

“Technically, you aren’t actually the prince until tonight though, so until then you’ve got to listen to me.”

“I don’t have to listen to the likes of you! You’re a servant!”

“And yet, I’m in charge, sire.”

“No you’re not!”

“I am! I wake you, dress you, feed you, and bathe you!”

“All tasks at which you are abysmal.”

“Hey!”

Before Arthur realized, they were chasing each other around the room like a pair of children, Merlin being uncharacteristically evasive and Arthur snatching at his shirt. Even after he caught the boy and began rubbing his knuckles into Merlin’s hair while the other playfully struggled, he could feel the large smile that had formed on his face hurting his cheeks. Well, if there was one task Merlin was good at, it was cheering Arthur out of his foul moods.

Reluctantly, Arthur released his manservant, whose hands immediately flew to his hair and began their attempt to straighten out the mess the prince had caused. Arthur sat at the table and began to eat, as Merlin moved on to opening the curtains and readying the room for the day. They sat in a comfortable silence, Merlin swiping a piece of bread from a plate here, a piece of cheese there. Arthur pretended not to notice: he imagined Merlin didn’t have time for breakfast every morning, and he certainly would not receive the same quality of food as Arthur. If Arthur were a braver man, he’d tell Merlin to just sit down and eat together, but for now, he was content to turn a blind eye to Merlin’s sticky fingers.

What Arthur did not notice, was the soft smile that Merlin threw him across the room, as the prince took a bite of cheese; a smile that was both smug and wistful.

But never mind; there would be time for noticing things like that later.

Arthur’s foul mood lessened as the day went on. At noon, he’d sent Merlin to inquire if Morgana was allowed visitors again, and he’d returned with the news that yes, according to Gwen the King’s Ward had spoken to Uther that morning and had expressed a deep regret over her actions two weeks prior, and that she was dining with the King for lunch. Not wanting to deal with father, Arthur decided he’d track her down at the ceremony that night and check on her. He imagined the apology was deeply insincere and that she was still fuming over the whole deal, and he didn’t blame her.

As the night grew nearer, Arthur grew more and more restless. Merlin periodically tried to cheer him each time he could, but there was a lot to prepare before the feast, and the servant was actually quite busy. And so, as Arthur made his way to the Hall of Ceremonies, he took a moment to reflect on his situation: No matter what, or how hard, he would be the best Crown Prince Camelot had ever seen. He would protect the people, defend the crown, and help bring Camelot into a new age of prosperity. And of course, he would right the wrongs of his father one day, and reintroduce magic to the land, with Emrys by his side. Even if he had to wait until Uther took his last breath, he would do this.

He took a deep breath, and entered the Hall of Ceremonies.

The large, thick, wooden doors parted as the guards pulled them back away from the entrance. A crowd of servants and nobles lined the walls of the Hall, standing with barely obscured excitement and anticipation. At the back of the room, the King’s most skilled and decorated knights stood in bright Pendragon Red, cloaks flowing and chainmail glistening with fresh polish. In front of them, Uther Pendragon waited patiently, with only the subtlest of smiles gracing his lips. This, Arthur knew, was his “proud father” face: barely perceptible and relatively unemotive.

More invitingly, Arthur noted that to his father’s left, stood Morgana in an elegant gown, her hair styled no less than perfectly for the occasion. Her face was kinder, but no more open than the Kings - she had a reputation to uphold, of course. She was a sight for sore eyes, and he hoped to get a moment to check in with her soon, now that she’d been freed from her isolation. There was only one person missing.

As subtle as he could, Arthur scanned the lines of people for Merlin, and was pleased to spot him almost right away, looking on with a big, genuine smile, as he stood next to Gwen, who shared his smile. Seeing them there, clearly not bothered by the propriety of acting professionally and instead expressing their support for their friend, made Arthur’s head feel a bit lighter, and his legs less like he was walking straight through a thick bog.

As he approached his father, he knelt and bowed his head.

“Sire.”

Uther sent him an acknowledging glance, before addressing the people.

“Friends, Citizens - Today is a glorious day. It is on this night that we will officially recognize my son, prince and heir apparent, and celebrate his achievements, his honor, and loyalty to his people and the crown. Tonight, I shall bestow upon him the honor of Crown Prince of Camelot, defender and knight of the realm, and leader among men.”

The people in the room clapped at a conservative volume, attempting to keep their celebrations appropriately subdued in light of such a serious ceremony.

Arthur lifted his head to see his father looking down on him, a neutral, kingly expression on his face. This time, Uther addresses Arthur alone.

“Do you solemnly swear to govern the people of this kingdom and its dominions according to the statutes, customs, and laws laid down by your forebears?”

“I do, sire.”

“Do you promise to exercise mercy and justice in your deeds and judgements?”

“I do, sire.”

“And do you swear allegiance to Camelot, now and for as long as you shall live?”

“I, Arthur Pendragon, do pledge life and limb to your service and to the protection of the Kingdom and its peoples.”

“Now being of age and heir apparent, from henceforth, you shall be Crown Prince of Camelot.”

The applause this time was a fraction louder and more genuine, as Arthur stood and faced them, his new status official among the court. It was not lost on Arthur that the whole thing was a bit pompous; royals, especially those who loved tradition like his father, were wont to be a bit pompous in any given situation. At least it was over with now, and he could finally enjoy the celebratory feast.

A loud shattering broke through the applause, as one of the stained-glass windows over the entryway burst into a million pieces. A black horse carrying a lone rider, a figure in full black armor, flew through the window (an impressive feat - the window was several feet above the ground) and landed in the center of the room. Arthur reflexively draws his sword, his eyes unconsciously going to Merlin and Gwen across the room to make sure he was - to make sure they were alright. Behind him, he heard Morgana’s gasp and his father’s “What in the devil’s name?” and in this case, honestly, Arthur was on the same page. Was it really too much to ask for a week without any drama?

The Black Knight rode determinedly directly up to Arthur and his father and knights, and threw down his gauntlet - the universal sign for a challenge to a duel.
When Arthur was growing up, he had always been told that once he came of age and was crowned Crown Prince, he’d have to begin taking on more responsibilities to protect Camelot. He just had never figured it would be almost instantly upon being given the acknowledgement.

He sheathed his sword, intending to pick up the gauntlet, when a hand snatched it out of his grasp. Arthur looked up quickly in surprise, to see Sir Owain gripping the gauntlet.

“I, Sir Owain, accept your challenge.”

The Black Knight seemed unfazed, and in a deep voice replied:

“Single combat. Noon tomorrow. To the death.” Before riding out of the Hall.

Arthur turns on Owain, ready to reprimand him for taking up a challenge meant for him, but his father is faster. “Sir Owain, you have taken up a challenge from a strange knight on behalf of the crown. I would be honored to extend to you anything you need to prepare for the duel.”

Arthur was reeling. Why wasn’t his father as upset as he was? Clearly, that gauntlet was meant for him, and while Arthurd didn’t really want to duel anyone to the death tomorrow, he wasn’t the best fighter in Camelot for nothing. He’d just spent the last two weeks straight training for eight hours a day, only to be challenged at the most important ceremony of his life to date, and he figured his father would be incensed by the insult of Owain taking the opportunity for the Crown Prince to prove his worthiness and loyalty to the kingdom. IN a way Arthur felt like his hard work was being overlooked, and doubly so by the fact his father didn’t seem to feel the same.

After the Black Knight had disappeared from sight, the feast was canceled, as the servants flocked into the room to begin cleaning the shattered glass from the floor. Annoyed that the only part of the night Arthur had been looking forward to was no longer meant to be happening, he decides now is as good a time as any to finally check in with Morgana. He looked at her, and was surprised to see her stricken face filled with uncharacteristic worry.

“Morgana, are you okay?”

With wide eyes, she turned. “Yes, thank you. Perhaps I should return to my chambers, however. It has been an… eventful evening.”

Seeing the statement as the invitation it was, Arthur agreed. “Yes, I believe that would be best.” He turned to his father. “Sire, I will be escorting Morgana back to her rooms. She is tired from the excitement and I do not believe it wise for her to be walking back on her own with that Black Knight loose in the castle.”

Uther nodded. “Very well. I shall see you both tomorrow at the Tournament Grounds.”

The two made their bows and Arthur watched as Morgana sent Gwen a pointed glance. Across the room, Gwen lowered the pitcher she was holding, and tugged on Merlin’s jacket, whispering something in his ear. Moments later, as Arthur and Morgana stepped out into the corridor, Gwen and Merlin emerged from Hall as well.

“Are you feeling alright, My Lady?” Gwen asked, worry in her tone.

“Yes, Gwen. Arthur and I just didn’t want to remain at the feast, especially after what just happened. Arthur is being so kind as to escort me back to my rooms.”

The four made their way to Morgana’s room as quickly as possible, slipping through the castle unseen. Once they had arrived, Arthur glanced up and down the corridor to make sure they were truly alone, before gesturing to Merlin and following the women into the room and shutting the door. There was a moment where everyone was quiet, broken only when Merlin offered: “A bit odd, isn’t it? That Black Knight just bursting in and issuing a challenge to the death for any knight of Camelot to pick up?”

“The challenge was clearly not meant for any knight Mer-lin. It was my ceremony - it was meant for me. Owain should have never picked up the gauntlet.”

“That’s a bit self-centered of you, sire,” Merlin snarked back.

“Arthur you must put an end to it,” Morgana interjected, ignoring the boys’ banter. “Tell Owain to rescind his involvement.”

“Morgana, you know very well that the code dictates once a challenge has been accepted the only way out is death. I cannot stop the fight tomorrow.”

“But it’s a fight to the death!”

“Yes, and Owain can - believe it or not - hold his own. He is a knight of Camelot, which means he is a worthy fighter.”

“I worry too, my lady,” Gwen offered. “Owain is young, and quite new to the knights. And that Black Knight…well, I have a bad feeling about him.”

“Gwen’s right,” confirmed Merlin. “It doesn’t take a genius to realize that he’s up to no good. Just look at the window he shattered. Why do that? I mean, he could have used the door. Clearly he’s trying to make a statement.”

“Thank you for that valuable insight, Merlin. What would we do without your investigative mind?” Arthur bit out sarcastically. Then, he softened. “Although, you may be right. This kingdom has many enemies, and for him to show up how he did, on the night he did, and issue a challenge to the death would indicate some nefarious ulterior motive.”

“All the more reason you should put a stop to it, Arthur,” Morgana pleaded. “Owain is a friend of mine and Gwen’s. He ‘s not rude like some of the other knights. I’d hate to see him hurt because of some perceived slight carried out in Uther’s name.”

“We don’t know if the Knight is specifically angry at my father.” Arthur began, although he privately agreed that this was the most likely case. His father had very few friends, and many, many enemies. “But either way, I cannot do anything to stop the fight. All I can do is help Owain be prepared.”

A grave atmosphere fell upon the group. Somberly, Morgana nodded.

“Then I suppose, that is what you must do.”

Two days later, everything had gone to hell. Between arguing with his father after Uther had prevented him from picking up the second gauntlet, and the deaths of not just Sir Owain, but now Sir Pellinor as well, Arthur had had it with this mysterious Black Knight. He’d thrown his own gauntlet down into the arena and challenged the knight on his own, before anyone could stop him.

Now, Arthur was not obtuse enough to not realize that this was an insanely dangerous thing to do; he could’ve sworn that both Owain and Pellinor had dealt the stranger deadly blows before losing their lives. This knight should have been dead twice over, but it appeared that he wasn’t even injured. If Arthur had to guess at how that might be, he’d placed his bets on some sort of magic, which meant that tomorrow he’d be facing a magical foe, not just a skilled swordsman. He’d have to think up a plan, but for now, he figured he’d just shout at his father. Uther had the audacity to call Arthur stupid, and to try and rescind the fight he’d damned two of his most loyal knights to fighting just earlier that day and the day before, all because he was afraid he’d lose his Crown Prince and heir?

“There cannot be one rule for me and one rule for all the rest.”

“I forbid you to fight.” Arthur felt his chest constrict at his father’s words. Did his father truly believe Arthur would allow his knights to be picked off, one by one in his place? That he’d sit idly by why men fought and died to this magical stranger, when Arthur might be able to stop him? Or did he think Arthur was incapable of doing so?

“You want me to prove I am worthy of the throne. I cannot do that by being a coward.”

“No Arthur, this will be your death!” Uther raised his voice, confirming Arthur’s fears. Of course it was that Uther didn’t believe Arthur could defeat the Black Knight, and that he’d lose his only heir. All those years of training, both in mind and body, and sacrificing friendship and fun and happiness had been for nought. All that time spent striving to live up to his father’s impossible standards, ignoring what Arthur wanted in favor of pleasing his King, and he had failed. His father loved Morgana, so much that she could commit borderline treason and get off with a bit of a time out - he could train himself to the bone everyday to prove his loyalty and all his father would ever see him as was a means to the end: maintaining the Pendragon rule for another generation.

“I’m sorry you have so little faith in me, father.” There wasn’t more Arthur could say, not without breaking down into the tears that so desperately wanted to fall, and not without angering his father so much that he was thrown in the dungeons for a week. Again.
Arthur isn’t even ashamed to say that he fled the room, his father’s angry voice booming his name behind him, legs quickly carrying himself to his chambers and locking the door. He didn’t want to see his father, Morgana, or even Merlin right at this moment. He wanted to just wallow.

Unfortunately, he was also surrounded by some of the most stubborn people in all of Camelot, and despite not wanting any visitors, Merlin was never one to pick up on Arthur’s social cues.

Merlin burst into the room, bypassing the locks with his own key.

“Merlin, just because you have a key doesn’t mean that you can just enter whenever you want willy-nilly -”

“You have to pull out.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he’ll kill you.”

“Why does everybody think that?” Did everyone think he was incapable of winning the fight? Had no one any faith in him at all?

“Because they’re right! Just pull out. You’re the Crown Prince. No one wants to see you die over some stupid challenge.” Did even Merlin, who seemed to care so little for propriety and station, think Arthur’s value laid only in his position as well? Arthur’s gut churned.

“I am not a coward.”

“I know that. I’ve stood there and watched you overcome every fear you’ve ever faced.”

“That’s what’s required of me.” As an object, not a man.
“But you are more than that. You’re not merely a warrior. You’re a prince, a future King! You’ve proved your courage, but now you must prove your wisdom.”

“I’m not backing down.”

“Please Arthur listen to me. This is no ordinary knight. Look at him. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep. He just stands there, in complete silence. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

“Yes - that’s he’s using magic.”

“If you fight him - wait, what?” Merlin cut himself off, looking at Arthur as though he’d grown a second head.

“Magic, Merlin. It has to be magic. I’m not an idiot, as everyone seems to think. I’m not incapable of handling myself, and I am not so far removed from reality that I am simply fighting this man to prove my ability as a fighter as though I will miraculously kill him where Owain and Pellinor couldn’t. I need to find a way to defeat him, and it has to be me because I am the Crown Prince and it is my duty to protect the people of my Kingdom, even from Black Knights who seem unable to die.” Arthur’s breathing was heavy, his shoulders moved dramatically up and down as he finished his speech. Merlin looked at him with widened eyes, and his expression softened as Arthur felt the tension rising and rising in his muscles. A minute passed, and then another. Merlin shuffled closer to Arthur, and in a hushed voice he spoke, looking directly into Arthur’s eyes.

“You are going to be the most amazing King Camelot had ever known one day Arthur, and I am happy to be your servant until the day I die. I do not plan on letting you die anytime soon. Let me help you figure this out. The library has some old books on how to ward off magic and break enchantments - we can sneak in and find a way to defeat him. Together.”
Arthur nodded, feeling shaky. “Okay. I - yes. I will meet you down there momentarily. I - I’ve got to talk to Morgana first.”

“Morgana?”

“Yes, but then I’ll be down.”

“Okay. I’ll go now.” Merlin reached out and squeezed Arthur’s arm, lingering there for a moment, before turning and striding toward the door.

“Merlin?”

The servant stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Yes, sire?”

“Thank you.” Merlin smiled, one his big dopey, cheeky smiles.

“Of course, sire. Someone has to save your royal backside.”

Arthur made his way to Morgana’s rooms shortly after Merlin left. He hoped that the two of them would be able to find a way to defeat the Black Knight, but he also knew that with only so many hours before dawn and the fight, they had a very slim chance of doing so. More than likely, Arthur was going to die defending his people tomorrow morning. And he needed to discuss an important matter with Morgana first.

Upon his arrival at her door, he knocked, and was surprised when the door swung open almost immediately. “Arthur!” Morgana exclaimed, surprise evident in her voice. “I was just on my way to see you.”

“May I come in?”

Morgana moved out of the way and let Arthur step past into the room, door thudding and lock clicking behind him. “I presume you were coming to tell me not to fight tomorrow.”

“I was, in fact. I think that it is foolish, and you do not need to risk your life for some twisted old tradition.”

“I have already had this conversation with Merlin.”

“And Merlin was right. He’s much brighter than you give him credit for.”

“Yes he is.” Morgana’s eyes shot open in shock, and for a moment she seemed rendered speechless, which under any other circumstances, Arthur would’ve celebrated.

“If you tell him I said that I’ll tell everyone in the citadel about the mud-pile incident.”

“My lips are sealed. But does this mean you aren’t going to fight?”

“No, I am still going to fight. I think the Knight is using magic, and I need to stop him. Merlin and I are going to work on a plan tonight.”

“Magic! That makes sense! I told Gwen earlier that I could’ve sworn Pellinor had fatally injured him, but then he just kept going as though it never happened, and I could no longer tell if I was seeing things or not. If you give me a moment, I will come help you and Merlin.”

“No, you must stay here. You only were just let out of isolation in your chambers for involving yourself with magic. I don’t want to see you punished further.”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “I hardly think helping you defeat a sorcerer would count as treason, Arthur.” She scoffed at him, as though he was being silly.

“But what if the only way to fight him is with magic as well?”

Morgana stopped at this, eyes alight and curious. “Would you be willing to use magic to fight the Black Knight if it came to it, Arthur?”

“If the only way to stop the evil sorcerer is to use magic, then, yes. I do not believe that magic will corrupt me simply because I am using it as a tool. It is like a sword: I can cut down my mortal enemies with a sword, as they wield a sword as well. But it is not the sword that made them my enemy, the sword is not good or evil. It is a tool to be harnessed and trained with. Magic could be the same.”

“What you say is treason, you know.”

“Yes, but of all the people in Camelot, I imagine you are the most likely to understand. You speak of treason on a weekly basis.”

Morgana smirked at this, because in all honesty, it was true. Arthur continued.

“I am here because I intend to fight that Knight tomorrow, magic or not. It is the Code. If I do not succeed, and I fall, I need to make sure you are safe. My father has gone easy on you in the past for speaking out against him, but I am afraid he might become more and more cruel. If I die, then you must not test his patience any longer, even for the good of the Kingdom. I fear it will lead to your death.”

“Uther can kill me if he wants; I will never agree with the way he rules with fear.”

“You may not care if he kills you, but I do. And I’m sure many people would as well. Plus, I need you alive; if I am gone, I’ll need you to look out for Merlin. The bumbling fool gets himself into trouble more often than he finishes his chores. He may need an advocate in the Royal Household.”

“You wish for me to live simply so I can look over your servant? Arthur, he is young, but he’s not a child.”

“No, but he is an idiot.”

Morgana gazed at Arthur for a moment, not saying anything. Then, she took a step closer, looking up at him, directly in the eyes.

“I will do as you ask, but I cannot promise to be silent when I see injustice. I will, however, try to temper myself a bit, if Uther is on the warpath. That is the best I can do.”

“That’s all I ask.” Arthur turned to take his leave from her rooms, anxious to go find Merlin and get started on a plan to defeat the Black Knight.

“Arthur.”

Morgana saying his name one last time caused him to halt and look back at her, a soft smile on her face.

“I may have said this before, but I think, if you survive this, you will make a great King one day.”

Arthur smiled back in thanks, and left the room.

As he made his way towards the library, he was approached by a young Guard, whose name he was unfamiliar with.

“Sire!”

“Yes?”

“I have been sent with summons for you. The Royal Physician would like to see you in your chambers.”

“Now? It’s rather late.”

“Yes, sire, but he was insistent, sire.”

Arthur sighed. He hoped this detour wouldn’t take too long. “Very well. I will go to my chambers to meet with him.”

The walk back to his chambers was much faster than the one to the library would have been, and by the time he reached his door, Arthur felt the burn of his thighs, realizing he was walking rather quickly out of a need to get this conversation over with. Gaius was probably there to try and talk him out of fighting, just Merlin and Morgana had intended, and he would have to figure out a way to reassure the old man. Upon entering however, the man seemed to be in better spirits than expected.

“Good evening, sire.”

“Good evening, Gaius. What can I help you with?”

“I’ve brought you something that might help you sleep.”

Ugh, of course. How ironic; Gaius thought him to be nervous, and wanted to help him sleep. But the last thing Arthur needed tonight was to sleep.

“I’m fine, Gaius, but thank you. I don’t need it.”

“It will relax you, take the edge off your nerves.”

Arthur couldn’t see a way around it: he was going to have to drink the potion. Well, he hoped that it wouldn’t make him too drowsy - Gaius’ potions were not often too strong, but when you took one and then laid down for a moment, it definitely had a relaxing effect. Arthur downed the potion in one go, trying to get out of the situation quickly.

Arthur had had many terrible tasting things in his lifetime: medicine, potions, and even the memorable time the cook had taken ill and his father, Morgana, and he had been subjected to the cook’s assistant and his meals. The food was so terrible that after three days of it, Uther had been a hair’s width from calling for the man to be thrown in the dungeons for clearly trying to poison the Crown. It was one of the rare situations where both Arthur and Morgana were inclined to agree with him.

The potion Gaius gave him to relax was almost as bad as the assistants cooking. Arthur coughed.

“I wouldn’t drink it for pleasure,” He commented as he coughed through the taste.

“Why don’t you sit down for a second?” Gaius led him over to his bed. He didn’t have time for this. “Gaius, thank you but -”

Suddenly, an overwhelming feeling of sleepiness fell over him. His body felt limp, and his thoughts as though they were swimming in mud. “Wha-”

“Just lie back, sire.” Far away, Gaius helped him into bed, pulling off his boots and tucking him in like a child. But, wait, wasn’t he needed somewhere? Wasn’t he meant to do something? Something…something…Merlin…

Arthur fell into a deep sleep, and the sound of a lock clicking echoed through the chamber.

Sun shining, birds chirping. The people on the lower streets bustling away in the distance. Arthur opened his eyes slowly and sighed. What a beautiful morning.

For a moment, he laid there, staring up at his canopy unmoving, simply allowing the brightness of the morning and the cool breeze from the open window wash over him and like a cleansing bath. The clashing of metal on metal clanking in the background, mixing in with the chatter of the townspeople…

Arthur sat straight up with a jolt. The duel!

Leaping from his bed, Arthur barely took the time to notice that his boots and belt were still on his person, and ran to the door. Locked. Damn it.

Clearly, Gaius had drugged him, probably at the behest of his father - although, he wouldn’t have put it past the old physician to have come up with the plan himself; Gaius could be quite slippery when he wanted to be. No wonder Merlin was always creeping about the place.

Arthur ran to the window, just able to make out the two armored figures cashing on the tournament grounds. One was obviously the Black Knight: tall and covered in dark impenetrable armor, fighting with the brutality of an animal going for the kill. The other, slightly shorter, more poised, yet offensive enough that he was keeping pace with the magical fighter before him. Arthur recognized that armor. His father.

What the hell? Uther had not right; this fight was Arthur's challenge. As the recently Crown Prince of Camelot, Arthur was no longer a child, or even an underage adolescent. He had just spent two straight weeks training for instances such as this on his father’s orders. And yet, Uther still believed so little in his son that he had his old friend drug him, lock him away, and take Arthur’s place himself. If the Prince was too important to be cut down in a duel such as this, then certainly the King of the whole bloody Kingdom was too important as well.

This was all the proof he needed to fully realize how his father thought of him. He didn’t have too long to really dwell on it, however, because suddenly, on the tournament field, the Black Knight’s helmet was knocked off his head to reveal a grotesque, growling creature with jet black skin that looked as though it had rotted off his flesh, and sunken eyes that even from as far away as Arthur was, he could see contained no obvious means of sight. Uther seemed to reel for a split second, before going back on the attack. They swung and clashed and Arthur felt torn between his anger and disappointment at being so blatantly cast aside, and his father potentially dying at any moment. Uther may not love his son, but Arthur had always loved his father.

The fight seemed to go on for hours, but looking back Arthur will recall it only lasted a few more moments. Suddenly, as quickly as the whole thing started, the fight was won. The creature masquerading as a knight lay dead at his father’s feet. Uther was victorious. Arthur moved away from the window and sat on his bed.

He must have been lost in thought for too long, because it felt as though only a few moments later, Merlin was pushing open his door, no longer locked.

“Arthur?”

Arthur jumped up. “Merlin! Did you have any idea that my father was going to fight this morning?”
“No, not until this morning. I didn’t even realize you were trapped in here until the duel this morning - last night while I was waiting for you in the library, Geoffrey actually gave me some useful information, and well, I figured your conversation with Morgana was why you were late, so I left to go see how if the information could help. I thought you would either find me or just go back to your rooms to rest before the challenge.”

“Gaius summoned me back to my chambers. I was actually on my way to meet you, but he gave me a sleeping draught that caused me to fall asleep and then locked me in here so I couldn’t fight.”

“Well, I’m sure Gaius is sorry. From what I understand, the King ordered him too.”

Had Arthur been in a better mood, he might’ve smiled at Merlin’s attempt to defend Gaius, despite them both knowing the man definitely would not have been sorry for trying to protect Arthur, even if it had been in a sneaky way.

“My father is out of line. The knight was meant to fight me. He came to my Coming of Age Ceremony, he killed two of the knights that I command, and I issued this last challenge. This was my fight.”

“I don’t think it was, actually.”

“Mer-lin, for the last time, it's the Knight’s Code -”

“No, that’s not what I mean, I mean… Look, Gaius and I figured out the Black Knight wasn’t, it wasn’t human. It was a Wraith. Wraiths are powerful undead creatures, made by using the magic of the old religion to partially revive a dead man. The Wraith…well, Gaius took me down to the tombs to check, and…um…”

“Out with it Merlin!”
“Sire, it looked like something had smashed its way out of the tomb of Tristan De Bois.”

Arthur blinked. Tristan De Bois? He’d never met the man, but he knew he was one of Arthur’s maternal uncles. He’d betrayed the crown in his grief over his sister’s death, but Uther had given him a royal burial anyway. Or at least, that’s what Arthur had been told. His confusion must’ve shown on his face, because Merlin continued:

“He died attacking your father twenty years ago in grief over your mother’s death. They fought, and he was dealt a fatal blow. Gaius said his dying words were that he’d be back to kill Uther one day. We think whoever raised him from the dead was trying to use him to kill Uther.”

“Why would Tristan want to kill my father?”

“I don’t know sire, but Gaius says that grief can make a man mad.”

That must be it - Ygraine died in childbirth, but that was not very uncommon, as unfortunate as it was. It was hardly his father’s fault that his mother’s birthing her son is what led to her death.

“How did my father defeat him? He was already dead, so I imagine that would be how he survived against Owain and Pellinor. You can’t kill the dead.”

At this Merlin’s eye grew wide. He blanched for a moment, before stumbling out “Uh, there was this sword.”

Arthur waited a moment for Merlin to continue. He did not. “A sword, Merlin?”

“Yeah, a..a magic sword.”

“And my father willingly used a magical sword?”
“Not exactly.”

“Then where did it come from?”

Merlin hesitated for a moment. Arthur’s patience was running thin. “Come on Merlin! Where did my father get a magical sword that he was unaware was magical?”

“The…vault?”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “The vault? My father’s vault of outlawed magical items from the time before the purge?”

“That’s the one.”

“You stole it from my father’s vault?”

“Maybe.”

“Merlin, that’s treason!”

“Well, he defeated the Wraith, didn’t he?”

“That’s not the - okay, fine, yes, the King lives and the Wraith is gone. Just please tell me you put it back.”

“It’s safe.”

Arthur sighed. “Look Merlin, I have to go speak to my father about drugging me and locking me in my room. I need you to promise that you will never break into my father’s vault again. I can’t have you being beheaded just as you’re starting to become a slightly less-terrible servant.”

“But what if there’s another magical attack and what we need is in there?”

“Then let me go down and retrieve it. I won’t be executed for simply being down there.”

“Oh, well, fine then.” Arthur rolled his eyes. Merlin was anything but eloquent, it seemed. “If you don’t mind, Mer-lin, I have to go speak with my father.”

“Good luck.”

Arthur made his way down the corridor towards the council chamber, hoping his father would be there when he arrived. In another world, one where he hadn’t learned this information from his servant, he might’ve still been angry that his father had had Gaius trick him. Now, he was just hurt. His father didn’t believe in him, didn’t trust him with his secrets. He wouldn’t confront his father on the Wraith. Arthur thought he was more mature than that. His father was bound to know Arthur would find out about the magical being, and he also didn’t want to expose Merlin as a thief, so it was best not to mention.

As he arrived in the council chambers, he took a deep breath. Gaius was bandaging what looked like a minor wound on his father's torso, superficial, but smarting for sure. He cleared his throat. Gaius looked up at him with recognition, but no surprise. He must’ve expected Arthur to seek Uther out now that the creature was no longer an issue.

“Well, that should heal pretty quickly. I’ll re-dress it tomorrow.” Gaius stated, picking up his supplies and making a hasty exit. Uther thanked him, and then turned to his son.

“Arthur, I -”

“You had Gaius drug me, and then took my place.”
“You would’ve died.”

“You have never believed in me.”

“Arthur, that is ridiculous. Of course I believe in you. You are my son and heir, and I only just crowned you Crown Prince of Camelot. Why would I do that if I didn’t believe in you?”

Arthur didn’t speak, for he had no good explanation for why his father did anything really. Uther did as Uther wanted, always. His father continued:

“I believed you would die. That was a risk I could not take. You are too precious to me. You mean more to me than anything I know, more than this entire Kingdom, certainly more than my own life.”

Was Uther saying he… loved Arthur? All those years spent wishing his father would love him and dote on him the way other father’s did to their sons, the way his own did for Morgana, who wasn’t even his own child… Had all of that been based on misunderstanding? His father truly loved him?

“I’ve always thought,” Arthur began, hesitantly, “ that I was a big disappointment to you.”

“Well, that is my fault, and not yours. You are my only son, I would not wish for another.”

Yeah, Arthur needed to make a swift getaway before his tears betrayed him. He felt so very confused. This man before him was nothing like the Uther Pendragon he knew. This was the father he’d always wished for, but never seemed to get. Was it the adrenaline talking? Was it the belief that Arthur would carry on his line? Maybe Uther loved Arthur, loved the Prince he was, but there was little chance he loved Arthur, the little boy inside who just wanted to play and have friends and spend quality time with his father. And there would be absolutely no way Uther could ever love Arthur, the Once and Future King. Not when bringing back magic and falling in love with a powerful sorcerer was involved. Uther loved this image he had of his son, but he did not know the truth, or perhaps he’d have let Arthur face the Wraith anyway, if only so he didn’t have to kill his own son himself.

Arthur didn’t say any of this.

“I heard you fought pretty well,” he said instead.

“Thanks.”

“You should join us for training. Sort out your footwork.”

“I’ll show you footwork.” And as Uther playfully chased him around the room, Arthur tried to soak up as much of this moment as he could. He knew the years with his father’s support and love were dwindling, and when it came time to face destiny head on, his father may never wish to look upon him again, or he may be dead. Their relationship would be no more than King and Prince. For now, for this moment, he could pretend that they were just Uther and Arthur, father and son.

Chapter Text

Not for the first time, Arthur realized he hated politics. Politics were vile, ugly laws and rules that regulated how Kings and Lords governed and interacted, largely at the expense of the common citizen. Sure, there were some laws created to protect the citizens - the laws against theft and murder are standouts for certain. But others were designed to control the citizens, and have them bend to the King’s will - like outlawing magic. Directly defying the laws of the land often came with a heftier punishment than what was strictly necessary as well, in Arthur’s opinion. He hoped to change that one day when he was King; he’d make sure that the Crown did everything they could to help the people of Camelot, as well as those who came to the Kingdom seeking refuge, rather than simply creating inefficient policies by which the land operated. Which is why, when Merlin came to him, a solemn expression on his face, the boy's mother having just turned up beaten and desperate for any help, Arthur felt that it was his duty to see it through.

He’d been able to get Hunith an audience with the King, and unlike Merlin, the peasant woman was poised and articulate, clearly educated and respectful of the throne, though she was not a citizen of Camelot. Now, Arthur knew Merlin to be a bumbling fool much of the time, but he could see where Hunith’s influence must have rubbed off - the boy was Gaius’ apprentice as well, after all. Arthur knew that Merlin knew how to read and write, and even enjoyed doing so; and while he was clumsy and a bit dimwitted at times, he was also brave and wise when it was necessary. Clearly, Hunith had imparted the best qualities of herself to her son.

Despite her respectful request for assistance with Kanen ransacking and stealing the harvest from her village, Uther found that he could not help, due to politics. By the gods, Arthur hated politics.
It was very clear to Arthur that Merlin would have to accompany his mother back to Ealdor - what kind of son would leave his mother in this situation by herself? It was also very clear that Morgana and Gwen had every intention of following Hunith and Merlin and trying to help. Far be it from Aurther to ever admit out loud, but he suspected that the three of them were intellectually leagues ahead of this Kanen character. The issue was that intellect and basic combat may not be enough to warn the barbarian away from the village, and there was no way they would be able to win in mortal combat against such men. So somehow, despite knowing his father would probably be livid, Arthur would have to go to Ealdor to help Merlin protect his village.

He stood out at the battlements, looking over the courtyard, contemplating how exactly he would be able to sneak out of the castle, when Merlin came up behind him. He turned to his servant and sighed.

“I’m sorry. If it were up to me, we’d be on our way now.”

Merlin shot him a grateful look. “You tried. Thank you for getting an audience with the King.”

“I wish that Camelot could help people regardless of how far away they lived.”

Merlin smiled at the sentiment, before his face fell back into a frown. “I’m going back to Ealdor.”

“Of course.”

“It’s been an honor serving you.”

For goodness - did Merlin think he was going back permanently? How would that solve anything? Besides, Arthur knew that with his help, they could defeat Kanen and all would be well. He ignored the way his heart shuddered in his chest with anxiety at the thought of Merlin leaving for good. Clearly it was just nerves about how he was going to explain his absence to the King.

“You’ll be coming back.”

“Well, she’s my -”

“Merlin, we are going to take care of this barbarian, and then you will be returning to my services as my manservant. I haven’t given you permission to quit. You haven’t finished even half of the chorus I've asked you to do.”

“We?”

“Yes, “we.” I hardly think you’ll be capable of taking on this Kanen alone. You will clearly need a superior fighter with you to make sure you don’t muck things up.”

“Of course, sire,” Merlin agreed, his eyes widening in understanding, a big smile gracing his face. For the first time since his mother arrived, he looked to be in good spirits.

“Good,” Arthur continued. “We shall leave at dusk then.”

“But sire, your father? What will you tell him?”

“You leave that to me and Morgana.”

As it turned out, convincing Morgana to help him come up with a reasonable explanation as to why the two of them would be leaving the castle grounds was much easier said than done.

“I will tell Uther I wish to visit my parents’ grave. I do that around this time every year anyway.”

“I’m sure that will work, but I imagine he’d get suspicious when you actually do want to visit their grave in a few weeks,” Arthur reasoned.

“Of course, except on this trip, we will be waylaid by some horrific bandits, and we will have to flee into the forest for days. By the time we’d escaped, we wouldn’t have been able to visit the gravesite. I’ll just have to go back in a few weeks.”

“He’ll make you take a team of knights after that.”

“Then so be it. It’s worth it to help Hunith and her people.”

So the plan was set. Arthur and Morgana would approach Uther, asking to visit Morgana’s parents. Uther, who had meetings, would not be able to accompany her as he sometimes did, and so Arthur would do so, as would her maid, Gwen. Subsequently and entirely unrelated, Merlin would be temporarily leaving his service as Arthur’s manservant to escort his mother back to Ealdor, which was in the opposite direction. While on their trip, Arthur, Morgana, and Gwen would be attacked by bandits, and would have to flee, as the bandits had blocked their way back to Camelot. Miraculously, they would make it back safely, due to Arthur’s skill with the sword, and it would conveniently coincide with Merlin’s return as well. Uther was not a stupid man, but he didn’t often attribute Arthur with such cunning as to see that all of this was a ruse for Arthur and the women to escape the castle and come with Hunith and Merlin to Ealdor. It was a rare case in which Uther’s arrogance came in handy.

That evening, the three of them set off, just after dusk, followed shortly after Merlin and Hunith, and then they rendezvoused just outside of the main town’s limits.

“I cannot thank you enough for what you are risking your Highness, my Lady. You did not have to do this for me.” Hunith was overwhelmed with surprise and gratitude that not only were the Crown Prince and Lady Morgana opting to help her and her village despite the King’s orders, but that they were also willing to trick the King into letting them go without stopping them.

“Hunith, you have no need to thank us,” Morgana smiled at her. “This is the right thing to do. The King’s decision was influenced by politics and traditions from times past; but we are more than happy to help you where he cannot.”

Arthur could tell that Morgana’s dismissal of Uther’s decision surprised Hunith slightly, but the woman didn’t say anything, either out of respect for Morgana’s station, or out of silent agreement. Arthur wished Morgana were more careful with the way she spoke, but ultimately agreed that his father's judgements were once again clouded by the selfish wish to avoid all conflict with Cendred. That being said, Cendred could make the lives of the citizens of Camelot very difficult, so he did understand the concern. He just wished his father had entertained more alternative solutions before outright denying Hunith’s request for assistance.

They made camp for the night, and Arthur took the first watch. As the others headed off to bed, Arthur heard Merlin and Hunith whispering softly. Though he couldn’t make out what they were saying, he could see as Merlin reached out to gently touch his mother’s cheek, right where it had been bruised by the hand of the barbarian, and he could see Hunith’s sad, motherly expression. Arthur found himself thinking about his own mother.

As a little boy, he’d often wondered what she would be like. Gaius and some of the older knights had mentioned her in passing to him, and from what he could tell, she was a loving, caring woman. Gaius always gave him the impression that Ygraine would not approve of his father’s ferocious attitude and stubborn nature, though the old man never said so outright. Arthur liked to imagine her as the most beautiful woman across all of Albion. In his mind, she was gentle, and kind, and would read him bedtime stories. She would stand between him and his father, and she would speak up for the people when she saw the King doing injustice. If Arthur was ever sick, she would just hold him, and tell him that everything would be alright. If he’d had a nightmare, she would smooth his hair back, and help him check his chambers to make sure no monsters were afoot. And if anyone ever dared lay a hand on her, or hurt her in any way, Arthur would kill the man where he stood. If his mother had lived, if Arthur had known her, he knew in his heart his life would have been very different. A little less lonely, a little more loving.

But that’s not how his life was, and Arthur had cried many a tear as a child over it in the dark privacy of his big lonely chambers, filled with shadows and monsters and nightmares without anyone to come chase them away. It would do no good to cry about it again now, when he had a duty to perform.

Arthur turned away from the private moment between his manservant and his mother, and looked out into the darkened wood.

Their arrival in Ealdor was less than stellar. Immediately, Kanen had appeared, and Arthur had ruffled the feathers of Merlin’s best friend - something that irked Arthur to no end, but not for any reason he was prepared to understand. From what he could tell, this Will character was nothing special either, so for him to be so against Arthur’s assistance was frustrating. Arthur tried not to let it show. It was, afterall, Will’s life, Will’s village, and Will’s prerogative to hate the Crown Prince of a neighboring Kingdom. Thankfully, the other villagers seemed happy enough to have the help, and their plan to stop Kanen had gone underway. As he prepared to sleep for the second night of their adventure, this time on the floor, head to toe with Merlin, he felt himself compelled to ask:

“Have you always slept on the floor?”

“Yeah. The bed I’ve got in Camelot is luxury in comparison.”

“Must’ve been hard.”

“Mhmm. It’s like rock.”

“I didn’t mean the ground. I meant for you. It must’ve been difficult.”

“Not really. I didn’t know any different. Life’s simple out here. You eat what you grow and everyone pitches in together. As long as you’ve got food on the table and a roof over your head, you’re happy.”

“Sounds…nice.”

“You’d hate it.”

Arthur can hear the smile in Merlin’s voice, teasing and not criticizing. It makes for a nice reprieve from the day of contending with Will’s glares and the wary glances from the villagers. Arthur could always count on Merlin for a bit of humor, he found, and despite the fact that they were miles apart in station and privilege, Merlin never held it against him, not for real. Even with Morgana and Gwen, it sometimes felt like he was the Prince first, and Arthur second. With his father and the people of the Kingdom, he was lucky to be considered as just Arthur at all. But with Merlin, he was Arthur first, second, and third. Being the Prince was an afterthought, a simple fact of little importance. For the first time, Arthur wondered what it would be like, if he wasn’t the Prince, and he was just Merlin’s friend Arthur. He thought it would be nice.

“No doubt. Why’d you leave?”

“Things just…changed.”

“How? Come on, stop pretending to be interesting. Tell me.”

“I just didn’t fit in anymore. And I wanted to find somewhere that I did.”

Arthur could understand that, he supposed. He never felt like he fit in either.

“Had any luck?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

Something about Merlin’s answer made a pit form in Arthur’s stomach. Yes, this boy was merely his manservant, and a frankly terrible one at that. But he was also sweet, kind, funny, cute- ahem, loyal. Yes, he was loyal. That was all.

The point was, he was everything Arthur had always wanted in a friend. And here Arthur was, defying his father, putting the King’s Ward in danger, putting all of Camelot in danger, by coming to a foreign village and stopping a common thug. All for Merlin. Well, Arthur supposed, this is what friendship must feel like. Merlin is his friend, servant or not. And by the gods, when this was over, Arthur was going to do everything in his power to make sure Merlin felt like he belonged in Camelot, with Arthur.

If their arrival had been a mess, then what had happened in the last day had been a complete disaster. Arthur was very much not hiding, but he also wasn’t trying to be found. Standing watch at the edge of the wood, he thought back to how the village had watched in horror as Matthew’s horse had come back into town, her rider skewered with an arrow, a clear sign that Kanen was coming, and when he arrived, there would be hell to pay. Maybe Will was right - maybe it was Arthur’s fault.

He’d come to Ealdor with the intention of saving them from a bully, and all he had managed to do so far was start a small war and get a man killed. Merlin had tried to explain Will’s demeanor, his own father having been lost, but that didn’t change the fact that Arthur was out of his depth here. He’d arrogantly assumed he’d be able to whip the village into shape in time to face Kanen, but he’d forgotten the fact that these people had no basis for training. His knights were all noble-born; raised from infancy to fight, and hopeful to grow up to be a knight of Camelot one day. These people were capable, but they needed more time. Time they didn’t have. Arthur didn’t know what the next day would bring, but he feared the worst.

“Arthur, Hunith made you some food.” Gwen’s light voice came as a welcome break, her tone, like sunlight, casting its rays right into Arthur’s darkest thoughts, clearing the shadows away.

“Thanks.” Arthur felt solemn as he took the bowl of food - which was not the best food he’d ever had, but he was trying his absolute best to not let on that he hated it. Food was scarce for these people, and Hunith no doubt was doing the best she could to feed them despite the looming threat of all their crops and livestock being stolen from them. He took the bowl silently from Gwen, and she traded a soft look with him. “You’re worried,” she said it as a statement, not as a question.

“Yes.”

“You doubt we can win?”

“I…yes, I do.”

“We will be fine.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I have faith in you. We all do.”

“Thank you.” Gwen’s undoubting faith did make Arthur feel a bit lighter, he had to admit. As she turned to leave, she stopped short, and turned back to him. “You know, Morgana thinks you’ve come here solely for Merlin.”

This caught him off guard. “Oh, uh, I-”

Gwen smiled. “I think it’s sweet. That you are friends, I mean. He had a hard time adjusting to Camelot; I think he could use the friendship.”

Arthur didn’t know how to answer that, so he just nodded. He felt a bit lost. Gwen smiled again. “I think you could use the friend too, sire.” Gwen nodded her head in a pseudo-curtsey, and turned to leave, not stopping this time. Arthur felt raw, exposed. She was right, he needed the friendship. He was so tired of being lonely. His conviction to make Merlin feel like he belonged in Camelot only doubled. It wasn’t just that Merlin needed Camelot, Arthur needed him.

He settled down to watch the woods, the bowl of food absently held in his hands.

Sorcery.

Just as everything about this endeavor, the whole battle went to hell as soon as it started. Kanen and his men were early to arrive, interrupting Merlin and Arthur’s conversation, a conversation that felt exceedingly important. Then, Merlin had run off halfcocked, and the fire wouldn’t start, and then on top of it all, Arthur had watched sorcery performed before his very eyes. If he’d known they had magic on their side, he’d have planned the whole thing very differently, and he couldn’t help but be a bit miffed. But now was no the time, because as he marched over to demand where the sorcerer had been hiding this whole time, Will had jumped in front of an arrow, and now he lay dying in a barn on a table, with Arthur and Merlin looking down on him.

Gasping, Will spoke. “That’s twice I saved you.”

“Twice?”

“Yeah it was me. I’m the one that used magic.”

No wonder Will hated him. He had magic! And Arthur was Uther Pendragon’s son and heir! Suddenly the last couple days made so much more sense.

“Will don’t.” Merlin begged. Was Merlin afraid that Arthur would condemn Will, the man who’d just saved his life twice in a row? Because he had magic? Of course Arthur wouldn’t. Even if he shared his father’s views, he would never kill a dying man, especially one who had acted so bravely to save Arthur’s own life.

Apparently, that is what both boys in front of him thought. Will spoke to Merlin, “It’s alright Merlin. I won’t be alive long enough for anyone to do anything to me. I did it. I saw how desperate things were becoming and I had to do something.”

“You’re a sorcerer?” Arthur’s mouth hadn’t caught up to his brain yet.

“Yeah. What are you going to do about it? Kill me?” Arthur looked at the boy, horrified.

“No, of course not,” he said incredulously. “Do what you can for him.” He looked at Merlin, feeling frantic, and left the barn. As he exited, he strode right past Hunith, Morgana, Gwen, and all the villagers, made his way quickly to the back of Hunith’s small house, and promptly vomited upon the ground. Gods.

The fear his father had instilled in the people of Camelot was far reaching, and devastated not just the lives of her citizens, but also the lives of the people in surrounding Kingdoms. It had devastated Merlin’s life. If Arthur’s father hadn’t been the way he was, if Arthur hadn’t been his father’s son, perhaps Will would have trusted him, or perhaps Merlin would have trusted him. Perhaps they would’ve used magic from the start, and Will would still live. Instead, the boy lay dying in his best friend’s arms, no more than eighteen Summers old, and Merlin would be left to deal with the loss. How could Arthur make Merlin feel like he belonged in a Kingdom that would’ve put his best friend to death for simply existing?

His spiraling was cut short by a small hand on his shoulder, and he glanced up to see Gwen’s concerned face, and a few steps behind her Morgana looking a bit lost.

“I wouldn’t have killed him.,” Arthur blurted out. He needed to say it, he needed to have someone know. “Not for having magic.” Gwen nodded along, as though she expected him to say it.

“You are a good man Arthur. And one day everyone will be able to see that too,” she soothed, her hand rubbing a small circle into his shoulder. He’d never let himself be this vulnerable in front of anyone before, but he supposed the best one to do it in front of was Guinevere, who would never judge. That Morgana was also there was a little uncomfortable, but deep in his heart he didn’t think she’d think poorly of him taking a moment to have a small breakdown. After all, she was the most emotional person he knew, just in different ways.

The three of them sat there in the dirt behind Huntih’s little cottage until the sun had moved across the sky, so as to give Merlin, Hunith, and the people of Ealdor a moment to mourn in peace.

That evening, the funeral pyre blazed high into the sky, licking the clouds with a burning breath of black smoke and ash. Arthur stood close to Merlin, Gwen and Morgana hanging back with Hunith. Merlin had not spoken since Arthur left the barn, nor had Arthur tried to speak to him. As the flames burned, the villagers slowly began making their way back to their homes, newly safe and protected in exchange for the life of a young sorcerer. Merlin did not move.

“I’m sorry. I know he was a close friend.” Arthur broke their mutual silence. He needed to pay his condolences.

“He still is.”

“You knew he was a sorcerer, didn’t you? That was what you were going to tell me?”

“Yes. It was.”

Arthur sighed. In another world, another story, he might’ve chastised Merlin for not telling him sooner. He might’ve expressed the official Camelot view that magic was dangerous. He might’ve been cold. But in this world, in this story, Arthur looked at his servant - no, his friend, and saw a boy who had just lost someone close to him, someone who gave his life for Arthur despite being terrified that Arthur would in turn take his. He clasped his hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

“He was a good man, Merlin. I will never forget his sacrifice or his bravery. It takes courage to be who he was, and do what he did. He died a hero. Take comfort in that.”

Merlin didn’t answer, but Arthur watched as his eyes left the pyre for the first time since it was lit, and met Arthur’s own. They were watery and red, but there were no tears, and it struck Arthur that Merlin was being extraordinarily brave as well. Merlin nodded in gratitude, still not speaking, but Arthur understood: Merlin was thankful for the kindness Arthur had shown Will in these final moments, and the reassurance that Arthur was not angry he’d hidden Will’s sorcery from him. Arthur nodded back, and then left, passing Hunith on the way back to the horses, as she went to comfort her son.

Arthur hoped, as they traveled back to Camelot to report a ridiculous run-in with fictional bandits that kept them waylaid for three more days than the one Morgana and Arthur had told Uther they’d be gone for, that Merlin would eventually trust Arthur more. That one day, he’d feel comfortable discussing magic and sorcery openly with him, and that the next time Merlin knew a person had magic, he trusted Arthur enough to tell him and help keep them safe. Of course, it wouldn’t be overnight, but Arthur would find a way to prove it.

After all, they were friends now, and Arthur intended to be the best friend he could be.

Chapter Text

Arthur was supposed to have been hunting with a party of guards and knights this morning. Hunting was one of Arthur’s favorite pastimes, and he often got a genuine kick out of making Merlin run ahead and flush out the game. Merlin was a terrible servant, but he was exceptionally bad at anything related to hunting, which was odd considering Arthur had been to his village and knew first hand the men and boys of the town were often hunting small game to feed their families. Merlin was just so abysmal at it that he supposed someone else caught the food for Hunith, otherwise she and Merlin surely would have starved.

Watching Merlin try to do a good job on a hunting trip, while also grumbling and muttering to himself each time he inevitably tripped and fell over was almost more fun than the act of hunting itself. But recently, Arthur had promised himself he would be a better friend to Merlin, so when he asked for the morning off to go with Gwen to the market, Arthur figured the hunting would just have to wait for another day, and he let his manservant run off with Gwen to buy flowers or whatever strange thing the boy wanted. He would never admit it out loud, but the beaming smile Merlin gave him when Arthur told him he’d accept the request for a break was more rewarding than anything he’d felt in a longtime.

So, instead of hunting, Arthur had stayed behind to putter around his room aimlessly, what with having also canceled knight training that morning, and found himself with nothing to do. Fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on if you were asking Arthur vs anyone else - Morgana heard he’d given leave to Merlin to join Gwen and had taken it upon herself to request (read: demand) that Arthur come to her chambers for a rousing game of chess. Chess had been the only thing Morgana would ever play with him as a child, save for a few times she’d tricked him into sparring with her to practice her sword and dagger skills. He knew she also used to play with Uther when she’d first come to live with them, and as she got older she eventually taught Gwen to play, and Arthur had a sneaking suspicion she was currently trying to teach Merlin. In truth, Arthur felt bad about it sometimes: Morgana had no other women in the castle to spend time with besides her maid, and now that she was an adult, his father would never let her go out and spar with Arthur or the knights. It must have been very lonely and boring to be a Lady of the Pendragon Household.

So, Merlin and Gwen were down in the lower town at the market, Arthur was in Morgana’s chambers playing (losing) a game of chess, and, most surprisingly, Uther had elected to go on the hunting trip with the knights in his son’s place. Upon hearing the trip was canceled - Arthur had lied and complained of an old sparring injury acting up - Uther had determined it was “a shame” to waste a perfectly good hunting morning, and had spontaneously decided to go himself. Arthur had wished his father luck as he set off, quietly relieved the man was out of the castle and not disappointed in Arthur choosing not to go.

“Checkmate.” Arthur sighed. He’d lost to Morgana three times now.

“You shouldn’t smile like that, Morgana. It isn’t becoming of a Lady.”

“You’re just feeling inadequate because I beat you, as always.”

“I was letting you win. I assure you I will not hold back as much next time.”

“You let me win? Arthur, I know all of your tells. You were struggling.”

“I was not!”
“The furrow in your brow says otherwise.”

“Morgana! You-” their bickering was cut off by a soft knock on the door, as Gwen entered the room, Merlin sliding hesitantly in behind her. “My Lady, your highness.” She said in greeting. Merlin, ever insubordinate, just gave a little half smile and wave.

“Gwen, Merlin, you just missed it. Arthur is very deeply disturbed, for I have beaten him at chess three more times this morning.”

Something in Merlin’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Forgive me, my Lady. I know you are a master chess player, but beating Arthur is hardly an accomplishment,” he teased. Morgana tilted her head back and laughed, not taking the teasing as an insult to her playing prowess but instead how it was intended: a joke about Arthur’s intelligence.

“Mer-lin! I could have you put in the stocks for that!”

“Lady Morgana would never let you.”

“He’s right,” she chimed in, “I wouldn’t.”

Gwen, who had been carrying a basket, put her load down on the small table in the corner, smiling at their antics. “My Lady, do you want anything from the kitchen? It’s just past lunchtime.”

“Oh Gwen, if you don’t mind. Why don’t you bring up something for yourself and Merlin too?”

“What about me?” Arthur asked.

“Don’t worry, sire. I’ll go get your lunch as well. Can’t let you get too cranky from hunger,” Merlin teased.

“Mer-lin!”

Giggling like a couple of children, Merlin and Gwen left to go fetch lunch for the four of them. Arthur watched them go, and as the door shut behind them, he glanced back at Morgana, who was giving him a knowing smirk. Dear gods, not this again.

Months ago, Morgana had gotten it into her head that Arthur had feelings for Gwen. Yes, Gwen was a very pretty woman and she was one of the kindest people Arthur had ever met, but Arthur had no interest in pursuing her romantically. Every time Morgana teased him about it or brought it up, he felt himself blushing - not because of his non-existent feelings for Gwen, but because of his very real feelings for Emrys, a man he had yet to actually meet. Recently, there was another emotion stirring, just beneath his interest in Ermys - an emotion that felt suspiciously directed at Merlin. Arthur resolutely ignored this feeling, as it was foolish. Arthur was a Prince of Destiny, Merlin was his friend and servant, and that’s all he could ever be.

“You know, if I didn’t think it was foolish, I’d say your self control was impressive.” Morgana started, a smirk still fixed to her face.

“What?”

“The control you have over yourself - you barely ever speak to Gwen, and when you do, you remain purely professional. It’s almost admirable.”

“Guinevere is a servant of the Royal Household and your personal maid. Why would I be anything but professional?”

“I just expected that when you finally started caring for a girl, you’d be falling all over yourself, stumbling and spluttering.”

“I am the Crown Prince of Camelot Morgana. I do not splutter.”

Their bickering continued until there was a knock on the door, and a deep voice called out: “Sire!”

Arthur sighed. So much for a quiet lunch with Morgana and their friends. Arthur moved to Morgana’s door, and opened the latch with a deep breath, trying to fix his expression into something Princely. A guard stood outside Morgana’s chambers. “Yes?”

“The King is back from his hunt and requests you in the council room, sire.”

Oh boy. “Thank you. I will be there shortly.” He bid a farewell to Morgana, and made his way to the council chamber.

“Arthur! Come see what I have!” Uther seemed to be in good spirits when Arthur arrived at the council chambers, which was a relief to the prince. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle a grumpy King right at this moment, having been in a good mood all day.

“What is it father?” Displayed on a cushion on the table, was a long narrow horn, clearly having been severed from the body of some beast and cleaned as a memento of the hunt.

“It’s a unicorn’s horn. It will be the first to ever grace the halls of Camelot.”

A unicorn? Weren’t they magical creatures? He remembered learning about them as a child from his tutor: the old man, a courtier named Olson, had described them as rare and powerful creatures of pure magic. If one killed a unicorn, misfortune would follow them. At the time, Arthur had dismissed the information, filing it away in his mind as a silly fairytale that adults told children. But then again, dragons were often referenced in fairytales, and Arthur knew for a fact they were real too. Arthur had a sinking feeling that his father killing a unicorn was not going to be without some sort of consequence. From his expression, it appeared Gaius agreed.

“What is it Gaius? Speak your mind.” Uther had noticed Gaius’ expression as well.

“Unicorns are rare and mystical creatures. There is a legend that says bad fortune will come to anyone that kills one.”

“Nonsense,” dismissed the King. “We will be the envy of every kingdom.” Uther turned to his son for support, and Arthur felt compelled.

“I’m pleased for you father.” He said, but his heart was not in it. How could his father, a man so afraid and damning towards magic, not realize the danger he’d put himself in? Luckily, Uther did not seem to notice Arthur’s discomfort and smiled triumphantly.

Glancing one last time at Gaius, who was clearly still worried about the situation, Arthur turned to make his leave.

Arthur went about his day, making up a list of chores for Merlin. His horse had thrown a shoe, so someone would need to get a stablehand to fix that quickly, and Merlin would need to polish his saddle. He had also noticed little pebbles around his bedroom that looked suspiciously like rat droppings, which he could not say he was pleased about. They hadn’t been there that morning, but neither had Merlin, so he hoped that there wasn’t an infestation that had previously gone unnoticed due to the frequency with which Arthur had Merlin clean.

Speaking of Merlin, he’d returned from his lunch with Gwen and Morgana looking morose, and had barely said a word all afternoon.
“Merlin, what is the matter? You’ve barely listened to a word I’ve said!”

“Sorry, Arthur. I’m just thinking about…stuff.”

“You’re thinking about stuff? I never thought we’d see the day.”

Merlin half-heartedly glared at Arthur’s teasing, but didn’t comment. Arthur decided to press the issue. “Merlin, what is bothering you?”

An almost imperceptible flash of surprise crossed Merlin’s features, before he looked down at his hands for a moment. Arthur gave him a second to collect his thoughts, and was grateful for having done so moments later, when Merlin finally looked up at him again, eyes shining. “I know that you’ll probably think I’m being a baby, or a girl, or some other vaguely offensive comparison, but I can’t help but think about the unicorn.”

Choosing to ignore the comment about Arthur comparing him to a girl (Morgana was the only girl he really knew, besides Gwen, and neither one of them cried ever) and focused on the fact that Merlin was clearly distressed about his father killing the unicorn. How had he even heard so quickly?

Arthur tried his best to seem contrite. “I know. I am sure unicorns are as beautiful as they are rare. My father should not have wasted its life.”

“It’s not just that, it's -” Merlin cut himself off, eyeing Arthur warily.

“Merlin, whatever your concern is, you can share it with me. It will not leave this room if you do not wish it to.” Merlin smiled at Arthur then, and Arthur mentally gave himself a pat on the back in getting his friend to smile.

“I’m concerned for Camelot. I’ve heard, from…places, and uh, people, that killing a unicorn can have magical consequences.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “I share your concern. I was under the impression that such creatures were tied to powerful magic. Killing one is dangerous. But so far, nothing has befallen my father or Camelot, so perhaps that is simply a myth.”

“I hope so, sire. I just- I have a bad feeling.”

The topic was dropped from the conversation shortly thereafter, and Arthur hoped that would be the last of it.

It was not.

The ride back from the wheat fields was somber. Uther was in a bad mood, faced with a hunger crisis in the kingdom, and Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with the odd feeling Merlin had had the night before. It was quite the coincidence that his father had killed the unicorn only yesterday and today all of the wheat in Camelot had rotted through.

Hopefully, the two incidents weren’t truly related, and Gaius would be able to find a natural cause for the loss of crop.

The more the week went on, the less confident Arthur was that the unicorn had nothing to do with the recent string of bad luck. In two days, all of Camelot’s wheat and grain crop, livestock, and water had been completely diminished. All that was left was what had been picked and stocked already in storage, and Uther was not about to ration out more than what he believed the people needed to scrape by. It was more important to him to keep the Royal Household and the knights and guards fighting fit, and let the people starve. Arthur knew that Morgana and Gwen were sneaking extra rations and food to the people who waited on the long lines to get their legally allotted amount, and he was inclined to allow it. There was no reason he felt his people should go hungry when he and his family stayed well-fed. As a result, Merlin had had to get… a little creative with supper. Arthur still had to shudder every time he thought of the rat stew. Ugh.

And now, he stood in the center of the citadel, ordering his knights to patrol the area and make sure no one left their homes past the curfew. As much as he was loath to admit it, desperate times did breed mistrust and misdeeds, and it was one of the only ways the Pendragons could protect the storage of supplies left: making sure no one could access it at night to steal more than what than their share. Of course, his night was already off to a bad start, as he watched his errant manservant walk right up to him, disregarding the curfew entirely.

“Merlin, you do realize there is a curfew?”

“Yeah, I was in your chambers trying to find another rat.”

“Oh joy, more rat stew.”

“Yes, the height of cuisine.”

“You should go home, Merlin. It’d be embarrassing to lock up my own servant for breaking the curfew.” Merlin went to retort back, but Arthur didn’t hear his response. Over Merlin’s shoulder he watched as a figure in white passed through a corridor in a lower corridor of the castle.

“What was that?”

“What?” Merlin turned around to look at what Arthur was looking at, but the figure was gone. Arthur gave chase, Merlin hot on his heels.

“Arthur, what -”
“Shh!” Arthur put his finger to his mouth. “There is a man roaming around here. I’d like to catch him and question what he is doing.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows, but didn’t reply. The two crept into the corridor, just in time to see the figure in white disappear around a corner. Perfect. If he went one way, and Merlin went another way, they could cut him off and Arthur would be able to get to the bottom of who this stranger was and what he was doing creeping around the castle after dark during a curfew. He gestured to Merlin, communicating this plan, and Merlin nodded severely in understanding. Arthur turned and began creeping down the corridor, but came up short as he heard soft footfalls behind him.

“Merlin!” He hissed.

“What?”

“This,” Arthur repeated his earlier gestures, “means you go the other way and cut him off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was trying to be a better friend, but sometimes Merlin really did make it difficult.

He made his way around the corridor, poised and ready for attack, moving quickly and quietly. Soon, he realized he had walked the whole loop, as he happened upon the same iron staircase he’d started out in front of, Merlin approaching from the opposite direction.

“Where is he?”

“I didn’t see anyone.” Merlin looked equally as puzzled.

“He was right here! How did he get past us?”

“Arthur, no one passed me.”

“But -”

“Are you looking for me?” Arthur was slightly ashamed to admit he was startled a bit at the sound of the voice suddenly coming from his left, but he saw Merlin physically jump so he supposed it was understandable. Beside them, appearing almost as if by magic, was the figure he’d seen. Upon closer inspection Arthur could now tell that the figure was an older man wearing a greyish white cloak, sporting a rather long beard.

“I am Anhora, Keeper of the Unicorns.”

Brilliant. The unicorn his father had killed had a magic guardian who no doubt was not here to simply wish the kingdom well. What a fantastic development.

“Camelot is under curfew. What is your business here?”

“I came to deliver a message.”

“And who is this message for?”

“It was meant for Uther Pendragon, but perhaps his son might be a better listener.” The man shot an odd glance at Merlin, which set off alarm bells in Arthur’s head. This man had best not be threatening Merlin in exchange for his cooperation. Arthur moved slightly in front of his friend. “What is this message?”

“When Uther killed the unicorn, he unleashed a curse. For this, Camelot will suffer greatly.” Of course he did. Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised at this point.

“How might we break this curse?”
“Under normal circumstances, it would fall to the unicorn slayer to prove his worth, but I doubt there is much left of value in the heart of Uther Pendragon. But you, as his heir and future king, may undergo a series of tests in his place. If you can prove yourself and make amends on your father’s behalf, Camelot will be spared. But if you fail, Camelot will be damned for all eternity.” And then the man was gone. Arthur sighed.

“Well, that was dramatic,” Merlin deadpanned from slightly behind Arthur. The Prince had to agree. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long week.

The following night, Arthur had volunteered for guard duty to make sure no one broke in and stole from the grain stores. He’d spent the day mulling over what Anhora had said in his mind. Merlin seemed to think that Anhora was telling the truth, and Arthur was inclined to agree - the man could appear and disappear at will - but he also had doubts that he could truly prove himself in face of his father’s misdeeds. Annoyingly, Merlin had seemed pretty confident in his master’s ability to pass a series of magical tests, and so Arthur had punished this attitude by making him come along for the late night guarding of grain. An unforeseen side effect of this was that Merlin wouldn’t stop yawning.

Arthur, with the patience of saints, restrained against the urge to make a smiting comment about Merlin’s lack of attention - because he is a good friend - and kept vigilant.

After hours of sitting in relative silence (beyond Merlin smacking his lips to fight dehydration and Arthur’s stomach growling) Arthur was beginning to believe there would be no intruders that night. He took to gazing at Merlin, who sat on his bum in the doorway, leaning against the stone arch, eyes half-lidded and sleepy. In an odd way, Arthur had to admit to himself that Merlin was, in a sense, cute. Not that Arthur would ever say such a thing out loud - no way. He definitely did not feel that way for Merlin, only the fondness of friendship, and besides - Arthur’s soul was promised to the all-powerful Emrys. Not to mention, Merlin was nearly three years his junior, and in many ways still just a boy - any dalliance with him was sure to feel like the Prince was taking advantage. But still, Arthur found it near impossible to tear his eyes away from his manservant’s face. In fact, he was so busy looking at Merlin, he nearly missed the figure creeping through the darkness towards the grain stores.

“Merlin!” Arthur hissed, gently nudging the boy in question with his boot. “Someone is coming!”

At once, Merlin’s eyes widened, and he shook off the sleepiness as he got to his feet. Arthur gestured for him to hide and wait, to hopefully cut the thief off. Unlike the previous night, Merlin understood the plan right away, and the two moved in sync to catch their intruder.

“Show yourself, before I run you through.”

The figure froze and turned, revealing a terrified looking peasant man. He seemed to be not too much older than Arthur, and the Prince watched as the man trembled.

“Who are you?” Arthur questioned him.

“My name is… my name is…” The man stammered, but Arthur let him collect himself.

“My name is Evan, my lord.”

As Merlin came out of hiding behind him, Arthur looked at the man- Evan, scrutinously.

“I see you think you can help yourself to our grain reserves. My father has ordered that looters be executed.”

“Please, My Lord. I- I do not steal for myself. I have three children - they have not eaten for two days. They are hungry.” Evan begged, close to tears.

“It's the same for everyone.”

“I... I know that it is wrong to steal. I couldn't bear to see them starve.”

“And could you bear for your children to see you be executed?” The ringing silence that followed Arthur’s challenge was answer enough. But this man was not committing his crimes out of malice or evil, but out of love and desperation. Arthur could empathize with this.

“Then you should go home. If you're caught stealing again, I will not spare you.”

Evan, having been held up by some invisible source, seemed to sag in relief upon Arthur’s dismissal.
“Yes, My Lord. Thank you.”

But as he turned, Arthur thought of those little children, likely home right now, struggling and starving. In this moment, he may not have had the power to help all of the children of Camelot, but he had the opportunity to help out the three that belonged to this man. He thought of Morgana, who spent her days since this famine began sneaking extra rations out of the royal kitchens and to the people, particularly those with children, and was likely sharing her own food with Gwen. He thought of his father ordering that extra supplies be kept for the royal household as though they were more important than the average citizen. And he thought of Merlin, who didn’t look like he ate under normal circumstances, who had spent most of the day hunting for more rats and other small animals, despite his usual hesitancy to kill even the most insignificant of creatures, just so his Prince would not go hungry.

“Wait,” Arthur threw Evan a bag of grain. “Use it sparingly. It might be the last food you and your family get for some time.”

Evan caught the bag, and the change in his demeanor was immediate. No longer was the man a sniffling mess; he stood his shoulders back and his head held high. He looked Arthur right in the eye. “You have shown yourself to be merciful and kind, my Lord. This will bring its own reward,” he intoned, before vanishing into thin air.

Arthur felt his own eyes grow wide and glanced over at Merlin, who met his gaze with an equal expression of surprise: he had passed the first test.

The next day, Arthur insisted that rather than eat any breakfast, Merlin have the Prince’s portion, before setting out to the forest to find Anhora and complete the tests he had set forth.

“Do you believe we can find him, sire?”

“I hope so. I hate being beholden to another for something as important as keeping the people of the kingdom alive. If this Anhora wants me to prove myself, then he should let me do so and be done with it. Every day children and their families are starving and thirsty, and the food is dwindling. It is not fair that they be punished for my father’s actions.”

Merlin didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem to disagree with Arthur either - he, like Arthur, was very concerned for the people of Camelot and their survival in all this.

“I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for,” Merlin said instead.

“You're looking for footprints or broken branches. Anything that would indicate someone passed that…” Arthur trailed off as his eyes found a figure up ahead of him, a slow moving silhouette in a white cloak. Anhora.

“Merlin! Merlin, he’s here!” Arthur took off after the man, who despite seeming slow, evaded Arthur’s pursuit. As he came across a small dip in the terrain, he found himself not face to face with the sorcerer, but with Evan.

Arthur came up short, his brain working fast. Evan was the man who he and Merlin had caught stealing the night before. But then, Evan had said he had starving children to feed, and Arthur had felt badly and let him take some of the grain with no consequences other than a warning. Now, here the man was, camping all alone, with no children in sight.

Arthur had suspected Evan had been one of the tests, but his people were starving - it was not fair that Anhora’s test had cost a bag of grain, potentially starving a real family that could have used it. He called out “Evan!”

Evan turned, but lacked surprise - it seemed he was expecting Arthur.

“We meet again, Pendragon.”

“What kind of man lies about starving children to steal grain from those who need it?”

“Ah, but you let me steal the grain. You would let your people starve because you let just anyone steal it. This is why your people doubt you.”

“What on Earth are you talking about? I let you take the grain because I believed you and your family to be part of my kingdom, and part of the people. If this is one of Anhora’s tests, I surely do not understand it. How am I to prove myself when you are taking grain from my people and tricking me into allowing it?”

“Your father would never allow himself to be fooled like that.”

“Well, it is a good thing my father is not the one who stands trial to these ridiculous tricks. You know nothing of what my father thinks, but I can be sure he would have strung you up by your ankles, rather than show mercy, children or not.”

“I think the King wishes he had another son, one worthy of taking his place. You shame him.”

Arthur, for lack of a better term, was confused. He had agreed to partake in the tests Anhora deemed necessary to lift the curse his father had doomed Camelot to facing, but this Evan character seemed dead set on picking apart Arthur’s own character until Arthur lashed out. Was that the test? Get under the prince’s skin and see what happens? Arthur may have had a sheltered upbringing, but he was reasonably sure even the most common of folk would not allow someone to speak to them this way. Even Merlin and Gwen, who had been raised as peasants, had enough pride to stand up for their family in the face of ridicule. His father may have been ashamed of Arthur, but his father was a difficult man to please, and Arthur felt that their relationship should be his own business, not the business of the unicorns.

“The King must fear the day you take the throne.” Okay, now this is getting a little personal.

“Stop this at once. I will not listen to this.”

“He fears you do not have the strength to defeat his enemies. The King must wonder if you are really his son.” Arthur took a swing at Evan, who would not shut up, and found his fist flying straight through the air. As he stumbled to regain his balance, a voice appeared from behind him.

“Why did you strike this man?” Arthur turned to Anhora standing behind him like he’d been there all along. Evan was nowhere in sight.

“He was taunting me. I suppose this was one of your tests. What did it prove exactly?”

“It was to determine what was in your heart.”

“What does that mean?”

“You could have chosen to ignore his taunts. What harm would they do to you?”

Arthur had no answer for that.

“You have shown you would strike a man to defend your pride. You have failed the test. For this Camelot will pay dearly.”

Stomach dropping, Arthur gaped at the cloaked figure. “My people have done nothing.”

“Your people’s suffering is not my doing. It is yours.” And with that, Anhora disappeared.

Arthur stood in the forest for a second, barely feeling the way his eyes burned, and his chest tightened. All he could focus on was Anhora’s last words: Your people’s suffering is not my doing. It is yours. But that was unfair and untrue; the people’s suffering was his father’s fault. People were always blaming him for his father’s actions, always assuming that he agreed simply because it was expected of him. His father, the townspeople, various sorcerers of different moral values. How could he make people believe that just because he was his father’s son, did not make him his father’s shadow? He was his own man, and a tired and confused one at that; all his life he’d been anticipating his destiny with Emrys and Albion, and all his life he’d had to hide behind propriety and his father’s will, unable to show his true colors. Now, this old crumpet thought he was so similar to his father, that he might as well take on responsibility - for the unicorn, for the curse, and for the suffering of the people.

“Arthur? Arthur?”

Arthur heard Merlin off in the distance, making his way closer. Merlin was the first person to really see Arthur for he was, not just Crown Prince of Camelot, son and heir of King Uther, and not a The Once and Future King, a Prince of Destiny. Merlin saw Arthur. A young man desperate to do the right thing for his people, to fulfill his destiny, to please his father, all without losing his mind. Morgana may have started to truly see him for he was in the recent months since he helped smuggle the druid boy out of Camelot, but even she took a decade to look further than the gold circlet on his head. With Merlin, it was different. With Merlin, it was natural.

Merlin, for his part, found Arthur kneeling in a ditch, near hyperventilating, eyes wet with unshed tears. He didn’t speak a word - he just pulled Arthur to his feet and brushed him off, and began gently guiding him back to Camelot, back to the safety and comfort of his home.

“Give the order to stop distributing food to the people. Is that understood?”

Arthur stared at his father in disbelief. “You'll have to give that order yourself.”

Uther rolled his eyes and glared at his son. “Very well. But if you'd caught the sorcerer, I would not have to. That's your responsibility! One day you will understand what it takes to be King!”

Arthur slammed into his bed chambers, huffing and puffing. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and his mind swam with jumbled thoughts. Upon returning to Camelot after his fateful interaction with Evan and Anhora, Arthur had been summoned to the grain stores, where he’d had to report his failure to “arrest’ the sorcerer responsible for the kingdom’s misfortune, and learn that what little food they still had was gone. Still smarting from Evan’s taunts, he recused himself of giving the order to starve the citizens, only for his father to confirm that he indeed did not think Arthur had what it took to be King. Arthur did not understand - how could he prove his worth if he was constantly being set up for failure by expectations and associations over which he had no control?

He seethed as he looked out over the citadel, watching the innocents make their way about their day, none the wiser to their imminent demise, as ordered by the King of Camelot himself. He vaguely heard Merlin enter the chamber and begin puttering about, not really working but still keeping up the appearance of business.

“They do not yet know there is worse to come.” He spoke to Merlin for the first time since the servant had found him kneeling in the ditch Anhora had left him in.

“What do you mean?”

“My father is going to stop distributing food to the people. They are to be left to starve. I had a chance to lift the curse. And I failed them.”

For a moment, Merlin didn’t say anything, and as Arthur stood facing the window, his back to his servant- no, his friend - he wondered just how devastating Merlin’s anger would be; for surely the boy would blame him too. But, as in many things, Merlin surprised him: a thin, cold hand suddenly appeared on Arthur’s arm, supporting and comforting.
“It is not your fault, Arthur. You weren’t to know what you were being tested for. And it should never have been your responsibility in the first place. You did not kill the unicorn, The King did, and he should be the one held accountable. No one blames you.”

“I am an extension of the Crown, so long as I am heir and Crown Prince. What the King does is what I must uphold. The people may not blame me now, but were they to find out why the curse was placed on them in the first place -”

“They would still never blame you, Arthur. And anyone who would is a clotpole. You will be a great King, and anyone with any sense can see that.” The way Merlin spoke sounded as if he had a particular person in mind, who might’ve implied Arthur wasn’t ready for the Kingship, but Arthur may have been imagining it. Afterall, it would be borderline treason to imply the King was nonsensical.

Arthur raised his hand to clasp Merlin’s where it rests on his sleeve. He doesn’t have a response, but he does feel a swell of something new in his lungs as he digests what Merlin has just said. One thing is for certain: if they do manage to save the kingdom, Arthur will never think of Merlin as anything less than a dear friend again.

Arthur barely remembers going to bed that night, but the next thing he knows is he’s being shaken awake by the very same hands that he held the night before. “Arthur! You’ve got to get up! We need to go!”

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, groggily. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“I spoke to Anhora, and you have to get to the Labyrinth of Gedref for the final test to save Camelot.”

Arthur shot out of bed. “You spoke to Anhora?! By yourself?!”

Merlin nodded like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Yes, I just said that. Are you sure you’re awake?”

“How on earth did you even find him?”

“Oh, you know, I just went into the woods and called his name and he appeared. Very dramatic if you ask me.” With all the nonchalance of a less intelligent man, Merlin went about pulling clothes for Arthur from the wardrobe, acting as though him just walking out into the woods in the middle of the night, successfully summoning a mysterious sorcerer and setting up another test on behalf of the Crown Prince to save all of Camelot was a regular evening activity for him. This was why Arthur had thought him to be rather odd when they first met - it was these kinds of antics.

“Let me come with you. You don’t know what form this test will take. I might be able to help.”

“No Merlin - I am grateful to you for finding Anhora and convincing him to allow me another chance, but I do not want you in harm’s way. The man has already doomed the entire kingdom, why would he hesitate to kill my manservant?”

“But, Arthur -”

“No, Merlin. For once, please, do as I ask?”

Merlin looked torn. Finally he acquiesced, “Yes, sire.”

And so, in the small hours of the morning, Arthur Pendragon set out to the Labyrinth of Gedref on a quest to save his people, all on his own.

Perhaps, in the small hours of the morning, when Arthur had set out on his quest, he had been all alone. But by mid-morning, he had learned this was not the case - for his insolent, idiotic, and absurdly brave friend and manservant, Merlin, had followed him. As Arthur made his way out the back of the Labyrinth, he was greeted by the sight of the ocean, a beautiful landscape of white and dark blue, salt-sprinkled air, and golden sand. And of course, sitting at a small table with chairs on either side, and Anhora towering above him, was Merlin.

Arthur glared at Anhora. “Let him go. Your business is with me, not my manservant.”

“I cannot. Merlin is part of the test. Please sit. If you refuse the test, you will have failed and Camelot will be destroyed.”

Arthur grit his teeth, and marched over the table, sitting on the other side of it. “I told you to stay at home.”

Merlin looked back at him, a sheepish expression on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“There are two goblets before you,” Angora began. “One of the goblets contains a deadly poison, the other goblet, a harmless liquid. All the liquid from both goblets must be drunk, but each of you may only drink from a single goblet.”

Privately, Arthur thought that perhaps this was the most ridiculous test yet. He absolutely would never allow Merlin to drink poison for him. Well, at least not a second time - that whole chalice business from last year was sufficient.

“Let's think about this. What if I drink from my goblet first?”

“If it's poisoned, you'll die.”

“And if it's not, then you'll have to drink from yours, and you'll die. There must be a way around it.”

Arthur sighed. “It is perfectly simple. One of us has to die. We have to find a way to determine which goblet has the poison. And then I'll drink it.”

“I will be the one to drink it,” Merlin glared.

“No. I am the Prince and it is my kingdom, and my father who has doomed it. I will drink it.”

“It is more important that you live. You're the future king. I'm just a servant.”

“That is not true!” Arthur exclaimed fiercely. “You are not just a servant, you are my friend. And I will not allow you to drink the poison for me.”

Merlin looked at Arthur a bit startled. Arthur sighed again, “I'm glad you are here, Merlin.” Despite his disappointment that Merlin disregarded his orders and threw himself into danger, he was glad that it was his friend who was with him now, in what was surely to be his last moments. Merlin smiled back at him, but did not comment on the declaration. They may be friends, but they were not yet comfortable enough with sharing their feelings so explicitly.

Suddenly, Merlin’s eyes lit up. “I've got it. Right, we pour all the liquid into one goblet and then we can be sure it is poisoned. Then all the liquid can be drunk, and it will be from a single goblet.”

Arthur felt himself smile sadly. “You never cease to surprise me Merlin.”

“Is that actually a compliment?” Merlin teased back. This was Arthur’s chance. If he didn’t do something now, Merlin was sure to try and sacrifice himself like the idiot he was. “Look out!” he shouted, glancing just over Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin jumped and spun around to glance in the direction Arthur had, and in that instant, Arthur grabbed the cup in front of Merlin and dumped it into his own.

Merlin, who had realized it was a ruse, turned back around and gasped. “No, let me drink it!”

Arthur looked his friend in the eye, “It is my responsibility, as is your safety. It is too late. Thank you for being a friend Merlin,” and gulped down the contents of both goblets.

He felt the effects instantly. His vision swam, and the world felt off kilter. Arthur vaguely heard his friend shouting. “Arthur! Arthur!” He was sorry that Merlin would be stuck with the task of returning his body to the King, but it was the price to pay to make sure the boy stayed alive and safe, and his people were no longer doomed. As Arthur dropped off into an endless slumber, he briefly felt the same small hands from the night before, fluttering about his face, and then he felt no more.

Arthur felt no more, until the next morning, when the so-called endless sleep ended, and his eyes opened less than twelve hours after they had closed.

However, instead of waking on a beach with Merlin and Anhora, Arthur felt the silken sheets of his own bed beneath his body, and saw the familiar wrinkling face of the Court Physician above him. “Gaius,” he croaked, voice graveled from lack of use.

“Hello there, sire. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been trampled by a stampede of horses.”

“Yes, I imagine so. It turns out Anhora gave you a strong sedative, rather than a deadly poison.”

Arthur groaned. “It was a trick?”

“Yes, sire. Lucky for you though. Merlin brought you back just as reports that the livestock and the crops had come back to life began flooding the citadel. The King is pleased, and concerned for your welfare.”

Arthur took a moment to comprehend this information. It was good that the curse had been lifted. Hopefully, this would be the end of the whole thing.

“I will inform your father that you are awake. Merlin should be by with some lunch in a little while, sire.” Gaius bowed long and deep, before tottering his way out of the room. As he opened the door, Merlin appeared on the other side of it, stopping the old man in his tracks. “Is he awake?” Arthur heard Merlin enquire. “He is, but he likely needs to rest for the rest of the day.”

The smile that adorned Merlin’s face could have lit the entirety of Camelot for days. “I’ll see to it that the royal prat stays in bed.” Though Arthur could only see the back of his head, he imagined Gaius raising his signature judgey eyebrow at the boy, and Merlin moved past him into the room, Gaius taking his leave and closing the door behind him.

“You are a complete and utter clotpole,” Merlin began, stomping over to Arthur’s bedside, a smile barely concealed by a false expression of frustration. “What were you thinking? Just because Anhora made this whole curse business overly dramatic, doesn’t mean you need to match that by drinking a goblet of supposed poison. What would I have told your father? As it is, I had to explain why I had to drag your unconscious behind all the way back, as you never saw fit to tell him you were even leaving. Did you know he almost threw me in the dungeons? Morgana and Gaius both had to intervene, or I’d be down there right now, and you’d likely be totally incapable of dressing, bathing, and feeding yourself. It’s a wonder I haven’t killed you myself by now, with all the trouble you’ve caused me since I came to Camelot.”

Arthur grinned. “You know, I could have you thrown in the stocks for speaking to me like that.”

Merlin’s smile finally broke free. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t do that. You need me too much.” And with that, Merlin started moving about the room, preparing it for the evening.

But the grin didn’t leave Arthur’s face, because Merlin was right - he did need Merlin. He had never had a true friend before, and now one had practically fallen in his lap, and he wasn’t about to ruin that. Not for anything in the whole world.

Chapter Text

To say Arthur was sick to his stomach would be an understatement. Over the past few days, his father had all but ruined his relationship with Morgana, had wrongfully imprisoned and executed a man, and had actually ruined the life of Morgana and Merlin’s dear friend (and someone Arthur hoped he could still call a friend). Poor Gwen had resolutely been at work every day since her father was killed, refusing to stop even though Arthur had promised her that her position was safe and she was entitled to some time off.

Since the whole business with Tom’s arrest, Arthur felt as though he’d been running interference for his father and the whole castle. Merlin had been vocal in his objections, and Arthur couldn’t say he didn’t share them, but it wouldn’t due to have Merlin locked up for treasonous words against the King too. It was bad enough that Morgana had been treated in such a way - and she was the King’s beloved ward. If Merlin got himself locked up, Arthur would have no hope of securing his release.

Getting his father to release Morgana had been no small feat - Uther had been raving mad when Arthur had sought his audience. Once again, the prince was struck with how accurate Morgana’s observations about Uther and his rule were. She had said he ruled only with the sword, and she had been right. When it came to magic, his father was unreasonable, unhinged, and unbearable. He’d managed to convince Uther that Morgana would never speak to him in such a way again - that she was upset for her maid. He’d reminded his father that since Morgana had come to Camelot those years ago, she had been lonely until Uther had hired Gwen, and because of the girl’s years in her service, Morgana felt an attachment to her. After what felt like an eternity, Uther had agreed to allow Arthur to release Morgana, under the impression that she had only spoken out of turn due to her fondness for Gwen and her heightened emotions as a woman. In Arthur’s opinion, Morgana had every right to be as upset as she was, woman or not, but father was nothing if not suck in his ways and beliefs.

He had felt as though everything might’ve been settling down earlier this morning, when Merlin had reported to him over breakfast that Morgana and Uther had planned a trip to visit Morgana’s father’s grave, and had asked for the day off to help Gwen get re-settled in her home, now that she was the sole occupant. Of course, Arthur had complied, and he had spent his day trying to unwind while training the knights. That was, until his father and Morgana’s entourage of knights returned, bearing the news that Uther and Morgana had been attacked by the sorcerer Tauren who had started this whole mess.

Merlin had returned too - only he had a rather impressive goose egg on his head, and hadn’t spoken a word.

“Merlin, are you alright?”

“What? Oh, yeah, I just banged my head a little. You know me, clumsy as a newborn foul.”

“Hmm. How is Guinevere?”

“Oh, uh, well, she is doing alright I suppose. As well as could be expected.” It is absolutely clear to Arthur that Merlin is hiding something, but whatever it is, Arthur feels too tired to really press the issue. Hopefully, if it’s something important, Merlin will tell him eventually.

As he began to wrap up his work for the night, both he and Merlin were startled by a swift but bard knock at his chamber door. They exchanged a look. “Enter!” Arthur called. The door opened to reveal a morose looking Morgana.
“I am sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping to talk with you for a moment.”

“I’ll go fetch your bathwater, sire.” Merlin did a little bow (for Morgana’s benefit of course - not out of real respect) and began to walk out of the room.

“Merlin!” Morgana reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Thank you for being there for Gwen when… I could not. I appreciate the friendship you have shown her.”

At her words, Merlin seemed to melt a little, and smiled sadly at her and said “Of course, my Lady. Gwen is my friend. It’s my pleasure,” before stepping out of the room.

“Morgana, how are you?” Arthur stood and crossed the room to stand in front of her. “I heard about what happened.”

“I am fine.”

“You were lucky to have been there together, or surely Tauren would not have been stopped.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” From the reserved answers, Arthur got the feeling something was on her mind. He was perplexed - Morgana never sought him out with her worries or troubles. She prided herself on voicing her opinions and shouldering her own burdens. He knew it was because she did not like to seem weak and fragile, but Arthur also knew what it was like to try and take on the world by yourself, with no one at your back for support. He’d been doing it his whole life.

“Is something bothering you, Morgana?”

There was a moment where Morgana simply looked at the floor. It seemed to last an eternity, and Arthur almost took a moment to look down and see what could possibly be so interesting, when Morgana looked up at him. To his surprise, her eyes looked wet and her lips trembled. “Morgana? What is wrong?”

“Do you ever wish that you were someone else?” she blurted out.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you ever wish that you were just a completely different person? Without all the responsibility of being a member of the Royal Household, without the rules and reputation? Maybe a farmer, or a cobbler, or an innkeeper. Just someone who lives a normal life, with normal people, and normal worries.”

Arthur took a deep breath. “Sometimes, yes. I do.” Morgana looked a bit surprised. “You do?”

“Of course. Especially this past week. I suspect the innkeepers and cobblers had a better time this week than anyone in the palace.”

Morgana nodded sagely.

“Where is this coming from Morgana?”

“I… I think I hate Uther. I… he…It’s just so unfair! I speak my mind and he throws me in the dungeons. And it’s not even the first time he has done it. He convicts people of crimes when they have committed none! He had Gwen’s father killed simply for performing his profession. But his decisions are entirely rash and based on his hatred for all that which he believes to be magic. No man, woman, or child is innocent when even accused of being associated with a magic user, let alone for using it themselves! He is a true tyrant!”

“Morgana -”
“And before you defend him, I understand that he believes he has good reason for distrusting magic. But doesn’t he see that if he stopped persecuting people for simply existing than Camelot would come under siege far less from the ire of those he has persecuted? He doesn’t see sense!”

“Morgana -”

“He was her father, Arthur. The only family she had in all of Camelot. She is all alone, just as I was when my father died. Uther never sent those reinforcements, I know it. He sent my father to die, and he slaughtered Gwen’s father, and he’s killed hundreds of fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers and children, and he feels no remorse, not truely. Not so long as their deaths have fed into his narrative in some way. Perhaps it is time he died instead of the innocents he would see burned at the pyre.” Morgana’s initial rage seemed to leave her here, and Arthur suddenly felt as though this might’ve been the one true conversation he and Morgana had ever had. Sure, they had been getting closer recently, but Morgana had never spoken to him about her father. He knew the story: her father went out to battle, under the impression that Uther would send the reinforcements Gorlois requested. But the reinforcements never arrived, or as Uther explained, they were late, and Gorlois was cut down.

Now, Arthur had a choice. He could do his princely duty: he could lecture Morgana about speaking treason, tell her to hold her tongue. He could report her to his father, call the guards, have her arrested and tried for threatening the life of the King. But Arthur understood - his father was unfair and unjust, and while he had not gone so far as to actively wish him dead, Arthur was starting to lose his patience with his father’s violent whims. So no, he would not be making the choice to betray Morgana. He would make a different choice instead.

He stepped forward towards Morgana’s person, and gently reached out and pulled her to him in a gentle hug. In the years that she had lived in the palace with the Pendragons, Arthur and Morgana had never hugged, often even actively avoiding each other. But here she was in his chambers, bearing her heart on her sleeve, searching for comfort from the only person in the entire kingdom who might comprehend what she was feeling. It only made sense that he granted her that need, even though he had no recollection of the last time anyone had taken a moment to hug him. And that, he supposed, was part of the problem; he was the Crown Prince and she was the King’s Ward, and there was no one in all of Albion who they could hug without causing some sort of scandal, except each other. And judging by the way she wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her head into his shoulder as he tightened his own grip, it was the kind of connection they’d both been craving.

“Morgana, I’m sorry,” He whispered. If his shoulder had begun to feel damp, then he didn’t feel the need to acknowledge it.

“When I am King, it will be different. I promise you. But until then, all we can do is try to mediate between my father’s temper and his actions - something I have been trying to accomplish since we found the gold Tauren gave Tom. But I cannot do it alone; he doesn’t usually listen to me, just as he often rebuffs you. Perhaps, if we work together to try and quell his rage in these situations, or at least minimize the damage he does, then we will both be more successful. He is still my father, and I do not want to start my rule by committing regicide, nor do I want to have to imprison you. Please, just say you’ll try to control your anger towards him for now, and if you ever need to talk, I am here.”

Morgana pulled back from the embrace, just enough to look up at Arthur’s face. “I will try. I am sorry too.” She stepped back, trying to wipe her eyes as discreetly as possible.

“I also wanted to thank you for looking out for Gwen and her position here in Camelot,” she spoke again, this time with more levity in her voice. “I hear that she will never have to fear for her home and job, for she will always be welcome. You gave your word, did you?”

Arthur groaned. “Yes, it was the least I could do for her after what happened. It has nothing to do with any personal feelings I may or may not have.”

“It’s not every day a maid gets a personal guarantee from the Crown Prince, you see. It’s quite the discussion about the castle.”

“I do not like Gwen!”

“Of course not. Just as you do not care for your hounds and horses, or how you are not friends with your manservant, or how you did not accidentally drink a sedative given to you by a strange sorcerer in the woods.”

“What? Merlin is my - wait. How did you know I drank a sedative? Merlin told me everyone thought I went down in the heat of battle!”

“Merlin is my friend too. He revealed all that really happened with the unicorn shortly after he returned with you unconscious. I do believe he used the word “dramatic” quite a bit.”

Arthur groaned again. Morgana’s smile turned more serious. “Arthur, if we are to work together to protect the people from Uther’s rage, then I believe it would be best to be honest with one another. You were put in a terrible position due to his actions, and you didn’t tell anyone but Merlin, who might be a true friend, but is still only a boy. Next time, please, come to me. Between the four of us, we may be able to come up with a solution that doesn’t end with you trying to give your life as a sacrifice.”

Arthur nodded. “I cannot promise I will let you put yourself in danger for me, but you are right. Honesty is likely the best tool we have if we plan to unite in this endeavor for the people. I promise, I will come to you if there’s any more trouble. And you will do the same.”

“Of course.”

Morgana stayed for another hour, the two of them sharing a pitcher of wine and discussing theoretical plans should more magical danger arise in Camelot - which they both assumed there would be - and reminiscing on their youths - particularly when Morgana would beat Arthur at sword training and chess. It was the most pleasant evening Arthur could ever remember having with his surrogate sister. After she had left and Merlin had come and gone, readying the prince for sleep, Arthur lay in his bed awake. There was a lot he could be upset over - Gwen’s father, Merlin’s mysterious bump on the head, Morgana’s distress. But truth be told, all he could feel was hope: hope that after tonight, everything would be better between him and Morgana, and together the two of them might make a difference for the people of Camelot.

That is, if he managed to make it out of his next adventure alive.

Chapter Text

Being the only child in a castle had its moments.

Like now, as Arthur tiptoed down the dimly lit corridor, far away from the scrolls he’d been tasked to read by Geoffrey. It was a known fact - Geoffrey was old and stuffy. It was quite odd, mainly because Gaius was older still, but if Arthur played his cards right he’d at least get a sweet or two out of Gaius. Geoffrey never offered sweets. In fact, Arthur was convinced Geoffrey had been placed on this Earth specifically to make his life difficult.

Today, however, Geoffrey had been called away to matters of the court by the King, and Arthur had seen this as a great opportunity to do what he pleased. And as it happened, this involved sneaking down to the catacombs underneath the palace.

The catacombs were a dark and gloomy place, but there were no guards around once you got past the entrance. Far be it for Arthur to criticize his father’s guards - they weren’t the most attentive bunch, and Arthur found it relatively easy to slip past them. Once inside, Arthur would wander around for hours, mapping the tunnels and corridors, learning to navigate them as well as the palace above. One would think that someone would notice that the young Prince, only child and sole heir of the Pendragon line, had gone missing for hours at a time; Arthur realized early on that unless he missed dinner with his Father or his lessons with Geoffrey, no one seemed to notice a thing about his whereabouts. This was just as well - Arthur knew his independence was on a timeclock - next year, he would finally be ten summers old, and he would finally be allowed to begin his training as a knight. As the Prince, he would get to skip being a squire and go straight into combat training.

On one hand, Arthur was excited - he assumed that once he got to start spending time around the knights, particularly the younger ones closer in age to him, he’d finally have some sort of social life. It would be so good to have friendship after all his years being isolated. Right now, the only other person his age he ever got to see was Morgana, which wasn’t really so fun.

She had only arrived at the palace a month ago, and although she was a little less than a year older than him, Morgana seemed to be worlds ahead of him in maturity. She held herself like a Lady, where Arthur struggled to remember to stand up straight. She always knew just what to say to servants and common folk, as Arthur often stuttered, much to his father’s frustration. And she was clearly not afraid of Uther - she often asked him questions that Arthur would never dare ask, like ‘what’s so bad about magic?’ and ‘why are you raising the taxes?’

Upon her arrival, Arthur had hoped she would be friendly, and maybe they could play together - but unfortunately, on top of her courtliness, she so far had rebuked every offer to play. Gaius said that he shouldn’t take it personally, for she was grieving. She had just lost her father, and her mother was long dead. Arthur didn’t really know what it was like to have a dead father, but he did know what it was like to have no mother. And so he stopped asking her.

Though the idea of knight training was exciting, it was also bittersweet. Gone would be the days where he could sneak around without anyone noticing he was gone, and his freedom to be a boy would be effectively stolen. And so, Arthur thought he’d best get the most out of it now.

As he tiptoed down through the cavernous space below the palace, he let his mind wander. His father had forbidden talk of magic in his lessons, outside of the typical warnings of evil and corruption. But Arthur had heard the mutterings of tales of old - where knights saved damsels from towers, and dragons hoarded mountains of gold. Tales where princes and princesses fell madly in love upon first meeting, as though their souls were created by the Gods for one another, a matched pair. Arthur loved the feeling of it, of the promise that there was someone out there destined to love him like he was the sun, and they the moon - though he suspected if the knights ever found out they’d liken him to a girl.

The winding corridors of the catacombs stretched ever downward, and soon Arthur realized that in his daydream, he had accidentally ventured to a place he had never seen before. He halted as he heard a voice.

Arthur…Arthur…

The voice was unfamiliar, and rasping. At first Arthur could not tell where it had originated from.

Arthur…Arthur…

It was as if his feet moved all on their own, and Arthur found himself moving further into the strange corridor, a place he had never been to before, as though he had been there one hundred times. He followed the voice as it echoed in his mind, drawing him nearer and nearer to his destination. Distantly, a small part of Arthur mused that perhaps, he should be afraid. This was clearly magical in nature, and as far as he had been taught, magic was evil. But magic was also the thing in his stories and daydreams, and Arthur found himself trusting it intrinsically. As the voice grew louder, Arthur found himself descending down a narrow flight of steps, before the corridor opened into a great cavern, a room that must have been nearly miles below the citadel. At first, it seemed the room was empty; nothing was visible beyond a large bouldering mound, and large iron chain, almost comical in size. But then, Arthur saw him.

At first, all Arthur heard was a deep and terrifying fwopping sound, one that reminded him of birds - though no bird had ever reached such a volume in his experience. The next thing he noticed was the pulsing wind that nearly knocked his small frame off his feet - the pulsing was timed to the beat of the wings. And finally, as though descending from the heavens (or ascending from hell) he stood - the dragon.

“It is good to meet you, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur stood in wide-eyed shock. Before him stood a dragon, at least 50 times the size of a grown man, and who was clearly living below the castle. And he could speak.

“Do not be afraid, young Pendragon, I do not seek to harm you.”

“Who are you? Why are you here?”

The dragon chuckled. “I go by many names, but perhaps the one most commonly held within the walls of Camelot is The Great Dragon. As for how I came to be here, why, it was the will of Uther Pendragon, who imprisoned me in this place nearly a decade ago.”

“My father imprisoned you down here?” Arthur could not recall such a thing, and surely that would be part of lessons, would it not?

“Yes, though I am certain he has kept it from as many as he can. It would not do well for his cause to advertise that he was incapable of killing the last of my kind.”

“You are the last?” Arthur asked.

“I am. Uther saw to it.”

Arthur did not doubt that, at least. His father was always executing people for even the accusation of possessing magic - and he did not discriminate. Men, women, and children had all faced his wrath and been burned, drowned, or hanged. And Arthur had been made to witness them all, as a reminder of Camelot’s victory or magical treachery. It was horrific. As was the notion of his father killing every last dragon and imprisoning this one.

“I’m sorry.”

The Great Dragon raised an eyebrow, a gesture which reminded Arthur of Gaius, and hummed.

“You do not share your father’s beliefs?”

“I don’t know.” Arthur shrugged. He had only met this creature now, and something in him felt that though he could not trust him so easily yet, he could speak his inner mind without consequence.

The Dragon hummed again.

“You should not be afraid of magic, for magic is inside of you.”

Panic flashed in Arthur's mind. “I’m not a sorcerer!”

“I did not mean that you possess the ability to cast spells, young one. I merely meant that you are a being of destiny.”

“Destiny?”

“A great destiny, indeed. You are Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King. One day, you will be King of Camelot, and all of Albion will unite under your rule. And when you have succeeded, my kin, and others with magic will no longer have to live in fear of the tyrant King.”

Arthur felt a bit uneasy still, but could what the Dragon was saying be true? Could he be such a great King that he would unite all the five kingdoms and bring back magic? “How can you be sure that this King is me?”

“Because, young Pendragon, Emrys is coming.”

“Emrys?”

The Dragon raised his head and peered down at Arthur from a new angle. “Emrys is said to be the most powerful magic user to ever walk the earth. It is his destiny to guide you in your rule, and to make sure you walk the right path to fulfill your own destiny. In many ways, you are two sides of the same coin.”

Arthur contemplated this for a moment. Maybe this Emrys person, who potentially was destined to help him, would be a good friend. Afterall, his own father, who had so few friends of his own, often said that only the most trusted men could advise the King. “This Emrys, you said he is coming. When will he get here?”

The Great Dragon chuckled. “He is on his way, but he will not appear just yet. He too is only just now beginning to grasp who he is, as you are.”

“But how will I know when he gets here, if I don’t know where he is?”

“You will know, young Pendragon. Emrys will make himself known within days of his arrival. You will be drawn to each other by destiny itself. You were both born for it.”

Oh, Arthur liked the sound of that. A person, who Arthur would just be able to see and know ‘yes, that’s him. That’s his other half’ without a doubt? A person born to know him, perhaps even to love him? To Arthur, that sounded like the greatest destiny in the whole world. It was like the fairy tales he had been forbidden from knowing - where the prince and the princess find true love at the end. A pair of soulmates.

He looked up at the Dragon shyly. “Will Emrys be my best friend?”

The Dragon cocked his head to the side in consideration. “That, I believe, is up to you and he, young one. Though I suspect it may be the case.”

Arthur beamed up at the creature. “Then I can’t wait for him to get here! I’ve always wanted a best friend!”

Years from now, Arthur will look back on his first meeting with The Great Dragon with frustration - for it would take over a decade for Emrys to finally arrive, and even a few more years for him to reveal himself to Arthur. But more often than not, he will feel sorrow for the little boy he was, who looked up at one of the most fearsome and wise (albeit annoying) beings in Albion and exclaimed how his greatest wish was simply for someone to like him. He will wish that he could go back in time and hold that little boy’s hand, and tell him - that one day not only would someone love him, he’d be loved by many. He would be loved for himself, and not for his station - and in return, he’d love them back with a ferocity greater than any dragon’s breath.

Arthur couldn’t avoid hunting forever. He did really enjoy the pastime, but not only that - his father would likely become suspicious if Arthur simply never hunted again just to make his manservant happy. And so, Arthur organized a hunt for one bright summer morning, and he, his knights, and Merlin all set out to traverse the woods in search of big game.

The hunting party moved through the trees as quietly as possible, which, unfortunately, was not as quietly as Arthur would’ve liked. Merlin tended to trip over his own feet and drop supplies from time to time, scaring off the animals and frustrating Arthur to no end. He tried to keep a rein on his temper, but ultimately it got the better of him.

“Mer-lin,” He whispered. “Are you trying to alert the whole forest as to our whereabouts?”

“It’s not my fault you lot are moving so slowly,” Merlin retorted. “We could’ve been and gone if you actually loosed an arrow at something, instead of creeping about and staring at deer from afar.”

“That’s how hunting is done, Merlin. If we don’t ‘creep about,’ we’ll scare away the game.”

“I think your prattish appearance is enough to scare away the game.”

The two bickered for a moment, much to the amusement of the knights, as the bushes ahead of them rustled. The party moved forward, creeping about just as Merlin observed; as they came up to the bush, Arthur heard a low growling sound. Glancing over at Merlin, he could see fear and apprehension on his friend’s face. Arthur had to admit, he’d never heard such a noise coming from a deer or a boar, but game is game, and he had yet to catch anything. He tried to reassure Merlin.

“I’m sure it’s more scared of you than you are of it.”

As soon as he spoke, the beast leapt from the bush, starting the whole party. Arthur dropped the spear he was holding and stared for a brief moment - the creature was unlike anything he’d ever seen, and he was certain it wasn’t scared at all.

The creature’s body was spotted, with huge muscular forelegs and hind legs, and a swishing tail. It seemed to be covered in a brown and white fur of some sort, like a large cat-like creature, almost as though it were a leopard. However, Arthur was reasonably certain that a leopard was much different than this animal, for its head became green and scaly. It hissed and its mouth opened to reveal large fang like incisors, and a forked tongue. Without thinking about it, Arthur felt his legs begin to turn and run, stopping only when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin go down.

Merlin! Every internal alarm bell in Arthur’s mind began to clang loudly and obnoxiously as his brain registered his dear friend lying prone in the grass. Without thinking, Arthur reached out and grabbed Merlin’s arm, and pulled him to his feet. It seemed as though he was not the only one who saw Merlin’s peril, as suddenly at Merlin’s other side was Sir Bedivere, helping to drag Merlin back and away from the beast. The three turned tail and ran as fast as they could after the other knights.

The adrenaline pushed them onwards, away from the hissing and growling. Arthur had no awareness of his surroundings - all he felt was the burn in his thighs and stomach, and Merlin’s hand in his grip. Had he been paying more attention to detail, he might’ve noticed that Bedivere was no longer with them. He also might’ve noticed the faint voice whispering into his mind: Arthur…Arthur…
Soon, they caught up to the other knights, who had gone as far as the tree line, and were set waiting with swords drawn.

“Have we lost it?” Merlin asked, regrettably letting go of Arthur’s hand.

There were no more discernible sounds of growling or hissing, and Arthur looked around in the direction they came from, eyes scanning for any sign of disturbance or pursuit. There was nothing. They had lost it. Sighing in relief, Arthur turned back to his knights, reflexively doing a headcount. They were one man short.

“Who’s missing?” The men looked about themselves, hoping to name their missing comrade, when Merlin’s voice cut through the confusion: “Where’s Sir Bedivere?”

Bedivere was nowhere. With a timing that only the universe could pull off, the sounds of a man’s screams filled the woods around them, anchoring them into place.

Sir Bedivere had been killed by the beast.

Arthur gulped. “We will go back to the citadel at once,” he spoke, his princely-voice falling into place to mask the fear and grief that was sure to be present in his timbre had he been any other man.

“But Sire, -” a young knight, Nathaniell, interjected with thinly veiled concern. “What about Bedivere?”

“He gave his life for the citizens of Camelot. He will be remembered with honor, but only if we live to tell his tale. We must get back and report to the King immediately.” The knights knew an order when they heard one, and warily the party began the trek back to the city. With a sense of concern that Arthur chose not to examine too closely, he gripped the arm of Merlin’s jacket to keep him close.

Uther Pendragon was clearly insane. Arthur watched on as his father practically growled at Gaius, as Gaius tried to warn the king of impending danger.

“I have conquered the Old Religion. It's warnings mean nothing to me now. Arthur will destroy the beast and we will no longer suffer at its hand.”

By the gods - his father might’ve single-handedly led the largest slaughtering of magic users in known history, and he may have outlawed and purged magic from Camelot, but the world was much bigger than that - at least four more Kingdoms worth. And to claim to have conquered a religion? If the prophecy of the Once and Future King was to be believed - and Arthur, all of the druids, and a large dragon all did believe it - then magic or gods or Emrys himself was obviously a more formidable foe than the likes of Uther Pendragon, mere mortal. Not to mention, he barely had faith in Arthur at the best of times - where was this sudden confidence in his ability to face and successfully vanquish this magical beast coming from? Did he truly believe Arthur to be capable, or was this simply a form of posturing over the likes of magic and sorcery?

For his part, Arthur didn’t know if he was capable of killing the Questing Beast - at least not on his own. It would be awfully convenient if Emrys would reveal himself right about now and offer his assistance; Arthur was going to need all the help he could get.

He made a hasty retreat to his chambers, as his father seethed about Gaius even speaking to the very notion that an ancient prophetic beast may or may not be more powerful than one Pendragon prince, and is somewhat disappointed to see Merlin is absent. But it was no matter - there probably wasn’t a whole lot Merlin could do to cheer Arthur up at this point.

Tomorrow, he and his knights were riding out to certain death, if Gaius was to be believed, and if he failed he had a feeling his father might just disown him for good - well, if he lived that was. Not for the first time, Arthur questioned how this could be his life. Of all the people who could be prince, of all the princes who could have prophecies written about them, of all the people with prophecies who could have Uther Pendragon as a father - it didn’t seem fair.

As Arthur turned in for the night, thoughts and doubts swirling in his mind, he heard a voice calling from deep within his soul.

Arthur…Arthur…

Arthur shot straight up in bed. Had he heard what he thought he’d heard?

Arthur…Arthur…

“Okay, okay,” Arthur whispered to himself as he pulled himself back out of bed and into his boots. He tried to keep his breathing even as he snuck out of his chambers and into the corridor. He followed the voice down into the belly of the palace, past a dozen guards, down below the dungeons, into a huge cavern. As he stood on the ledge, Arthur felt every muscle in his body tense - he had been summoned here.

A great breeze pushed his hair back suddenly, and descending from high in the cavern, the beast batted his wings down to a perch just across the chasm, leaning down to get a good look at Arthur as the Prince looked up at him in what he hoped was well-masked fear.

“Hello again, young Pendragon.” The Great Dragon spoke. His voice was ancient and all-encompassing, as it reverberated across stone walls and threatened to knock Arthur right off his feet. “It has been sometime since we last spoke.”

“You told me not to return.” Arthur argued, an attempt to seem bold and unafraid. “So I did not.”

“Then, it was too dangerous. Now, it is necessary. You must not attempt to kill the Questing Beast.”

“Why not? It cannot be allowed to continue killing indiscriminately.”

“The beast is always a harbinger of misfortune. Once the danger has passed, it will retreat to where it has been.”

“But in the meantime, it will continue to kill innocent citizens!”

“If you face the beast,” the Dragon warned, “there is every possibility that you may die. That cannot come to pass.”

“If what you told me all those years ago is true, then it won’t. Emrys will protect me.”

The Dragon’s face shifted, and Arthur was reminded of the Gaius’ signature raised eyebrow.

“You have faith in Emrys, young Pendragon. Has he yet revealed himself to you?”

“Not yet, but surely he will be watching over me as you said. If I die, he’s out of a job and a destiny.”

The Dragon seemed to mull this over. “Face the Questing Beast if you must. But be warned: its presence is a warning of danger that has already dawned, and the time of prophecy is moving fast upon us. You will do well to remember that.”

“I will, I promise.”

“Very well. Farewell, young Pendragon.” The Great Dragon flapped his wings and soared into the darkness of the space above the cavern, the giant chain imprisoning him there clinking behind him.

As Arthur made his way back up to his rooms, he tried to rationalize all the Dragon had told him. What was this imposing danger that he had spoken about, and if the Questing Beast was only the warning, what on Earth could the actual danger entail?

As Arthur put himself back to bed, he couldn’t quiet the questions that swirled in his mind. Where was Emrys, and when would Arthur finally meet him? Would he be able to face the Questing Beast and win? Would the upcoming danger that the dragon warned about come to pass, and how bad would it be for Arthur and Camelot? He could not stop dwelling in his thoughts.

It was a long and sleepless night.

The morning came too quickly. As Arthur made his way through the palace to meet with his knights, he pondered what he was going to say. He knew he had to say something - what kind of leader would he be if he didn’t acknowledge and encourage the bravery of his men to follow their Prince into a battle that would surely mean casualty? Yet, Arthur found himself grasping at straws. The only reason he hadn’t fought his father and had argued with the dragon was that allowing the Questing Beast to continue to terrorize the people as it was now would be a disaster. So many lives would be lost.

Arthur reached the front of the palace, where the knights were waiting, a somber blanket of muteness having fallen over them in anticipation of the worst. Merlin joined Arthur at his side, anxiety radiating off of his manservant. He took a deep breath, and spoke: “You've seen the foe we face. It's a creature of nightmare, but you are the best knights in the realm. We can, and we will, kill it before it harms another citizen of our kingdom.”

Arthur drew his sword and gestured it to the skies. “For the love of Camelot!”

The knights responded in kind, mimicking the gesture. “For the love of Camelot!”

“ARTHUR!” A woman’s piercing cry startled Arthur out of his determination and poise, and the group was collectively shocked to see Morgana rushing down the palace steps in nothing but her nightgown, in near hysterics.

“Morgana! What’s wrong?” Morgana’s state was almost more startling than the idea facing the Questing Beast. Arthur had never seen her in such a state in the entire time he had known her. Even when she was fired up and shouting at his father, Morgana always looked the part of a put-together Lady of the court. It was not in her nature to go about in her nightgown screaming and causing a scene.

“You cannot face this!” Morgana cried out, eyes watering. By now, she had reached Arthur and was clasping his arms, as though her sheer physical strength would prevent him from leaving.

Arthur sighed. “Morgana, I must go. All will be well, I promise.”

“I have seen such terrible things. I will not let you go!” Ah, Arthur understood now.

In the past weeks, Morgana’s dreams had become more and more frequent, and Gaius’s sleeping draughts less and less effective. Arthur dare not speak on the subject, for the fear of accidentally getting Morgana killed: he believed these dreams to be prophetic in nature. Before, it was simply a passing theory, but now, he believed with his whole soul that somehow Morgana had the ability to see the future. It was surely magic. It only fuelled his desire to achieve his destiny more: with his newfound brotherly relationship with Morgana, he would not see her harmed by anyone, especially his own father. He hoped she had not yet caught on to the fact that she had magic; for when she did it would only be a matter of time before her stubborn will made her try to learn more of it, which would put her in even more danger.

From this display, it was clear that she had fully caught on to the uniqueness of her dreams, and was worried that she’d predicted Arthur’s untimely demise. But Arthur knew better: he had a destiny to achieve, so he would not die today, no matter what happened. Magic and Emrys would surely protect him.

Rather than saying all of that aloud in front of his father’s knights - because that would be the end of both of their lives - Arthur chose a more diplomatic approach.

“Morgana,” He began. “You have my word that no matter what happens, today will not be my last. But the Questing Beast must be stopped. It cannot be allowed to terrorize the people any longer. They have done nothing to deserve it.” Arthur tried to emphasize his duty to the people of Camelot, appealing to that part of Morgana who was always standing up for what was good and right, in spite of whatever trouble it would cause her. It seemed to work, because she did not scream or cry; instead, she looked him in the eye for a moment, before allowing Merlin to usher her away to and to a guard, with orders to take her to see Gaius.

As she pulled away, she paused for one more moment with a schooled expression on her face, and whispered quietly so only Arthur and Merlin could hear: “If you die, I will find a way to raise you from the dead and kill you again myself.”

Now there was the Morgana Arthur knew and loved. He smiled at his surrogate sister, and mounted his horse. For better or for worse, it was time they were off.

It is a strange sensation, to know that you are dying.

In many ways it is only like sleeping, like you’ve been traveling for a long while and now you suddenly have a moment to rest. Except that moment never ends, and you never get going on your journey again. But it’s not as distressing as it may seem - on the contrary - it’s quite the relief to know that there is no pressure or obligation to ever rise again, to face the world, to tend to the various responsibilities of life.

Yet, at the same time, it is a devastating blow. In your subconscious mind, you know that if you don’t get up now, you will never see the sunshine again; never hear the birds chirping again; never feel the wind on your face. You’ll never again hear your sister’s laugh, or see his smile. And possibly worst of all, you’ll never know who you would've been, what you would’ve done, what lives you would’ve touched. Suspended in an underwhelming, tranquil landscape of rest and relief, you feel the nagging itch to reevaluate, to fight back, to open your eyes. Get up, you’re not done yet.

Arthur doesn’t regret jumping in front of Merlin.

Like Morgana, he saw the future play out in just the split seconds before the Questing Beast lunged. He witnessed its horrid fangs sinking down into his manservants flesh, the boy’s pained cry, Arthur desperately swinging his sword. He saw himself slaying the beast, and never having the chance to feel the usual swell of pride and relief, knowing he saved his people, when he instead was busy mourning the one who mattered most. In his vision, he held Merlin as he faded away, his lithe, underfed and overworked body struggling to fight the poison and hang on to life, and Arthur’s pleas for his friend to stay with him, stay here, fell on deaf ears. He would carry Merlin’s body home, where Gaius would weep and send word to Hunith (his poor mother), and his father would clap him on the back in congratulations, undisturbed at the cost that was paid. He would go on with his life, lonely as he was just a little more than a year ago, before he met Merlin. He would fulfill his destiny, with only Morgana as a witness to his triumph, feeling still as hollow as ever.

This could never be allowed to come to pass.

In the moments before his death, Arthur Pendragon threw destiny out of his mind, and acted with the true nature of his soul - he could never watch Merlin die. He pushed the boy out of the way, and in an instant, the future he witnessed was erased, and a new one was born. He felt himself slipping away this time, and he felt the odd sensations of calm despair, as he distantly heard Merlin frantically calling his name, calling for help, calling for something to save them. A small pang of regret shot through him for a second: he had doomed Merlin to the fate that Arthur had been too cowardly to face. But Merlin was young, and had the privilege of living his life how he wanted to - he was not trapped by the Crown or Magic. Eventually, he would be alright.

For what felt like only moments, Arthur’s life boiled down to a series of sensations, snippets of sound, and flashes of understanding.

He felt the galloping of a horse; hands on his arms, his back, his legs, his face (fluttering, concerned hands on his face); he felt a wetness on his shoulder, and then on his chest (was someone weeping? Merlin? Father?); he felt himself suspended in air; he felt the soft sheets, and a soft voice soothing his pain; and then he felt no more.

Arthur Pendragon was dead.

Arthur Pendragon was dead, and then, he wasn’t.

If dying was a strange sensation, suddenly coming back to life was even stranger. Arthur opened his eyes, and stared up into the eyes of his father.

One might think that the first thought a Prince would have upon realizing he was not, in fact, dead, would be relief. Perhaps even a sense of gratitude, colored by confusion. Instead, the first thought Arthur had was: ouch.

There was no inch of Arthur’s body that was not sore.

“Father?”

“Arthur. I thought we’d lost you.”

“Don't worry, Father, I'm not going to die. I think there's someone watching over me, keeping me from harm.”

“Maybe you're right. On your long journey to become King, you will need a guardian angel. I shall inform the court that their Prince lives.”

Uther swept out of the room, crossing paths with Guinevere as she entered the chamber. He paid her no mind; Arthur, who was more familiar with his sister’s friend and maid, recognized the distress in her features.

“Guinevere, what’s wrong?”

Gwen looked up from the floor, where her guarded expression had been pointed, in surprise. “Your Majesty! You’re awake!”

“Arthur, Gwen, please.” Gwen smiled at him sweetly, and not for the first time Arthur realized he could see why Morgana was so convinced the two of them would make a good couple. Gwen was a sweet, loyal woman - one who stood her ground just as solidly as Morgana, but in a more subtle way so as to not draw unwanted attention to herself. She clearly cared about all people, for she often was seen aiding Morgana in her humanitarian efforts, and in her spare time seemed to be Gaius’ second assistant, especially when he or Merlin were indisposed. She would make a great Queen - but alas, she was not Arthur’s heart. Arthur’s heart belonged to his destiny - to Emrys.

“I am pleased to see you are better, Arthur. We have all been worried for you. Gaius was convinced there was very little chance you’d survive.”

“Is that what is troubling you?”

Something akin to a lance of pain graces Gwen’s delicate features, before settling on a more sympathetic expression. “It is part of it. I am afraid that Merlin’s mother has taken ill as well.”

“Hunith?” Arthur sat up in alarm. “She is in Camelot?”

“She journeyed here to see Gaius, and arrived only last night. But Gaius believes she will not make it to tomorrow. There seems to be very little he can do. Merlin is with her now.”

Gods, Merlin. Arthur knew how much his mother meant to his manservant, and the pain and worry he must have been going through. Arthur pushed himself out of bed. “Arthur,” Gwen exclaimed. “Should you be out of bed? You’ve only just recovered from an incurable illness! If Gaius were here he’d tell you to rest.”

“I have no time to rest, Guinevere. Hunith was quite kind to us when we went to stay there those months ago, and she is important to Merlin. I must go and see if there is any way I can help her at once.”

Gwen looked at him with a calculated glance, and then moved swiftly to his bedside. “Well, if you’re going to be stubborn, the least I can do is help you.” She helped him with his boots, and then the two of them made their way, arm in arm to the physician's chambers.

From Gwen’s explanation, Arthur expected Merlin to be stuck to his mother’s bedside, watching over her in mourning when he arrived. Instead, he almost collided head first with the man as he opened the door. “Arthur!”

“Merlin! Where are you running off to?”

“Uh…It's great to see you up and about, sire. I’m glad for your miraculous recovery.”

Arthur glanced in incredulity at Gwen, who was also looking a bit confused. “Merlin,” she began. “Is it your mother?”

Before he had a chance to answer, Arthur jumped in. “Merlin, if there is anything that I can do to help you or Hunith, you need only ask. I am so sorry that this is happening.”

For a moment, Merlin looked at a loss, like for some reason, he was not expecting any sort of kindness from Arthur. The thought broke Arthur’s heart just a bit - he’d been trying to prove to Merlin that they were friends, and clearly, he’d failed horrendously.

Merlin’s eyes turned glassy as he explained in a small voice. “Thank you, Arthur. But I was just on my way to…help Gaius. He stepped out for supplies and he needs my help.”

Gwen, it seemed, was a woman of action today. “I shall stay with your mother while you go help him.” She shot Arthur a look that would have rivaled Morgana’s best glares. Arthur cleared his throat. “And I will help you look for him.”

“Arthur. It’s really not -”

“I insist.”

“...alright then. Thank you, sire.”

Arthur nodded at Gwen as he and Merlin left the physician’s chambers. “Where has Gaius gone?”

Merlin seemed hesitant. “He went to collect supplies to help my mother recover from her illness. He, uh, left a note asking me to join him. I didn’t see it until just now.”

“Where are the supplies?”

“The woods.”

“Does Gaius often go out into the woods looking for supplies? He’s not as young as he used to be, I would have thought he’d send you.”

“He’s…I…” Merlin struggled to answer what Arthur would have deemed was a simple question. Clearly, the boy was hiding something, and whatever it was, it was causing him distress. Arthur felt sympathy for Merlin - he was already dealing with his mother’s illness, now it seemed there was something else worrying him related to Gaius’ whereabouts.

“Merlin, you can trust me. I promise no harm will come to you, Gaius, or your mother. What is really going on?”

Merlin looked at Arthur with wide eyes. For a moment, he just stared at Arthur, as if weighing his options in his head, as though he was unsure of his next move. And then, finally, he spoke.

“I came back to the physician's chambers and found this note that Gaius had left.” Merlin cut off there, but Arthur could tell there was more to the story.

“Yes? What did the note say?”

Merlin gulped. “You have to understand, Arthur. I did what I had to do. To save you, I mean. I had no idea it would make my mother ill or that Gaius would try to sacrifice himself for her.”

“What are you on about Merlin? What did you do?”

“I went to the Isle of the Blessed, and I spoke to the High Priestess, Nimueh. I asked her to save you. The bite of the Questing Beast has no cure, and only magic would be able to stop it.”

“Nimueh? Isn’t she the one who poisoned Bayard’s chalice?”

“Yes.”

“And you trusted her?”

“I had no choice, Arthur. You were dying. I never expected my mother to be the one to -”

Merling cut off again, clearly teetering on a vital piece of information.

“The one to what, Merlin?” Arthur asked, not unkindly.

“The one to die. Arthur, not even magic can create life or stop certain death. It’s not how it works. There must always be a price for the life of another. I asked Nimueh to take mine, so that you would live. But she didn’t, and she’s tried to take the life of the person most dear to me. And now Gaius has gone to try and give his life up instead, all so I don’t lose her.”

Arthur didn’t speak for what must have been a moment, but felt like an eternity. Merlin had tried to trade his life for Arthur’s? Arthur had been going out of his way to make Merlin feel more secure, more welcome to call the prince a friend, but he had no idea how well his plan must have worked. For Merlin to offer up himself in lieu of losing Arthur…well, it was the most flattering, and alarming thing Arthur had ever heard. And it simply must never happen again.

“Merlin, thank you so much for trying to save my life. But, please, please, never do something so foolish as to try and give up your own life for mine. I may be the Crown Prince, but you still matter. You have people who love you here, and who would be devastated with you gone. Promise me, you will never try to die for me again.”

Merlin’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I don’t know if I can promise that.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said more forcefully. “If you ever die for me, I will use magic to bring you back to life just so I can put you in the stocks for all eternity. Understand?”

Merlin cracked a small smile - a victory Arthur felt pleased about - and nodded. “I cannot promise that in the heat of the moment I won’t try to protect you, but I promise I will not actively try to die again.”

Arthur supposed this would be the best he’d be able to get out of his young friend, and reached out and pat Merlin on the shoulder.

“Good. Now, let’s go get our wayward physician back.”

If you had asked Arthur what a place named “The Isle of the Blessed” would look like, he would have expected exactly what he saw as he and Merlin approached the land from the small dingy they sat upon. It was remarkably magic-looking, from the creepily looming stone castle, to the thick fog that existed only around one specific piece of land. Yes, Arthur mused, this place was as stereotypically magic looking as any other location, and he wondered how his father had not yet burned the whole thing to the ground. As the two boys approached the island, they heard the voices of Gaius and Nimueh, but not quite what they were saying. Merlin seemed more and more nervous as they approached, which made sense - how often did the boy actually head into battle with the intention of fighting? Sure, Merlin was brave, but he was no knight - and his two parental figures’ lives were at stake.

“Merlin, here is the plan. You go in and distract her - she’s seen you before, she’ll be expecting you. I’ll go around the back and then attack her from behind.”

As the boat bumped into the rocks, Arthur stepped out onto land and unsheathed his sword. Merlin nodded in assent, and the boys split up.

Arthur crept along the stone hall, keeping an eye out for any sorcerers who may be lurking and waiting to pounce. Fortunately, it seemed that there were no lurkers, and Nimueh was alone on her creepy island.

As Arthur made his way around to where Nimueh stood, he was struck with the scene that was unfolding in front of him. Nimueh stood with her back to him, wearing what might’ve been a beautiful red gown once, but the skirt had since ripped and fallen to rags, showing the skin of pale legs. Arthur recognized it as the dress he’d seen her wear in the forest those many months ago, when she had tried to prevent him from getting the Mortaeus Flower - a thought that made a sharp pain of nausea pierce his stomach. Why had this High Priestess cared if Merlin, a servant, died? Perhaps she had really been out to get Arthur, as he was alone in the woods with no knights.

Just beyond her Merlin stood frantically checking an unconscious Gaius, who was slumped against an altar, for signs of life.

One of his arms is outstretched, and as Arthur looks on in horror, Nimueh extends her own arm out, throwing a ball of fire at Merlin's chest.

The next few moments are a bit of a blur to Arthur. One second, Merlin was being hit with what the prince assumed was a deadly fire ball. The next, he was charging out towards Nimueh with his sword raised. He only got so far before the sorceress spun around, no indication of surprise at his arrival on her face, and raised her arm once more; in a flash, Arthur was sure he was to be incinerated.

At least, if not for the incredibly-timed bolt of lightning wiping Nimueh from existence at that precise moment.

Arthur stood there dumbfounded for a moment. Either they had just gotten really lucky, or magic had just been involved in the High Priestess' death. The world slowly came back into focus as Arthur searched the shadows of the castle for anything or anyone that could explain what had just happened. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he was looking for anyone in particular, but his heart whispered: Emrys.

“What did you do?”

Arthur whipped around at the sound of Gaius’ voice, the old man apparently having come to now that Nimueh had died in his stead.

Merlin needn’t answer, because in that moment, everything clicked into place, and Arthur knew. He looked down at his friend as he cradled Gaius’ weak body in his lap, his own tunic smoking from the fire ball he’d been hit with. Piercing blue eyes that had widened to almost a comical size stared back at him.

“Arthur…I…” Merlin stuttered.

“You killed Nimueh.” Arthur said, feeling breathless.

“You have magic.”