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Chapter Text

"Arthur, are you listening?"

Merlin's voice had snapped him out of whatever trance he was in, as he stood hunched over the edge of his desk with his back turned.

The memories were still fresh, laid waste to his mind that took precedence over absolutely everything, now—even with what little rest he'd forced himself to get last night. The pure exhaustion and growing apathy for anything that wasn't stood right directly in front of his face—the draw of a half-empty goblet nearly falling off his desk.

His irritation towards the fact that nobody could address him properly after it happened.

Without, of course—looking at Merlin first.

"Sire."

"Please, continue."

"I've—did you just say, 'please'?"

Arthur whipped his head around angrily, until he saw—it—and had to force himself to look away again, eyes now glued to his desk.

Disgust was the only word for it.

Gods above.

"Sorry, I... So, Gedref. I think we can still cross as it was before, but Leon forgot to mention we're at a disadvantage if we need to camp there. Her Majesty won't allow it anymore, not after Odin caught wind of her father's death. They've already invaded the forest, captured some of her men, spread rumors of a war and it's been less than—"

"Less than a week, I'm aware."

Nothing but silence and the mindless, rhythmic tapping of Arthur's ring on his desk.

Rodor's death should've had more of an effect on him than this. If it'd been a week ago, they'd be halfway there by now.

"Arthur—"

"Yes, I know."

"Then, you should know that I'm coming with you."

Arthur faced him directly, for the first time in three days. 

"You will not." He stated, a finality to his tone that left no room for argument. So help him—if he had to chain Merlin to the walls of his dungeon, he'd do so without hesitation and with little regard for his current state.

The boy shifted uncomfortably under his stare, head bowed and arms obediently placed behind his back. It was a stark contrast to their usual dynamic, a certain level of disconnect that set Arthur's teeth on edge, ever since the morning after he found him. 

Strung up by his wrists in the cellar of a tall guarding post, stationed just outside the Valley of the Fallen Kings.

Naked, unconscious, and debauched like a common prostitute. 

To be faced with those filthy marks on his body threatened to upend everything in his immediate surroundings, even if most of them were covered by his clothing.

Most of them.

Excluding the ones still adorning his left cheekbone and lower right portion of his chin—large fingerprints turned a sickening gradient of purple, yellow, and green against his pale skin. The rest of them disappeared under his neckerchief, but that didn't stop Arthur's mind from torturing him with how bad it looked yesterday and the day before that.

He hadn't eaten anything since they got back to the castle.

Too preoccupied by every gruesome detail of the massacre that ensued, shortly after they walked in on it. In his blinding rage fueled by adrenaline and hatred, he dropped bodies like they were ragdolls, one after another after another, until his vision blurred under the torrent of blood dripping down his face, soaking through the gaps of his chainmail.

He would've started and finished an entire war that night, if not for Leon and Lancelot restraining him by his armor and dragging him in the opposite direction of Cenred's kingdom—repeatedly shouting that they were dead and it's enough, it's enough, Arthur. He's alive, you must stop, stop this, it's over, they're dead. We've got him, don't look, don't look at him—look at me. Look at us, sire. Focus on the path ahead. We're taking him to the castle, he will be alright, calm yourself, Arthur, you're not thinking clearly, you must stop...

Elyan and Percival had to carry Merlin out of that vile place and Arthur threatened both of their lives when they attempted to sling him over the back of a horse. Leon struggled to keep the King away from them, steering him towards the back of the line, shouting at Percival to cover his body with a cloak and carry him the rest of the way.

Arthur had never been so desperate for retaliation in his life.

He blinked in the present moment, not realizing that he'd been waiting for Merlin to say something.

"I understand why. I do, but I—"

"But you never listen, do you? You are not permitted beyond these walls, until I can figure out exactly what I'm meant to do about this. I told you to..."

He paused and exhaled deeply, thinking back to the last conversation they had before Merlin took off without warning.

"I told you to wait until we had some more information. Still, you had no protection and were ambushed on the very road to the castle, not even five leagues away, with poisoned darts no less—Gaius had to physically extract that stuff from your legs right in front of me. Do you have any idea... The kind of sickness that would've killed you long before you could even get the chance to beg for your life—were it not for your magic somehow always managing to keep that idiotic brain of yours inside your skull. They thought you were dead. And—I can tell you with a disturbing amount of clarity—they didn't seem to mind that part at all, in fact... Did they, Merlin?"

He flinched at the bluntness of Arthur's rhetoric, but shook his head anyway in response. Merlin always took interrogations like this quite well, even if the King didn't deserve half of his respect.

He really didn't deserve any of it, if he were honest.

"No, I..." His voice sounded so small and faraway, strained by a very vulnerable place inside of him, unknown to Arthur. 

"I'm sorry, sire... I thought I was protecting you—"

"You put yourself first!"

Merlin nodded once, moisture swelling in his eyes from the sudden outburst. He bowed his head and stared at the floor, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, waiting for another lecture that never came.

There was nothing left to say.

"Get out of my sight and be rid of those markings on your face."

"Arthur—"

"Now."

He left in a hurry, body disappearing past the threshold without even bothering to close the doors behind him.

Chapter Text

Merlin had tried, he really did. To find some sort of normalcy after that night.

Mordred had apologized profusely for not being there to help them—not that their druid link had worked anyway. With two days and a lack of response, Arthur deemed it useless to bring the young knight along with them—he'd told him as much. Mordred said he took offense to that, but obeyed him nonetheless. 

But it didn't really matter what anyone said to him, even if they'd just wanted to help. 

Their words of comfort weren't exactly what he needed at the moment and for some reason, that made him feel guilty. Like he needed to hide it for their sake—as if he didn't just spend fifteen hours trapped in his room, screaming in agony and begging for his life to end. Too weak to focus on his magic and too delirious to notice the fact that someone was there with them, watching it happen.

Gaius said his powers had their limitations and weren't nearly as strong as Merlin's—but that he'd have been stuck like that for who knows how long if he didn't try. So he found some loose rags for Merlin to bite down on, and got to work making deep incisions along his upper thigh, muttering enchantments under his breath as he went. He'd intentionally punctured several veins—in an effort to channel his magic and draw out the poison from his blood. 

It was the most excruciating pain he'd ever felt in his life—continuously passing out from it and waking up many times during the night. And when he was conscious, he'd try his hardest to get away from Gaius' blade, but a pair of large hands would force him back down again and restrain him to the bed. He could remember them shouting indecipherable words as they went back and forth—desperation very clear in their voices. 

The sight was so horrific when he'd finally been conscious enough to use his magic to heal himself—nobody was allowed in that wing for the entire day. Gaius had given the order, even though many of them just wanted to drop off small gifts and flowers, sometimes food. He was too exhausted though, too overwhelmed by the shame that came with it—he needed to clean. Clean the floors, clean the walls, the bedding, the mattress, the windows, himself. All of it furiously by hand, even though he could've just as easily used his magic, he just...

Felt like he deserved it.

And there was so much regret, determination to fix it, go back to the way things were before. Make it seem like nothing was wrong, even if he loathed himself for it. 

What he truly wanted was to get back to the comfort and steady routine of his job, so he sought out the King directly, in hopes of making it right again. To be his Court Sorceror, his powerful right hand, as it was their destiny to bring peace to the five kingdoms and unite the lands of Albion, together. 

To never fail him like that ever again.

But the man wouldn't even look him in the eyes.

Until word spread of Rodor's death and Arthur let him have it that day in his chambers.

And the knowledge that it'd been the King that held him down for Gaius that night—that suffered through his screaming for hours, that heard him beg for death itself. He could imagine Arthur gagging under the scent of his blood in the air—how angry had he been? To have to be the one to do that? Was it his strength that Gaius requested or did he even ask—why was it him there and not somebody else, anybody else? 

It changed everything and nothing at the same time.

And everyday since then, it was nothing but vacant stares and awkward silences—whenever they had to interact with each other. Merlin used his magic to get rid of any lingering marks on his body and Arthur still pretended like he didn't exist.

He didn't know why it was so uncomfortable now. It wasn't that much different from before—still the same prattish behavior, just not directed towards him anymore. He almost felt singled-out by it in a weird way, but it was really only because of him. Everyone else had been nothing but kind and compassionate ever since he got back.

And although it was still a blur to him—everything that happened to him—some of those memories were resurfacing from shortly after he was hit.

He knew what it was that made each room feel like one giant held breath, as if the sound of their voices could make him crumble and fall to the floor. He'd woken up with all of the proof he needed—that he'd been violated everywhere. But he was unconscious through most of it, and couldn't understand—no matter how hard he tried—why it had to be him. He was so disgusted by the feeling, spent hours cleaning himself and scrubbing his skin raw, as if he could shed those memories along with it. Even after all of the spells he'd casted to try to reverse it in some way—and the ones that might protect him from any future intrusions like that, however unlikely those would be.

But then some part of him felt relieved that it was him—as outrageous as it sounded. Anyone else would've died and well... To think that it could've been Arthur, or Mordred... Lancelot. Gwen. There would've been no words for it, he'd be storming Cenred's castle and making everyone beg for their deaths instead. 

Because he knew one thing for certain; this wasn't just a one-off, it was a blatant attack on Camelot. Something to bring defilement to Arthur's kingdom and only that. 

Merlin shook the thoughts from his head and strode through the castle, a small note clutched between his fingers. He needed to be quick if he were to slip this under Arthur's doors without him noticing. 

He paused as he overheard the knights talking amongst themselves down the corridor. Merlin stumbled back a bit and bolted around the corner, turning his head towards the sound of their voices:

"Well, no... Neither of them do, but I can still hardly believe it— 's all I bloody think about! Somebody has to do it, before the kingdom falls on our heads—"

"Just leave it, we can't do that to him—he must take this time to heal, even if he doesn't remember... The King, well. He'll never admit to himself why he is the way he is, but have faith that he'll see reason. I know you're all worried for the days ahead, but you have the strength to put it right once and for all. And do not go to Merlin, so help me—he'll blame himself like always and it isn't even his fault, at least I don't see it that way, do any of you?"

"No, of course not."

"Gods, no! 'Specially after the times he's saved my sorry backside."

"The King wouldn't have, either! If we hadn't found him like that, nearly beaten to death and bloody defiled— "

"Right, I think I'm done with this conversation, actually. Haven't even had a drink yet and I'm already getting a headache."

"Gwaine!"

"He has a point, we always come back to this. It doesn't help."

"—But you can't deny it! You saw him, you were there too!"

"And you'd do well not to mention it again, or I might get the excuse to show you my sword. Freshly sharpened her this morning—care for a taste?"

"Oh, yeah? Well, mine's bigger. And I don't need to put my whole body weight into it, unlike you."

"I swear, if I could listen to this without context—"

"Easy, big man—wouldn't want you to pop a blood vessel in that gigantic head of yours, now would we?"

"Come on, guys—"

"Gwaine, Percival!"

Merlin was just about to intervene, until he heard the sound of Arthur's voice, authoritative and booming just meters away from him. Suddenly, he was grateful for this particular corner of the castle.

What they'd been saying made little sense to him, but the amount of concern in their voices... It was nice while it lasted. 

With his back pressed to the wall, he looked up at the tapestries and waited. 

"Lower your weapons, now's not the time for this. Where's Merlin?" 

He covered his mouth, hearing the awkward shift of chainmail as he pictured them all looking around each other in confusion.

A smack of something that sounded distinctly of parchment against skin.

"Apologies, sire—we haven't seen him. I could check the courtyard?"

"That won't be necessary, I'll go. As you were."

"My lord."

Merlin scrambled to make himself look natural and indifferent, as Arthur was about to round the corner any second. He turned on his heels and walked in the opposite direction, hoping he could make it to the end of the hall without—

"Merlin?"

He stopped in his tracks, but didn't dare look behind him.

He crumpled the small note in his hands and shoved it deep in his pocket. Like hell if he could explain his feelings directly—normally the King was training or in a council meeting, or doing something at least. 

He heard his boots approaching him from behind.

"I'd like to have a word with you. In private."

"Sire?"

The seriousness of his tone made him question whether it was even a good idea to leave his chambers this morning.

Was he about to be sacked or something?

Arthur strode past him easily, not bothering to look behind him as Merlin followed, leaving a significant amount of distance between them.

Honestly, he was relieved that Arthur couldn't see the panic written all over his face—if he were to be sacked, he'd surely choose Morgana to replace him? Or maybe Mordred—no, he was much too young for that level of responsibility. Too anxious as well, even though everybody knew how loyal he was to the King. He would literally dive into the mouths of hell just to prove it.

Just like Merlin would... Just like he has many times in the past.

He'd do it all over again, without a second thought. 

Merlin paused as he heard the council doors swinging open in front of him, two guards waiting patiently for him to follow the King inside. 

He suddenly couldn't bear the thought of those words being said, he really couldn't. He looked around for an escape, anything that could whisk him away and leave nothing behind—maybe out the windows or over the balcony, he's pretty good at hiding, maybe he could—

"Hurry up."

He lifted his chin and practically ran into the room, flinching slightly at the sound of the doors closing behind him. 

"Sit."

Already standing over his spot at the Round Table, Arthur threw down the stack of parchment in his hands and pulled out his chair aggressively—the piercing scrape of wood against wood slicing through Merlin's thoughts.

He approached it cautiously, but took his place at Arthur's side like always.

Merlin stared down at his name upon the wooden surface, embossed and delicately filled with silver. Glinting so brilliantly in the sun—it was beautiful, he always thought so. One little thing that Arthur did, without telling him. It just appeared one day and that was that, but everytime he looked at it...

He felt like nothing could touch him. 

"Sire?"

Arthur appeared to be just as lost, as he sat there with his hands folded and pressed to his mouth. 

"I must ask something of you."

So... He wasn't trying to sack him?

"Anything."

Arthur looked at him, annoyance clear on his features by that response. Merlin backtracked to something that sounded a little less eager and a little more... Self-preserving—

"I—mean, if it's not dangerous... I guess?"

Arthur shook his head and sighed heavily, tearing his eyes away from Merlin and glaring out the stained-glass windows.

"Not quite—I'll be gone for a while, a week at most. Lancelot will be taking my place here at the castle and you are to regard him as such until my return. While I am gone... I must ask you for you to craft an enchantment of sorts. I trust it's within your powers."

Confused and slightly worried, Merlin leaned in close. 

"It... Is, yes. Is this about Nemeth? When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow at first light."

"Alright—"

"Merlin... I need you to create something that will allow me to keep track of a person. No matter the distance."

From the way that Arthur's eyes slowly shifted to Merlin's, he knew.

He knew it was him he was referring to—and why he avoided saying it outright, he had no idea. Merlin just stared at him, dumbfounded as he began to process.

What?

"You will do it?"

Yes? Maybe?

While he waited for an answer, Arthur began to flip through the stack of parchment.

He pulled a small sheet from it and slid it over to Merlin.

Distracted by the smattering of runes on the page, he noticed that Arthur had already chosen an idea for such a spell—but this one was made for the sole purpose of cruelty in mind.

To be permanently soulbound to another... So much so, that if the person were to stray too far from their master, they'd be emotionally tortured and compelled from within. Some runes he understood as forced subservience, while others meant nothing but pain—with the depiction of a man kneeling over the edge of a cliff. Large chains wrapped around his neck, as he clawed at them desperately for air.

He flipped the offending page over in shock, unwilling to read the rest of it.

"Arthur, this is blood magic."

He blinked a few times, wondering what the hell Arthur was thinking—if he'd seriously make him do something like this.

"It's merely an example of what I require. Just, without all of the... Torture."

"What you... Require."

Merlin swallowed around the irritation in his throat, mixed with a certain level of fear that he couldn't explain. He almost felt sick from it, the intense look in Arthur's eyes really not helping his case.

Was this supposed to be a punishment of some kind? 

He was suddenly brought back to that night again, to the feeling of Arthur's hands holding him down while he screamed. Merlin cleared his throat aggressively, back straightening in his chair while he shoved that particular memory into a very secluded, very dark corner of his mind—where it'll stay there for the rest of his life.

"My lord... I'm sorry for what I did, truly, you don't even know—but, this... This kind of magic is too dangerous, too unpredictable—I get that you're angry with me for running off like that, but I don't even know if a variation of it could work like that, it's... Dark, it's... How did you get this?"

He lifted the page and showed it to Arthur.

"Do not concern yourself with that. I've no intention of forcing you into submission, if that's what you're worried about."

"Sire..."

"You must understand that I cannot go through something like that ever again, Merlin. Just thinking of it, now... It is my duty to protect the people of Camelot and especially on her grounds. Cenred will get what's coming to him, rest assured—I killed enough of his men that night to send a clear message... But I cannot hold you hostage, not while I need you fighting by my side."

Merlin held onto those words, for an unusual amount of time—

I need you.

In all the years he's served him, nothing like that had ever been said to Merlin. It was so shocking, he wondered briefly if there might be something wrong with Arthur—if he'd hit his head recently and just didn't tell anyone.

He'd agree... If the King would ever stop looking at him like that.

"I understand, sire. I'll think of something—run it by Gaius if I have to. He used to study all types of magic, there must be something I can do that's a little less..."

Degrading.

"... Dangerous."

"Thank you. And, Merlin?"

"Sire?"

But he just stared at him then, mouth slightly parted like there was something else he needed to say. 

He'd never seen such vulnerability in those dark eyes before. It was almost sorrowful, like a hidden apology of some kind. 

"I will not let our kingdom fall."

Chapter Text

I need you,

I will not let our kingdom fall.

It swarmed his mind, whenever he was alone for long enough to dwell on it.

Where did it come from all of a sudden? Why now? Why did he have to say it like that, right before he had to leave?

Yet another concern added to the growing list, the fact that he'd woken up to the castle half-empty, with two guards stationed just outside pf his chambers. They left an unsettling silence in their wake, that he supposed would've been more familiar if he'd ever stayed behind like this in the past. He hounded Lancelot for details, but always ended up leaving with more questions.

Why did they leave early like that? He had plans to see them off, especially Leon. For he wanted to hear it directly from the knight's lips, that he wouldn't let them run head-first into something that could threaten the King's life.

And why did they bring so many men?

Lancelot said that it was a precaution for the King's safety, as well as Queen Mithian's—upon arrival to Nemeth. It made sense for all of two seconds, until he thought about how vulnerable that left Camelot. He only hoped they would come back when Arthur said they would—a few days, no more than a week.

Or he may end up following them. 

But if Merlin left... the city would be all but defenseless. And as much as he trusted Lancelot and his guards, it just wouldn't be enough. 

So, he did what he could for Arthur. He made sure that everything ran just as smooth as it did before, if not more so. He spent the first day doing way more than what was asked of him, offering help amidst the lower city—warning them of the King's absence and setting a strict curfew. He surrounded the entire area with wards of protection; nobody was allowed to enter the city, unless they were children of Camelot and born of the land. No outsiders, no refugees.

No exceptions, no matter the case. If they needed help, he advised the guards to offer food or water. But they were to never leave with them or offer shelter of any kind. He wouldn't normally do something this extreme, but he figured the King left them with no choice this time—they were at a severe disadvantage if Cenred's men were caught beyond the border again.

During the night was when he could work on Arthur's request—albeit, with the very limited information he had on the subject.

He lied to Arthur about seeking Gaius' help, no way in hell would bring this to him. The man was much too busy, too old, and quite frankly—the last couple of weeks had almost killed him. He didn't need another reason to worry that fading heart of his, for whatever good Arthur thought would come of it. 

It helped a little that he didn't technically live with Gaius anymore, even though he spent most of his time there. The Court Sorcerer's chambers stood adjacent to the King's and expanded into their library for ease of access. If ever he needed to do some research, Merlin would only have to walk five feet and he'd have all of the resources available to him. 

It was his favorite place in the castle—one of the main reasons he kept sane through all of this. Walls extended high above his head and tapered into a mixture of solid gold and deep crimson; adorned with various tomes, records, and little novels that Merlin had picked up on his adventures. 

Though they had plenty of books on the Old Religion, the collection was very minimal in regards to blood magic or permanent soulbinding of any kind. 

All laid out in front of him were those very tomes, along with scattered notes and empty ink pots. Some ideas discarded into crumpled little balls surrounding his feet. He was in severe need of a break, but didn't dare fall asleep yet, as tonight was the last night he could come up with something before their return.

Many of them had disclaimers in their preface, that these enchantments were meant to fragment the souls of both the caster and the subject and required advanced skill to execute. He had no intention of performing one to it's full extent, however, so he disregarded that easily.

His eyes kept drifting shut as he read, face falling into the pages every once in a while. He deemed this one useless, yet again—as he stumbled upon the last chapter about soulcatching your animals, forcing them to breed, training them to obey your every command...

He skimmed through another one that revolved around the use of mind-control and manipulation of the will. Most were only used to open up a door into the other's mind, where the caster could climb inside and take whatever they wanted, or replace their thoughts with suggestion. It offered words of power here and there that Merlin deemed useful, jotting them down amidst the others. Words for calling, compulsion, suggestion, strength and willpower. His mind wouldn't be lost to him persay, but there did need to be some sort of transfer. Not of his will, but... Maybe his magic, if such a thing were possible.

It went on to explain the use of common objects to gain control—only, those objects would serve as the subject's soul itself, entrapping it forevermore. It was a truly disturbing reality of the lengths somebody could go. Not that there was anyone powerful enough to do it, not that he knew of anyway. God, he hoped not.

He snapped that one shut and slid it over to the discard pile, reluctantly choosing the next tome. 

He glanced at the title and froze:

'Salacious Enmities of a King's Soul'

He looked around him warily—why was this even on the shelf? But then, it made sense that it would be here, due to the fact that it bore the Pendragon crest on it's spine. Why it had that was beyond him.

Merlin went to close it, but hesitated.

For an unhealthy amount of time. 

It peaked his curiosity and he definitely didn't have time for this, but... Honestly, what could it hurt? It was within the general subject at least. There could be something useful in it, incantations he could use out of the context written clearly in the title. 

Implications of taboo, sexual binding of the soul.

Not that Arthur would ever choose something like that.

Until he noticed a small break between the pages and flipped to it nervously. A page had been ripped out with such force, it frayed the bindings and nearly fell apart in his hands. 

He tossed the open book on his desk, the harsh sound reverberating throughout the library. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and retrieved the spell that Arthur had given him, smoothing it out and matching it up perfectly with the jagged edges left behind.

Huh.

Alright. 

He scanned the page and read through it carefully this time, as there was quite clearly something he'd missed due to his shock the first time around. But it wasn't explained here, only extended to the next page of the tome—which he seriously needed to stop and think about before attempting to read. 

This must've been why Arthur gave such little insight to it's whereabouts. He'd gone into the library and found it himself, likely enticed by the crest alone. 

Merlin was impressed by that, to say the least.

The level of absolutely deranged he had to be, to make it this far into the book before deciding to rip a page out of it and bring it to him. 

He must've thought Merlin wouldn't notice, or... Just didn't care if he found out eventually. He didn't care, right? Of course he didn't—he's busy and impatient, as was his nature and birthright as King. 

He remembered Arthur reassuring him that it wouldn't be this particular spell, but why...

Why was his heart beating so fast?

He shoved the spell back into his pocket and looked around him once more. If anyone saw him reading this, they may assume the worst or think he'd gone mad from his recent traumatic events. But it wasn't like that at all.

Merlin gathered his notes and snatched the tome from it's open position on his desk, holding it close to his chest and making sure to cover the title. He sprinted the short distance to his chambers, where he disappeared beyond the threshold and locked himself inside. 

An extended sigh of relief passed his lips at the knowledge that he could read it in peace—not that there had been many people around, but still. They all knew not to disturb him at his desk, unless they needed help finding something. They wouldn't bother with his current state anyway, but...

He cautiously approached his bed, throwing the book down and climbing into the sheets. 

"Weox, forbærne ond arisan..." He gestered with a slight nod to his bedside table, eyes flashing a golden-amber in the darkness. The candles ignited all at once, tall at first, then settling down once his magic receeded.

In the dim firelight, the pages lit up and stared back at him. 

Those runes for subservience he noticed before, meant so much more than simply obeying orders. It was a complete loss of will against the subject's own sexuality and core beliefs. Everything would be replaced with thoughts of their master, a lifelong slave to all that could please them. Exclusive to a King of Pendragon blood. 

More sketches illustrated this in full detail. Merlin's breath caught in his throat as he consumed them; kneeling bodies surrounding one man in a tight circle, heads bowed and ready for the next command.

He flipped the page and was greeted with another naked body on display for their King. A woman this time—chains wrapped securely around her shoulders and knees, suspending her body a few feet above the ground. Her face showed no indication of any pain or discomfort—only anticipation for something as she looked up at the man standing next to her. 

He couldn't help but notice the delicate latticework covering her torso, layers of rope outlining her breasts and the natural curves of her body. The King was holding onto one of the chains that lifted her body and connected to the ceiling, his other hand gently placed on her inner thigh.  

Merlin had never seen anything like it before. He'd heard of it, though—courtesy of his conversations with Gwaine, but never combined with the use of magic. He wondered if Arthur had bothered to read the rest of this book, or if he'd ever attempted something like this in the past...

Even still, the sight of those ropes on her body threatened to force his mind back to that night. The feeling of his own struggle, the way the material dug into his skin painfully—he grabbed his wrist and stroked the area around it with his thumb. No, he had to fight it if he were to ever get past this. 

He closed his eyes and let it takeover his thoughts for once. All he could remember was the pain, never had the strength to even open his eyes for long enough to see them. He pictured what they might've looked like—had they been strong, tall? Dirty with calloused hands?

His breath quickened, anxiety attempting to pull him back to safety. But he knew he needed to face it now, he had no other choice. So he forced himself to relive the suppressed details—up until he could almost hear Arthur shouting in the distance. If he focused hard enough on it, he could hear the unmistakable pain of those cries—so distraught, and so out of his mind with rage. 

The sound of it was enough to pull back those layers of fear, revealing something buried deep within.

Merlin, who felt like his life was now indebted to Arthur in ways he failed to recognize before. Who'd never even stopped to think if he cared or not, but it was clear to him now that he'd mistaken all of that previous anger for mere resentment. All of the awkward silences—the way he couldn't bear to look him in the eyes anymore. How he stayed in that room with Gaius for hours...

Just what about that night plagues Arthur the most? Does he let himself confide in the knights? Does he even have anyone that could understand this pain, besides Merlin? 

But he left for Nemeth without a word—didn't wake him up to say goodbye, didn't leave him with a stack of reports or any bounties... Nothing was on his desk that morning. 

It was so unlike him.

Merlin only assumed the King didn't trust him anymore.

He shoved that thought to the back of his mind, he'd make it a priority to have a meaningful conversation with Arthur, as soon as he got back. No more ridiculous boundaries between King and subject, something had to give eventually. Arthur was still human, even if he pretended that his status meant that he was above it. Maybe Merlin could use this book as an example—because, what in the hell? 

His mind drifted to the thought he had earlier, as he stared at the pages below him—if Arthur would ever do something like this for himself. Excluding all of the magic involved, just simply indulging for once.

He didn't have a Queen, never had a partner—not that Merlin knew of anyway. Never talked about a woman like that or tried—of his own accord—to court one, unless Uther forced the connection. Sometimes Merlin would catch him looking at them, though it was never really a pleasant type of staring. More like, he didn't know what he was doing and was highly annoyed by it. Maybe that could've been the whole problem to begin with. But even that didn't make sense—he was the most suitable King for marriage, he didn't have to know exactly what to do, for he already did it with his presence alone. 

Of course, there were many rumors after he rejected Queen Mithian. That he already had a lover, or that he secretly preferred men—Merlin had never brought that up, for obvious reasons. He'd have liked to keep his head at the time. 

But since then, it made him think. Merlin himself wasn't very interested in persuing anything that didn't involve protecting Camelot or serving Arthur in some way—so, like the King, he didn't have the time to indulge in personal affairs. Maybe that was it and there was nothing more to it. 

But everyone had desires—something they thought about when they were alone. If only just thoughts, Merlin wanted to know.

So, he pictured Arthur actually doing it, acting upon his desires, much like the man he saw on the pages below him. What would he do first? What set him off—did he prefer to take control or let somebody else do it? Or were his needs more primitive?

Did he leave them after?

He thought about Arthur just taking whatever he wanted from them, the other person very pliant and willing to give just about anything. He pictured himself then, kneeling before his King and waiting. 

Merlin's breathing became shallow and quick, small pants now filling the area around him. 

He could almost feel Arthur's warm fingers tangling in his hair, tugging at the strands in an effort to lure his mouth closer to him. The King was much too impatient, he couldn't wait for Merlin to part his lips. So he did it for him, as he snapped his hips forward and buried his cock deep inside his mouth, forcing the entire length down his throat.

Merlin was on his knees, just like in his mind, one hand disappearing in his smalls and the other buried in his hair. He let his head fall back as he moaned, the pathetic noises getting more desperate the more he thought about Arthur using him. 

He rocked his hips in tandem with the image of Arthur thrusting in and out of his mouth. He fucked into his own fist, biting down hard on his lower lip as he felt his magic reacting in the same way—calling out for the King, but never quite reaching him.

"Nngh, Arthur..."

He drew in a shaky breath, Arthur's movements punishing and quick—rough hands gripping the side of his face to keep him still as Merlin gagged and struggled to breathe around his cock. He pictured Arthur's face then, and watched as the control gradually melted from his expression. Little praises made their way down to him—how good he was being, how pretty he looked on his cock, how perfect his mouth was just for me, darling.

"Please..." Merlin begged, a constant string of lewd moans falling from his lips.

He wanted to taste it, wanted to feel it—Arthur's warm cum, filling his mouth and hitting the back of his throat. The feeling of his hands touching him everywhere, grabbing him by the waist, holding him down while he whispered that he belonged right here, right on his cock.

His hips stuttered as he whined, whole body trembling and struggling to keep up with the pace of his hand. He grabbed his pillow and smothered his face with it, stifling the cries as his cock twitched and spilled all over his fingers. 

He came to a gradual stop, chest heaving erratically and pillow discarded somewhere across the room. 

Merlin looked around him frantically, brows furrowing in confusion at the translucent mass of golden light that surrounded his bed in a perfect circle. It must've been his magic—not much was visible beyond it, but he could feel it calling out to him and drawing him closer.

"What—"

He reached out to touch it and shivered as his skin absorbed it easily, a golden trail lighting up his veins and snuffing out completely once he'd consumed it all. 

Distracted by this newfound skill, he closed his eyes and focused on extending his magic beyond the limits of his body once more. It obeyed without command, illuminating the entire area around his bed. He then urged it to cover a piece of clothing on the floor and it did just that, disappearing into his tunic and shrouding the area in darkness.

He resisted the pull of it's call and watched in fascination as it came to him instead and landed directly in his lap. Although it took some focus to extend it like that, once it was already out, it didn't appear to take any effort to keep it that way. 

He knew then that he should test the limits of this. Make sure that it could withstand great distances somehow, already forming an idea in his head about how he might do that. He didn't let the magic back in this time, instead folding the roughspun tunic and placing it on his bedside table. 

"Swilteaþ..." He said as he snuffed out the candles with his magic. 

This mild accomplishment was nothing compared to the shame he felt, for allowing himself to get so carried away with his thoughts. It could never be like that, he knew as much. Arthur was his King above all, nothing about his physical attraction could get in the way of that. 

He decided against showing Arthur the tome or letting him know that he knew about it. He carefully picked it up and closed it, leaning over the side of his bed and sliding it underneath. It would be staying there, as many women might get the wrong idea if they stumbled across it accidentally. Unless Arthur asked for it directly, it wouldn't be moving from the spot. 

Some part of him hoped he never would.

-

Merlin was ripped from his sleep by the sound of a fist pounding on his door, panicked and relentless. He nearly fell out of his bed in an effort to find his trousers as quickly as possible—

"Give me a second!" He hissed in response, really hoping that this wasn't another incident with Morgana's horse, god—anything but that. She really did have the worst luck when it came to animals. Or anything, for that matter.

"I swear to god, if this has anything to do with Angus and his—" Merlin was cut off as soon as he opened his doors, a blur of chainmail and rough leather colliding with his body and hugging him tight.

He flinched back and pushed the person away, eyes wild and frightened. 

"Apologies, Lord Merlin—have you heard the news?"

Merlin took in the blinding smile on Mordred's face and calmed significantly. 

"Uh—I... Guess not. What time is it?" Merlin turned towards his window and looked outside, realizing that it had to be well past morning by now. 

"It's midday, my lord. We've received a message from Sir Leon—Cenred's kingdom has fallen, well and truly!"

Merlin blinked.

What?

"I'm... Sorry? Mordred—where exactly is Sir Leon?"

Mordred bowed his head in respect, hands folded behind his back. Though it was clear he could barely contain his elation at the moment, with the way he shifted back and forth on his feet.

Merlin would kill Arthur. 

Oh, he'd kill him.

If he wasn't dead already. 

"They retreated last night, should be more than halfway to Camelot by now."

"And Arthur? Is he alive?"

Mordred nodded, effervescent and positively beaming, the most emotion he'd ever seen from the knight. Merlin felt his relief just barely keeping him confined to his chambers, magic already brimming at the surface. 

"The King is wounded—but, yes. He is alive and well. They all are, sire." 

Merlin exhaled, a flood of emotions overtaking his entire being—he didn't know where to start, what to do. He paced around his room and well, it should've been good news and it definitley was to some extent. A triumph like Camelot has never seen before. 

But it was so beyond stupid—he didn't know whether to be more upset by the fact that Arthur had abandoned Queen Mithian entirely, or that he'd just risked his life and his kingdom. For what, exactly? 

Revenge?

"I'm going to kill him, Mordred." Merlin calmly stated, with hardly any emotion in his voice as he continued to pace around his room.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm going to—"

He was cut off by the sound of his doors swinging open again, Morgana running into the room excitedly and throwing her arms around Merlin's neck. Now this embrace was more than welcome right now, as he relaxed into her, arms sliding easily around her back. 

"Merlin!" She squealed right next to his ear—jumping up and down, Merlin struggling to stabilize them both and nearly tripping over a stack of books. "Oh, we have to celebrate, immediately! Arthur's actually done it, can you believe it?"

"So I've heard." Merlin gritted through his teeth, glaring at Mordred over her shoulder and watching as the knight tried and failed miserably to cover-up his amusement.

Morgana pulled back slightly and cupped Merlin's cheek, smiling down at him. 

"You'll be coming, won't you?"

Merlin forced a smile and nodded up at her, swallowing around the bile making it's way up his throat. He was suddenly unable to ruin this moment for her—he realized now that he didn't have a right to.

"Is Cenred dead?" He asked, one hand fiddling with the fabric near the small of her back. 

Morgana nodded and giggled, bringing him into another bone-crushing hug. Somewhere behind them, he heard Mordred step closer and closer to the exit. 

"Mordred, come here." Merlin demanded as he rolled his eyes and prepared himself to be sandwiched between the two of them. Mordred all but jumped on top of them and Morgana fell against him in a fit of laughter and protests, swatting at Mordred's shoulder playfully. 

He let it go for a moment as he stood there in the arms of the people he cared about the most in this world.

Arthur lying to him, the simple fact that he could've died on the battlefield and Merlin wouldn't have known he was fighting for his life in the first place. He supposed that it could be similar to how Arthur felt, when Merlin had left. When he'd risked his life just to make sure that the King was safe. 

Chapter Text

Merlin stood on the main road outside of the lower city, adjusting the saddlebag on Lancelot's horse and cooing at the large mare by the name of Chapel. She was by far the most intelligent of the lot—hardly put up a fight any chance they needed her. Very proud too, even more so when Lancelot took the reigns. 

He shoved his enchanted tunic into a small pocket on the inside and closed it, buckling the straps with ease. Merlin stroked Chapel's white mane that elegantly matched the rest of her, preening when she turned her head towards him and nibbled on his fingers. 

"Right then, master of secrecy and mystery—where shall I be headed?" 

Ironic of him to say that, as Merlin was still upset with Lancelot for keeping the war a secret. Although Arthur hadn't returned yet, he'd hardly spoken a word to Lancelot or Gaius. And nobody had bothered to apologize, except for Mordred after he realized that Merlin hadn't known. It made sense though, as he often kept to himself and didn't run with the group very often. If he did, he was made fun of relentlessly for how young he was—barely nineteen years of age and already a knight of Camelot. 

"The Eastern border should be fine—don't let her turn around until you get there." Merlin chewed on the inside of his mouth as he looked up at Lancelot and stepped back a few paces. He released the block on his magic and waited to see if the tunic would lure Chapel to him. 

In response to the pull, she kicked her hooves and almost bucked Lancelot right off her back, the knight scrambling for the reigns and tugging on them hard. 

Merlin snorted at his struggle and made no effort to help him, only waiting for Chapel to calm down enough.

Once she did, she turned in Merlin's direction and huffed, stomping her front hooves. Lancelot held on and braced himself for another buck as she began to move towards him very hesitantly, more so than what he'd hoped for. Merlin supposed he'd have to make it stronger somehow, but this would work for a basic test. 

"Good girl—you think you can do that a bit faster next time?" He chuckled as she began to lick at his temple, one of her hooves raised and curled for some reason. It was a little more aggressive than her usual behavior, but he didn't think much of it. He pulled a carrot out of her bag and distracted her with it, assuming she may be looking for a reward of some kind.

"Strange, I... Do not wish to leave." Lancelot stated, looking at Merlin with a dazed expression on his face.

Merlin sighed in frustration.

He clearly hadn't thought this through enough. The fact that both Chapel and Lancelot would be affected by his magic, but he didn't want to risk her running off on her own like that. 

"You have to, Lancelot. Arthur asked me to do something and this will determine if I can. You wouldn't go against your King?"

"No! No, you're right, of course... I'll be off, then... Which direction was it?"

Merlin shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"East. The border. And let her guide you back, don't do anything to help her. I'll be right here, got it?"

"Understood, my lord..." Lancelot nodded, still looking highly unsure about it, but guiding Chapel by the reigns regardless. 

Merlin gestured with a short nod of his head and stayed where he was as he watched their figures disappear beyond the trees. He didn't want them to use the main road, for the simple fact that it would be too easy for Chapel to find her way back. 

And if she couldn't do it, Merlin still felt the pull and could locate them himself if needed.

A few moments passed and it was just as strong, almost like a rope being pulled taut—only, he had the power to ignore it entirely. Here's hoping Lancelot could do the same. 

Merlin sat down cross-legged by the edge of the road and waited. 

He pulled out his notes from the other night and went through the words of power again—mulled over the idea of enchanting something physical that Arthur could wear and take off at will. Perhaps a ring, or his cloak. But then, others might be drawn to it and put themselves in danger trying to get back to Merlin. From the way it'd affected both Lancelot and Chapel, there was too much risk involved for that. 

He supposed he could enchant Arthur's body, instead. Almost bordering on blood magic, but not quite as extreme. 

Maybe command his magic to bind solely to him and never affect another, no matter how close they were. A limited form that could work both ways, but only of his body and never his will or decision-making. If he did it correctly, Arthur should feel a subtle tingling sensation of some kind—something that he could choose to follow, if and when they got separated.

He sighed and focused on the most accurate runes for it, until the sun began to set on the horizon and he could barely see the pages anymore. Nobody had passed him on the road for at least a few hours and he was anxious about that, but grateful for the peace. 

It should work just as he had it written down now—and if anything went wrong, he'd absorb his magic and try again...

Here's hoping it wouldn't be permanent. Though, it couldn't possibly be, it wasn't like any blood would be involved—or sacrifices. He shuddered at the thought.

Merlin heard the faint sound of leaves stirring in front of him and looked up from his notes. Chapel and Lancelot had finally made their way back to him and he let out a sigh of relief, standing up from his spot and waving them over.

"It's past sundown, did you run into trouble?" He asked, approaching them and putting up that block on his magic again. He felt the pull receed very suddenly and release both of them from it's hold.

Lancelot went to respond, but as he opened his mouth, his eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped forward, body tumbling awkwardly to the ground. Merlin panicked and rushed to his side, crouching down next to him.

"Lance! Lancelot, wake up—" He grabbed him by the shoulder and lifted his upper body, his palm supporting the back of his head. Lancelot's eyes shot open suddenly and he gasped for air, looking around them frightened. 

"Merlin?" He whispered, brows furrowed as he finally locked eyes with him.

"You passed out... I think from the heat. Come on, I'll take you to Gaius." Merlin helped him to his feet slowly and Lancelot leaned against him, one arm slung around his shoulder. 

"What's happened, where are we?" He groaned, and pulled away, swaying back and forth and clutching his side. Merlin waited until he could find his balance again. 

He debated whether or not to just tell him what this was, be honest like he'd always been. But that would only raise more questions and after everything that's happened to him, he didn't have the energy for it. Couldn't bring himself to tell the truth this time. 

"Doesn't matter now, we're done for the night. Come on." Merlin stated, stepping back from Lancelot to climb onto Chapel's back. He made room for him and gestured for the knight to take his hand and sit behind him. With much struggle, he heaved himself over the horse and relaxed against Merlin's back as they began the journey back to the castle. 

He didn't know why his magic had done that, but it was beginning to really scare him. Chapel seemed to be unfazed by the loss, however—maybe due to her size, he didn't know. 

"What's the last thing you remember?" He asked and Lancelot sighed, shifting against his back.

"I believe you gave me instructions to ride somewhere... I must have done. I cannot remember it for the life of me, however. Some heat to knock me clean off, eh? Arthur still has not returned?"

"No... They should be close, though. And thank you for your help today, Lancelot... I know you're busy—should've waited until we had more help. I'm sorry."

Lancelot chuckled and clasped a firm hand on his shoulder. 

"Don't worry yourself—I am indebted to you, after all... The King specifically requested our discretion, it wasn't easy. He threatened me, actually—though I would've told you regardless, but you must understand he's more than capable. Arthur is in a category of his own... Far beyond the likes of Cenred."

Merlin hummed in response—he wanted to say that he was wrong and Arthur was only human, just like anybody else. He still couldn't get over the fact that he could've died out there, with no amount of pride left to fallback on. No magic to help him, either—if he could've just waited and if Merlin had listened to him the first time and stayed safe in the castle, he wouldn't be so upset with himself.

"You mustn't blame him, or yourself. I know how you are—and whether it be now, or several years in the future, it makes no difference. I daresay what happened to you, only solidified his plans to end this war once and for all."

"He could've died." Merlin stated, voice cracking a bit.

"He could have, you're right. But you know as well as I do that it's not in his nature to give up. He fought so hard to bring us peace at last—we owe him this victory, Merlin. We owe him our gratitude."

-

It was well past nightfall, Merlin's worried expression fixed on his window. He couldn't sleep if he tried and wondered if anybody else felt the way he did. Perched on top of his windowsill, he waited patiently for any sign of life beyond the lower towns. 

With his hand pressed to the glass, he reached out again with his magic. Under strikingly-different circumstances than the other night, he needed to know what was happening right now and why it was taking them so damned long to come home. The distance prevented him from seeing beyond the stables, however—and Merlin was screaming from the inside. 

"Gods, please..." He rested his forehead on it and sighed, breath fogging up the view. 

With his arms wrapped around his knees, he stared out of his window for what felt like hours and refused to succumb to the exhaustion. It was only when the sun rose again and presented a new, kingless day to all of Camelot, that he finally let his eyes fall shut.

-

Merlin woke up on the floor and looked around himself curiously, squinting in every direction.

It was Camelot's warning bell.

He scrambled to his feet and ran to the window, where the Knights of Camelot were barrelling through the streets at an alarming rate. 

"Make way for the King!"

At the sound of that desperate plea—Leon's voice, without a doubt—Merlin was running. Adrenaline moved his feet faster than he ever thought possible, as he nearly tripped on the many festivities in the corridor—jumping over decorations haphazardly left on the floor (he'd strangle whoever did that), knocking over endtables and buckets of water on his way to the courtyard. 

"Pardon! Pardon me, sorry—" He yelled at an elderly couple that'd been blocking his way.

It wasn't just them, though.

A wall of patrons and distant relatives had blocked the entire front entrance and damn it all, Merlin couldn't see over the commotion.

"Do I really have to?" Merlin breathed to himself and looked up at the ceiling in pity. He felt his magic stirring from his fingertips. The answer was yes, yes he did. 

He reached out with an open palm, eyes flashing that brilliant gold color as he whispered,

"Abietee." 

The sea of bodies parted violently, forming a large path for him to run through before they could fill in again—he cursed himself for being disturbingly underdressed for this type of reunion. Merlin ran down the stone steps and out towards the fountain, where horses began to file in one-by-one.

"Leon!" He spotted the knight easily and ran over to his horse, holding out an arm to help him down.

"Merlin?" The knight's eyes welled up as he smiled down at his friend and took the hand that was outstretched to him. When he was on the ground again, Merlin couldn't hold back anymore if he tried. He pulled Leon into a crushing hug, thin arms barely able to wrap themselves around his armor—he didn't care about anything right now, except for how relieved he was in this moment. 

"Where's Arthur?"

Leon chuckled and Merlin visibly relaxed at the sound of it, all panic melting from his body in an instant. Someone had cleared their throat from behind him and Merlin tensed, the reality of the situation settling in his stomach—he was still in his night clothes for hell's sake, what was he doing?

He removed himself from Leon and patted his shoulder, coughing awkwardly at what he'd just done. 

"Sorry, I—thank you, Leon. Thank you all, I can't believe I'm able to say it to you. It was stupid, but... You did it. Not that I doubted you! Not that at all, it's just—nevermind, I'm sorry. Please, go get some rest." 

Leon nodded in understanding, but before he could respond, there was a light tap on Merlin's shoulder. 

Merlin knew who it was before he could turn around, and once he did, it wasn't really a shock to him how exhausted he looked. 

"Arthur—"

"Merlin."

They stared at each other for an eternity, neither one of them knowing how to proceed from here. Leon had snuck away from them some time ago, but they didn't appear to notice. Gaius was frantically ushering the knights inside the castle left and right and there was so much going on but nothing, all at the same time. 

"I assume things went well in my absence?" Arthur asked, breaking the silence.

Merlin furrowed his brows in confusion, eyes connecting with the makeshift bandage wrapped around Arthur's right shoulder, covering a wound that obviously needed attention. He nodded absentmindedly, but couldn't trust his voice at the moment. 

"Very well." He took a few steps towards him and Merlin flinched back in response, thrusting a palm out in front of him as if he were about to use his magic.

"Stop! Just—stay there for a moment, will you?"

Merlin shook his head and decided this was as far as they would get for now, they'd hash it out some other time—like when he was in his right mind and not running on two whole hours of sleep. He turned on his heels, a bit painfully because he was also barefoot in front of the King, and headed straight for the castle doors, not bothering to check if Arthur was following him.

Before he could get very far, though—a body much smaller than his collided with his chest and wrapped their arms around him so fast, he didn't have time to balance them both and nearly fell over from the force. Confused and slightly irritated, he pulled back and was hit with the unexpected sight of his mother, Hunith. 

"Mother? Wh—what are you doing here?"

They smiled at each other and he pulled her into another bone-crushing hug, inexplicable relief flooding through his system. He let the tears fall silently and soak into her dark hair, her fingers stroking tenderly at the base of his neck.

"Oh, Merlin... It was Arthur. A miracle really, that he found us when he did—the people of Ealdor... Well, they wanted to fight by his side, after what he did for us many years ago. It's lost now, not many people made it out this time, I'm afraid. But we can talk about that later—he's offered to let me stay here with you."

Merlin's eyes grew wide and he looked over his shoulder at Arthur that stood only a few paces behind him, watching them with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Really?"

"For however long you wish to stay. After everything you've done for me and my knights, it's the least I can do."

Merlin stood there in shock at the sincerity of his words and wondered briefly if Arthur had hit his head out there as well, until Hunith placed a warm hand on his cheek and gently turned his face back to her. Her eyes shifted between his and they fell into each other with laughter, overwhelmed with the joy of finally seeing each other after many long years. 

"I have so much to tell you, oh my god, you have no idea! Come, I'll take you to see the library first—Mum, it's huge, you won't believe it, honestly—"

"I'm sure it is, love..." Hunith's bottom lip trembled as she brushed his hair back from his forehead and looked at Merlin with so much love in her eyes, he wondered, for a moment, if this could even be real. 

-

"Wasn't there a well, here?" Merlin hummed and Hunith took a seat next to him at the fountain, admiring the statue in the center and noticing a small plaque dedicated to the House of de Bois. "She looks just as beautiful as she did when I last saw her."

"You knew Ygraine?" Merlin asked curiously as he put together a couple of pork sandwiches for them, both legs straddling the fountain's edge.

"Oh, yes. Everybody did back in those days. It was hard not to, with how popular she was, not unlike your King I might add. We all knew of her kindness, the amount of patience she needed to have in order to put up with that man. But there is so much of her inside him, I can see it even now. The people adore Arthur almost as much as they did her—and she would've given anything for their happiness, would rarely put herself above it. But even with all that popularity, I still think she deserved much more than what she got. I only wished we had more time together, she was so gracious towards me and your father..." Hunith trailed off, one of her hands brushing over the plaque and admiring the intricate stonework.

"She sounds amazing." Merlin placed a hand on her shoulder, offering up a sandwich that Hunith gratefully accepted.

"She was... And he is too, you know. You should give him more credit once in a while, sweetheart—you may struggle to see it now, but that man really cares for you. He wouldn't have bothered to look for me, otherwise. Ealdor was too far out of his way for it to be a coincidence this time, even if he claimed that he was just passing through. I could see it written all over his face, he wasn't about to let that war take me from you."

Merlin's chewing slowed, a feeling of guilt gnawing at his stomach. He swallowed and scanned the crowd around him, attempting to find Arthur somewhere amidst these familiar faces.

"He's not here, I'm afraid."

"I figured, he doesn't really do festivals, always says it's a waste of time. But it's not like he'd listen to me anyway, after what I did."

"Oh, sweetie..." Hunith shifted closer and took one of his hands between her own. Her eyes welled up as she rested her cheek on his fingers. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you. Arthur told me what happened."

Merlin stared at his sandwich like it could possibly get him out of this. 

"I'm sure he did... Everybody knows now, isn't it great?" He muttered bitterly to himself.

"Merlin, look at me. As a mother, it's my job to make sure those things never happen! But I wasn't there and he was—don't you understand? And so what if people know? Quit blaming yourself for something that's out of your control. You're allowed to be hurt, you're allowed to give yourself whatever time it takes to heal. Nobody's holding this against you, especially him."

"You're right, I'm just... Not ready to accept that, I think. He can barely look at me."

Hunith paused for a moment and gestured with a short nod of her head, at something behind him. 

Confused, he glanced over his shoulder and spotted the very man they were talking about, leaning against his balcony and staring straight at Merlin's back. The sleeves of his white tunic were bunched up near his elbows, his forearms resting on the ledge and a goblet loosely dangling from his fingertips. As soon as he caught Merlin's eyes however, Arthur looked away and pretended to stare at basically nothing now—a random flowerpot in the garden, it seemed to be. 

"See?" Merlin snickered, managing to pull a laugh from his mother as he turned back towards her.

She gave him a suspicious look and Merlin only pushed her lightly on the shoulder, the older woman yelping and frantically holding onto the edge of the fountain, where she nearly toppled over and into the water below. Merlin almost fell in himself, due to how hard he was laughing at her struggle.

"Oh, is that how you want to play?" She dipped her fingers in the water and splashed him right in the face, the offense on Merlin's expression quickly morphing into one of pure mischief. 

"Oh no, I know that look—wait, Merlin, don't—"

"Waeter, gehiere min ábannan, min will, min heorte..."

He winked at her, hovering his hand over the water and watching it rise and transform itself into a small heart, now floating in mid-air between them. Delicate and clear as the purest water in the kingdom could be, he willed it to fly above them towards the statue. 

"Min heorte béon cwic eft."

It sprung to life, beating to the rhythm of his own heart, floating in place over Ygraine's chest. 

-

Later that evening, Merlin gave his mother the grand tour of the castle; showed her all of the mysterious hidden pathways, the kitchens, armoury, etc. He skipped the upper left and right wings because he wasn't allowed on the top floor for some reason—maintenance purposes, it was probably boring up there anyway.

At the end of it, she had a choice between one of the many guest rooms. And of course she picked the one that was closest to Merlin's.

It was a decent size if he were honest—and to Merlin's surprise, as clean and well-kept as his own room. Fresh sheets that looked almost brand new, candles and torches already lit and waiting to be snuffed out. There was even a variety of fruits laid out for her, roaring fireplace in the corner, and new clothes hung up in the wardrobe.

"Strange... I don't remember any of the guest chambers being this stocked before." Merlin scratched the back of his neck nervously and closed the wardrobe, hoping that there were no guests actually living in here already. He would've known, though... Right?

"Erm... One second." He ducked outside the door and opened the small tin hanging on the wall next to it. He pulled out the registry from it and was shocked to find only one name on the list—stamped with today's date.

His mother's name, written in that pompous handwriting he knew all-too well. 

His heart skipped a beat as he stood there and stared at it, as if committing it to memory. 

So it started with his name engraved on the Round Table, then his chambers were built right next to his favorite spot in the castle, then the promotion, Arthur saving his life for the first time, killing Cenred for it, then pulling his mother out of a war—somehow completely unharmed? And offering to let her stay in the castle, indefinitely?

Oh, and how could he forget that Arthur wanted to bind his soul to him so that he could never lose sight of him again?

That was when he realized that there was a massive part of this that Arthur didn't want anyone to see. But then you hear about how brave he is in battle, how poised and collected he is during council meetings and negotiations—developing homicidal tendencies at the smallest of things, then jumping into action with zero hesitation when it was somebody he actually cared about. 

"No end date?" His mother said from behind him, as she peered over his shoulder to look at the registry. Merlin flinched and caught himself on the threshold at the sound of her voice. 

"No, he put a strike through it. He did say however long you wanted, it's just... Weird how his actions don't exactly match up with his face half the time. You know, like the backend of a cat—his words, not mine. I can't be held accountable, sorry."

"Oh, stop it—" She gave him one of her 'looks' and snatched the registry from his hands, folding it up neatly and placing it back in it's spot next to the door. "His face does not look like that and you know it."

Merlin held up his hands and stepped back slowly, his mother folding her arms across her chest and leaning against the doorway.

"It didn't when he was prince, that's all I'm saying." 

"Well then, maybe you should talk to him and he'll stop looking at you like that, hm? Goodnight, Merlin."

-

Merlin was awake far too early for anybody else to be, motivated purely by his mother's presence just down the hall. He was ecstatic, elated, felt like nothing in this world could stop him from fulfilling his destiny. He was humming quite obnoxiously and floating about his room as though he lived in the clouds. He dusted, swept, mopped and none of the morning bells had even gone off yet. 

It was when he began to sing - quite hysterically, voice cracks and all - that the first breakfast bell sounded throughout the castle. It was time for him to get back to work, finally—

That meant Arthur's breakfast.

He hopped into the corridor and breathed in deep, feeling his magic radiating off of him today. He didn't know what it was, he felt like it would be a good day, a brilliant first day back in what felt like ages. 

With the sudden energy of a teenager, he tried his absolute hardest not to sprint down the hallway at the smell of boiled eggs and hogsmeat patties—and the biscuits. Gods, he loved the biscuits more than anything. The baker always put little blueberries in them, with freshly-churned butter and the finest breadrolls in all of the five kingdoms.

But he had to stop himself before he went into the kitchens, as the sunrise looked so beautiful this morning, it instantly took his breath away. He leaned over the railing, closed his eyes and let it wash over him like a warm blanket. This was his home, Camelot was his home. And with his mother now only metres away from him at all times, it really did feel like some divine miracle.

"Thank you." He whispered to no one in particular, smiling to himself and holding his emotions back. 

Alright, breakfast for both of them—he could do this, he's had to juggle far more than that before. His body shuddered at that one time he had to fill in for Gwen and take her place as midwife. It's not babies, this time. 

It's not babies.

He shook his head at the thought and strode through the double-doors, the cook shouting profanities at the sight of him and flinging a doughnut in his direction. He ducked suddenly and cringed at the sound of it hitting some poor old woman outside—why, why did he think it was a good idea to just waltz in here like that?

"What 'ave I told ye' about struttin' yer stingy little arse in 'ere?! Whatchu' want now, yer right bellend?"

"Er—breakfast?"

Merlin, practically hyperventilating right about now, may have needed to come back at lunchtime instead. 

He gulped and ducked his way around the many flying pastries, crumbs now sticking to his hair and practically imbedded into his purple tunic. Merlin, as determined as he was, had spent many years mastering the art of parkour in this very kitchen, just to get Arthur's food firmly on a tray. He wasn't about to give up now.

He dashed behind her, jumped over the peanuts on the floor and ducked under her legs while she was busy screaming in the opposite direction. He snatched one of the royal trays—er, two. This slight variation in the routine earned him a nice kick in the shin. 

"I'm—" Sidestep, dodge, roll.

"Fetching—" Dodge, jump, roll.

"The King's—" Roll, pirouette. 

"Breakfast!" Roll, crawl, crawl, duck. 

A bit more nicking and crawling and he had two perfect portions of food, one on each palm—a pitcher of orange juice balanced atop his head this time. It was a little awkward when he'd walked in with it crushed between his knees one time.

"Thanks again! Looks lovely, Lady Agatha!" He shouted over his shoulder and kicked open the doors for a not-so-stealthy escape. "Ya' lunatic."

"Need some help over there, my lord?" Gwaine rounded the corner and spotted Merlin's struggle, his snickering almost killing Merlin's mood entirely. 

"Gwaine, please don't start calling me that. And no, I've made a sport out of this, it's how we bond now." He rolled his eyes and muttered an enchantment to make the pitcher on his head stay balanced no matter what. "What are you even doing up this early, anyway?" 

Gwaine cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly on his feet. 

"I'm... Uh. Well, it's... Sort of a long story, actually... Bit boring, not to your taste I reckon—"

"Walk with me then, Sir Knight, my arms hurt and I was having such a good morning until I remembered that Lady Agatha still exists. We should get as far away as possible or she might finally learn that there's a door there." Merlin made his way down the corridor and Gwaine chuckled beside him, looking so happy that it had Merlin smiling despite himself. 

"She's not so bad, seems to like me well enough."

Merlin snorted at that and for some reason, it kind of made sense. In a twisted sort of way, that is.

"Yeah, you are definitely her type. But hey, seriously. Why aren't you in bed—or... Drinking or something?"

Gwaine wiggled his brows and that was enough of an explanation for Merlin. He would've held his hand up to stop him, if it weren't for the fact that they were full of the most expensive food money could buy. 

"Well, I happen to have a date tonight. I wanted to make it special for once." His voice cracked on the word 'date' and Merlin knew it was painful for him to admit that outright.

"Right, who is it? You know, so I can warn her about your alcoholic, pyromaniac tendencies." He smirked as Gwaine placed a hand over his chest dramatically, feigning emotional turmoil. 

"You wound me Merlin. I'm hurt, truly. But no, I'm after a gentleman's heart this time—and he's not like Sebastian, stop giving me that look."

"Aye, Sebastian was much worse and I don't even know who it is yet."

"And you won't, not until I can make it exclusive—wait, are you bringing Arthur breakfast?"

Merlin looked at him like he had five heads.

"Yes? But my mother comes first today. I do this every morning?"

"Uh- why? He has a servant, right? You've been promoted."

Merlin sighed and kept walking, Gwaine still at his side and occasionally snacking on the peanuts that fell on the plates during the crossfire. He didn't have the heart to tell him that most of them had come from the floor. 

"I know it isn't technically my job now, but... He never hired a replacement for me. George does little things for him now and then, but other than that, he's been on his own. I don't know why and I haven't bothered to ask." 

Gwaine hummed as they approached Hunith's chambers. 

"Really, I only want to help. But I'm happy for you, Gwaine—after Sebastian, this one better be it for you, or you can come and find me and we'll both deal with him, got it?"

Gwaine considered this for a moment and snapped his fingers in his direction. 

"Yeah, but he's not experienced enough to really cheat on me, so—no need for that, sadly. Anyway, see you at the training grounds, later? Give your mother a good morning from me, will you?"

Merlin nodded excitedly, his black curls bouncing up and down on his forehead, Gwaine strutting down the corridor and leaving peanut shells in his wake. With all of the grace of a man with several arms, Merlin balanced both trays on his forearm and knocked on his mother's door eagerly.

She opened it and smiled brightly up at him, before noticing what a complete mess he was from head-to-toe. 

"No time to explain—gotta' eat this now before it gets cold, mum."

He rushed inside and placed her tray on the table, pouring them cups of orange juice, before dashing out the door again.

"I'll be right back, just eat!"

He could hear her questioning him about his erratic behavior, but the longer it took him to do this, the more he risked Arthur potentially leaving and Merlin having zero chance whatsoever to make this day not feel like a complete disaster. 

He sprinted down the hall and was out of breath before he could even get to Arthur's chambers, but when he finally did, he found himself hesitating for much longer than usual. 

With a deep breath, he knocked softly on his doors and waited.

And waited.

And waited. 

Gods, did he leave already?

"Sire? It's Merlin, I've got your breakfast."

There was a distinct sound of something scraping against the floor. He went to go push the doors open, but Arthur's voice came through before he could. 

"I'm here!" 

He sighed in relief and rested his palm flat on the wooden structure—this had always been the most awkward part. He learned far too late to never enter his chambers without knocking first.

The door moved suddenly and he stood up straight, keeping his head bowed in respect.

"Come in, close the door behind you." 

Merlin obeyed silently and snuck inside, kicking the door shut behind him. He could feel Arthur's eyes watching him as he set the table, pouring a goblet full of juice and arranging his silverware just so, mindful of the royal ettiquette.

"Sorry about the peanuts, sire, she was ruthless this morning—I don't think any of them touched your food, but... Here, I'll just-" He snatched them off of his plate and stuffed them in his pocket as fast as he could. "There, all gone, see? Having a good morning, my lord?"

He turned around and clasped his hands together, shooting Arthur the biggest smile he could manage—without looking like a complete sociopath. 

"It's far too early to tell, no thanks to you. Come, sit down and stop smiling like that, you're giving me premature dementia. Eat with me." He barked, pulling his chair out aggressively and taking a seat.

Merlin had either lost his hearing entirely or he'd accidentally transported himself to an alternate reality. He glanced towards the doors and wondered if his mother would think he'd been killed or maimed, maybe castrated out in the corridor by the man in front of him.

"Or—I could feed it to the rats instead, your choice."

Merlin sprung into action and took a seat across from Arthur, studying his face for any indication that he might actually be serious about this. He wasn't, right?

"Here."

Arthur grabbed one of Merlin's hands and stuffed a blueberry biscuit inside of it. However, he seemed to be too focused on the plate in front of him to realize that he hadn't actually let go of him yet.

Merlin didn't move the hand that was now resting under the King's—for fear he might get snapped at again. So, he sat there and pretended not to notice it, his other hand tentatively removing the biscuit and bringing it up to his lips.

Arthur paused and looked up at Merlin, the weight of something very threatening in his eyes, forcing Merlin to take a small bite. 

"Good. You're getting thin again and your face is paler than a ghost's. If I must force-feed you like a child every morning, then so be it. Understood?"

"Yefs, fsire—"

"Very well. I can't afford you falling over during training this afternoon—and yes, I am aware of my hand on you. If you choose to move it, I will chop it off with no hesitation." Arthur dropped the fork with his free hand and placed two boiled eggs in his palm and a lonely sausage.

Merlin was so embarrassed by this, he could hardly think, let alone breathe. Arthur was actually threatening him to eat at the present moment. Like hell if he wanted to move it anyway, this was the most direct contact he'd ever gotten from the man.

He was surely blushing redder than the bottle of wine sat next to him—was it noticeable? Could he feel his pulse hammering underneath his fingertips, too?

Gods, please.

Merlin coughed a little at the dryness of the biscuit and Arthur took that as a sign to actually slide his goblet towards him. 

"I... Are you?" 

"Drink. It." Arthur seethed, his patience clearly running thin with every passing moment.

Merlin tried not to look so disturbed as he grabbed the base of the goblet and downed it's contents in one go. Arthur didn't take it back from him, but refilled it regardless. 

Somehow, they fell into an oddly-comfortable routine of Merlin eating painfully slow and Arthur shoving more food in his hand, occasionally chancing a look at his progress and not really giving much insight to his satisfaction about it. At some point, Merlin swore he felt Arthur's grip on him tighten just a fraction above what he would consider normal physical contact. He wasn't really complaining, though.

"When you're done choking on that, I'll need you to perform the spell we discussed." He gestured to the hogsmeat patty hanging out of Merlin's mouth and wrinkled his nose in disgust for the thing.

At the mention of it though, Merlin could only think about that night he found the book. The one that was carefully hidden under his bed now, containing the very spell that Arthur had ripped from it. 

He really, really hoped he didn't mean that one.

"The one you gave me?"

Arthur stilled, his fork halfway to his mouth as he looked up at Merlin's petrified state.

"No... Lest I risk my advisor losing anymore of his waning mental capacity."

Merlin just rolled his eyes at that and slumped back in his chair, relieved that he wouldn't ever have to reference it again—well, at least not in front of Arthur. He popped the rest of his food in his mouth and chewed obnoxiously loud, much to the King's chagrin. 

"Well, if you don't die of starvation—a clogged artery is surely next on the list."

"Mmf—"

Arthur cringed at the noise and pushed his plate off to the side.

"Present your findings." 

Merlin swallowed the last bit and buried his hand in his pocket, producing his notes on the subject and displaying them for the King. A little revision would've been nice, as it was obvious that not much of it would actually make sense to the untrained eye.

Arthur wasn't swayed by that, however, as he unfolded his reading glasses and studied the material in silence. 

"A 'subtle tingling sensation'?" His voice was deadpan as he skimmed through it, but urged Merlin to explain.

"Right—I don't exactly know what it would feel like, to be honest. Only that it shouldn't hurt you."

Arthur looked a little skeptical and maybe a bit nervous, but that didn't last long, as he promptly let go of the parchment and gestured with a flick of his wrist for Merlin to get on with it. 

He let go of a breath he'd been holding and moved his hand from Arthur's, only to flip his palm facing up, thumb pressed to the calloused skin of his wrist.

"Your other hand, sire." 

Arthur thrusted it towards him and Merlin took that one as well, holding them both against the table. 

He closed his eyes and focused on the ancient magics that ran through his veins, channeling it beyond himself. But before he had a chance to say the enchantment, he could feel it already questioning the King—a curious warmth wrapping itself around his wrists, traveling upwards towards his heart.

"My magic... It's sizing you up, I think. Give it a moment."

Arthur didn't say anything, but a soft noise could be heard across from him—almost like he was content with the interrogation. His magic coursed through Arthur's veins and tangled itself with his mind, searching for any reason to find him unworthy. 

"It knows of our intentions, do you feel it?"

No response, just a low hum of acknowledgement from the King. His magic practically sung at the sound of his voice and urged Merlin to come closer, almost taunting him with it, preening, waiting for Merlin to say the words. 

He took that as a sign to continue.

"Geband a aenne, cyning Arthur Pendragon..."

Arthur's hands tensed under his fingers from the intrusion, his breathing steadily picking up. 

"...Ond amundian þá bréosthord wiþ þeos ábannan..."

His magic obeyed, quite suddenly, and released Arthur's mind from it. The King gasped and slumped forward, Merlin increasing his grip on his hands. 

...Ánga hé ond ic, lic ond sawle, maeg gehiere hit. Alaetan hit a ati hine forþ, a paet hwilc béon gestrengede hāl eft!"

It all came to a hault and Merlin's eyes shot open, those golden whisps of magic disappearing under Arthur's skin and leaving no traces behind. He studied the King's expression for any sign of discomfort—

"It's over—you can open your eyes now, Arthur."

Arthur blinked and lifted his head, looking around his chambers in confusion.

"You haven't even started yet." 

"Ah, sorry... I forgot to mention the potential memory loss."

"The potential what?" Arthur panicked and ripped his hands away.

"No! No, it's over with. I commanded it to let go of your mind—relax. It'll only affect your body."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and pointed a threatening finger at him, 

"That better be the truth, or you'll be sleeping in the stocks tonight."

Well, it definitely left his mind alone. 

"See? You wouldn't be threatening me right now if I'd compelled you."

Arthur continued to glare at him, but retracted his finger nonetheless. He ripped his glasses off of his nose and tossed them on the table, folding his arms over his chest. 

"So, how do we know if it worked, then?" He asked, expression slowly morphing back to it's constant state of annoyance. 

Merlin scratched the back of his neck and shrugged—he actually didn't know the answer to that one.

"Well... Do you feel anything right now?"

Arthur focused on it for a moment, but shook his head.

Merlin sighed and leaned back in his chair—his magic was there, though. If Arthur couldn't notice it, Merlin did. He could even hear his disturbingly-high blood pressure right about now. 

"I can, sire. I don't know, I've never... Done this before. It's like a buzzing or something, or a thousand tiny little ants crawling up and down my legs."

Arthur mumbled something under his breath and went to go stand up from his chair. Merlin's eyes grew wide when he hastily removed his tunic and began to undress himself right in front of him—

"Well, that wasn't exactly..." Arthur trailed off, his movements stilling where his hands now rested on the waistband of his smalls. He stood there shirtless, annoyed, and slightly out of it. 

Merlin averted his eyes and begged the gods that Arthur wouldn't notice how uncomfortable this was for him. 

"What is that noise?" Arthur rubbed his left ear and smacked it once, blinking rapidly, "It's like a heartbeat."

"Um— yours?" 

Surprisingly, Arthur accepted that response and continued to shed his night clothes—to which, Merlin stood up so fast that he thought he might actually faint. 

"I-I should go! Yeah, lots to do—it's amazing how much there is to do on a Saturday of all days, don't you agree? Can't catch a break, actually, there is just so much—"

"Merlin." 

"Right—I'll be down in the courtyard!"

-

Merlin had always been the first one to arrive at training, but today wasn't about being early or appeasing Arthur. He felt stronger than he did a month ago, much stronger—and even though he still wasn't quite there mentally; where his magic was concerned, he felt like he could flatten an entire army. The Earth below him was relishing in it's newfound peace, quietly thanking the King and his army for what they'd done for the kingdom. 

He didn't bring any novels with him, this time. The sun's rays gave him much more to think about and Merlin chose to bask in this beauty, rather than breathing in those layers of dust that only one of his books could produce. He leaned his head back against the cherry tree and allowed himself these brief moments of silence.

He thought about the spell and Arthur's weird determination to make sure that he remained healthy. But it wasn't like he chose to look the way he did—he didn't need to drag kilos of armour around, or use his physical strength for much of anything these days. And with the weather, how stifling it was, he'd sweat it all off anyway.

Still, it was another one of Arthur's weird ways of showing him that he actually cared.

"Oi!" 

Merlin perked up at the sight of Gwaine jogging through the field towards him—with Mordred not far behind. The rest of the knights had gathered near the castle wall and talked amongst themselves, looking more relaxed than he'd ever seen them. They must've been relieved that the worst of it was finally over. 

"Enjoying the weather, my lord?" Mordred asked him, gasping for air and leaning against the space above Merlin's head. Gwaine clapped a hand on his shoulder and shot him an impressed look.

"Already catching up with the title, yeah? Good boy." Gwaine winked at him and Mordred's cheeks flushed as he curled in on himself slightly. 

"I'm not a boy." Mordred tried to sound annoyed with the endearment, but there was nothing but a teasing edge to his tone—which only egged him on more. Gwaine smirked and crowded into his space, backing him up against the tree slowly. 

Good gods, is this what the knights get up to when the King isn't around?

Merlin looked between the two of them and suddenly, it was like he didn't even exist anymore. With the way that they were now devouring each other with their eyes.

"Actually, Mordred was the first one to call me that, but alright then." Merlin said to himself, shaking his head with a small grimace on his face—he had to watch it, though. The look in Gwaine's eyes was nothing short of predatory—and if Mordred was his next victim, the one he talked about this morning, then so help him. When he said he met someone that wasn't like Sebastian, he didn't know just how far down the spectrum that actually was. 

"The weather is brilliant, thank you Mordred!" He practically shouted between the two of them, Gwaine flinching back violently—where they'd been inches away from snogging right in front of him.

Merlin was slightly offended by the look that got him, but hey. They were there to train, not to swallow each other's tonsils under this cherry tree. The King would not only condemn them for it, but most likely banish them for good. He shuddered at the thought and brushed off the fallen petals on his thighs, standing up to go join the others. 

"Arthur will be here in a bit, let's go." He decided against telling them what Arthur might do, as Gwaine probably knew and Morded—well, he'd be crushed if he had to leave Camelot. But Merlin knew better than anyone that it was only the distraction that Arthur cared about. Letting yourself slip for even a second on the battlefield, would be the last mistake you'd ever make.

"Alright then, Merlin," Gwaine wrapped a playful arm around his shoulders, "you sure you can keep up with me?"

Chapter Text

As soon as Merlin left his chambers, Arthur began pacing from one end to the other and back again. Just like his father used to do when he was upset, only—he had been shouting at everyone that happened to be within range. Arthur was never really one to yell. 

He kicked off the rest of his night clothes and shoved open his wardrobe in search for something slightly more presentable.

A bath would set him behind—no, he must train as soon as possible, then he'd worry about how to fetch a bath without a servant seeing him and finishing the task for him. Or, he could ride out to the lake by himself—a relaxing idea, but again, pointless as the waters were filthy and he needn't make it a habit to bathe in.

His current mood wasn't Merlin's fault, or even the enchantment's. In fact, it eased his mind somewhat that he could finally know when he was needed, not that he actually felt anything yet. 

No, it was the memory of that fight. 

You see, he'd been watching Cenred from afar ever since they rescued Merlin. Sending in spies for information—and what he found was the only weakness he'd seen in years. Something he could exploit and use for retaliation. 

It turned out that Cenred had devoted himself to the Triple Goddess, Hecate. Where he begged at the Church, for nights on end, to acquire magical powers—only to be refused by the voices of the Old Religion time and time again. Driven mad by that rejection, he'd undergone many sacrifices to keep in contact with them. Bodies of his people, scattered at the altar for another chance at the gifts he so desperately craved. 

Advancing beyond the main border was by far the hardest part about that war, as many soldiers knew where they were headed and did whatever they could to try to stop them. They hadn't prepared for a war, however, and when Arthur and his men had finally stormed the inner city, there was hardly anyone left to fight. 

Arthur traveled alone from that point on, having commanded the rest of his men to stay behind and treat the wounded. It was met with some resistance, but Arthur knew this area like the back of his hand. And without Merlin, without his magic to heal them, they wouldn't even make it to Cenred—let alone be well enough to keep fighting. 

The path to the Church was eerie and frigid; it felt as if all the light had been snuffed out from the fabric of the Earth itself. It was quiet as well, Arthur could hear his own heartbeat hammering against his chest as he traveled through the city. He thought maybe they were planning an ambush, so he kept himself low and undetected—but even still, there wasn't a single soul in sight.

As he approached the entrance, a numbing sensation coated his skin and the air suddenly felt too thick to swallow. It was a magical presence so powerful, so beyond what he was capable of defeating. But he knew instantly that it had no intention to stop him from what he was about to do. 

"Arthur Pendragon..." 

Three voices resounded simultaneously in his mind, laced with respect and approval.

"Come forth, Young King... Resplendent King... The true, High King of Albion... Take heed, for the one you seek has been made a coward... He is unworthy of our service... Strike him down, while he bathes in the blood of his children... We shall reward you, kindly..."

It was lunacy.

Arthur would do it, but not just to appease the gods this time. It was of his own volition, for the protection of his people and his lands. He had vowed to never encounter those voices again—after meeting with them once, a long time ago, when they'd shunned him for his crimes against the Old Religion.

How the tides have changed, after all. 

He cracked open the doors - stealthily as he could manage - and crept inside, crouching down to shield himself behind the church pews. There was blood surrounding him in this sacred place and Arthur grew dizzy from the smell of decay alone, immediately covering his nose and trying his hardest not to gag. 

He winced at the sound of muffled screaming and peaked over the bench in front of him, noticing - far too late - that Cenred had just slaughtered his youngest son, Amir.

He shouldn't have looked, he should've moved instead and reacted much faster than that, but god he hadn't slept in two days and he should've expected to save someone, anyone, especially a child. 

It easily could've easily been any of his men over there—or... Gods forbid, Merlin. 

That simple, fleeting thought brought back the three voices again.

"Your Destiny is safe under our protection, Golden One... Kill the tyrant."

Arthur was already ahead of them, however. He didn't need their guidance. 

"It's over, Cenred." He gritted through his teeth, the tip of his sword pressed between the man's shoulder blades. "Turn around and fight me with honour, or face your death like a worthless coward."

Cenred chuckled and turned towards him slowly, a twisted smile on his face that deeply disturbed the King.

"Release the child." Arthur's voice was even and dripping with neutrality. On the inside, he was weeping for him—another innocent life cruelly ripped away from the kingdom his father had once fought so hard to protect.

He heard his small body collide with the floor, quite helplessly, and Arthur couldn't bring himself to look down. It was different when children were involved—Arthur had seen many things in his lifetime that would bring even the strongest man to his knees.

But this... 

This had to be the worst, by far. 

Cenred's mouth was moving.

"My, how much you've grown, Arthur. Your father would be proud—"

"How dare you," Arthur spat, before lunging forward and wrapping a lethal hand around his throat. He dragged Cenred by his neck and pinned his body to the Altar of the Three Heads. "How dare you speak of my father? How dare you sacrifice your own son! You are no King—"

Crazed laughter reverberated and bounced off of the Church walls, as Cenred unsheathed his sword lazily, then thrusted it between them in a deadly strike, aimed directly towards Arthur's heart. He barely managed to dodge from the path of his blade, as he let go of Cenred's throat and hissed at where his sword sliced through the chainmail on his arm, as if it were made of cheap fabric.

Cenred's grin only widened as they got into position now, circling one another with their swords outstretched. 

"Mm—careful my friend, you're beginning to sound just like him, you know? Quite the spitting image, if I do say so myself—and how lucky you've been all these years... To have your pretty little manservant and his powers to protect you, to keep your people alive, when even you couldn't do it as their King. Where is he now, I wonder?" Cenred feigned innocence, wheezing out another round of laughter. 

Arthur's expression steeled itself against those words, laced with nothing but pure hatred—on the inside, he was ready to unleash years worth of that very same evil. He'd be the first one to strike then, the sharp edge of his sword colliding with Cenred's and producing sparks in it's wake. They remained connected like that for some time, both men struggling against the other's strength. 

"Come on, Arthur... Hand him over and I'll forget what you've become—I'll spare you, I'll even spare your knights. We could be powerful allies, you and I, we could rule over Albion together."

Panic rose in his chest, for the aching realization that Merlin had been in much more danger that night than either of them had anticipated. Cenred had wanted to use him for his powers, steal him from his court and enslave him. 

The Goddess' voice invaded his mind once more,

"You must strike while he is afraid... His deception is what brought him to us... He means to kill you before ever uniting the kingdoms."

Arthur's ragged breathing fogged up the face of his sword as he felt Cenred's strength waning against him—

"Never."

He pushed once and parried it at last, disarming the man in front of him with practiced ease, his sword flying from his hand and skidding across the bloody floor. Arthur punched him once, felt the bones of his face fracturing and splitting under the force of his knuckles. Unconscious as he was, blood seeping through the corners of his mouth, no longer baring his wicked teeth, Arthur kept him from falling backwards with a menacing hand that gripped the front of his leather coat.

He stared at the lifeless face of his enemy, for one last time, and plunged his sword deep inside his chest. 

The sound of his last breath was enough to pull Arthur from his trance and he retracted his sword, letting Cenred's body crumble to the floor. 

"You have done well, Arthur Pendragon..."

Arthur ignored the chilling echoes of magic now wrapping themselves around his figure in reverence. He fell to his knees, allowing the blood to seep through his clothing. 

"Please accept these visions of what is to come... Approach us, now..."

Arthur recalled one of Merlin's many warnings—'to know your own future was to solidify it's path, whether or not you wish for a better outcome.'

"Emrys is wise..."

Silence fell over the Church and Arthur bowed his head in respect towards the Altar. 

"I cannot accept your visions."

"As you wish... Go now, Young King... The Ancient Magics revere your reign, take care of them and embrace them as your own..."

Arthur had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Hadn't he already done enough by lifting the ban on magic?

They didn't bother to answer his thoughts this time. 

He looked around at the weeks of destruction and bloodshed that forever tarnished these sacred grounds—bodies were everywhere, some draped over the Altar and others strung up by their feet above his head. 

His eyes met the young boy's, still open and fixed somewhere to the left of Arthur—all innocence, every ounce of life, wrongfully stripped from those pale, blue irises.

He didn't save him.

Amir, whose body was the last to fall. 

"I'm sorry."

He couldn't get the image of that little boy out of his mind, even now. Even being praised for what he'd done, everywhere he turned.

It reminded him too much of how helpless he'd felt when he'd rescued Merlin from that wretched place. He didn't look much better either and that worried Arthur to no end, but like hell if he knew what to say to him now. Arthur didn't do matters of the heart, although—he wished it could be more simple.

Like gift giving, or making someone laugh. 

"Alright, my lord?" Leon asked him as they stood in the armoury together—squires on either side of them, adjusting their breastplates. 

"I'm fine, Leon. Thank you." Arthur's jaw tightened—images of Amir, Merlin, and Hunith all jumbled together behind his eyes. He wished that he couldn't see it so clearly, it was one of the reasons he stayed stilent most of the time.

"Arthur?"

He flinched and realized he couldn't stop staring at his sword.

"Here, I'll trade you. Enjoy her, she's forged in a dragon's breath or something—ask Merlin if you wish to know more." Arthur grabbed Leon's sword out of his hand and replaced it with his own. 

Confused and mildly suspicious, Leon swallowed and nodded once, attaching it to his hip. 

"Alright... Erm—thank you, sire." 

"My pleasure. Let's go, we're late." 

Arthur knew he looked way too relaxed right now. If anybody asked how he was again, he may actually lose his mind. 

But Leon wouldn't stop talking as they headed down the stairwell and out to the courtyard. Arthur could already feel the headache brewing behind his eyes—because there was that sound again, clear as day. A heartbeat, strong and just as healthy as his own.

Almost the same rhythm as well.

"Queen Mithian has prepared her men for the invasion, they're willing to take as many survivors as they can. We've sent confirmation that she's to claim Cenred's lands as soon as she can. We should leave them be for now, at least until the Winter months, where the ice is—my lord?" 

Leon paused and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder, where he'd stopped suddenly in the middle of the field. 

"Honestly, am I the only person that can hear that?" Arthur whipped his head around angrily with his hands now stroking his ears to find relief, glaring at Leon as if he knew the answer to that.

Leon retracted his hand as if scolded and anxiously looked around them, then back at Arthur with pity written all over his face. Of course he couldn't give him an answer because how would he know? The sound was practically embedded into his skull at this point. 

"Nevermind, then. Enough talking, just stay close to me. You're the only reason people don't think I've lost my mind entirely."

Leon couldn't argue with that.

They walked in silence, until he could see his inner-circle of knights all huddled up against a hole in the wall, looking terribly too relaxed for his liking. They hastily broke apart when he noticed them, though—so that saved Arthur the extra energy it would cost him to have to yell over this incessant ringing in his ears. Especially in this heat.

He waved over the other loitering bodies that'd been fiddling with their equipment—some were in training to be knights and others had just recovered from their injuries. They seemed to be in a daze and Arthur couldn't blame them at all, it'd been a rough week in general—most likely the hardest they'll ever see. He estimated at least fifty bodies in total, stopping his head-count when he reached forty-seven. 

He clapped once to get their attention and was pleased at how many heads now turned in his direction. 

"Before you head to your stations, I want to remind you all of how important it is to maintain your physical strength. I'm sure that was very clear last week, for some of you that—hang on, where is Gwaine?"

Elyan cleared his throat and gestured to the left of them—where Merlin, Gwaine and Mordred were all walking together in the open field. Arthur's pointed glare was fixated on Gwaine's arm, that happened to be slung across Merlin's shoulders. 

"Mm—not for long, you don't." Arthur muttered to himself, before hooking two leathered fingers in his mouth and whistling in their direction. It was loud enough for poor Mordred to instantly react and draw his sword, flinging it around them awkwardly, searching for danger. A chorus of laughter weaved it's way to Arthur's ears as they all turned to watch him. 

Arthur could feel the sickly-sweet smile on his own face, as he waved much too politely at Mordred, who looked like he may implode under his own embarrassment. Gwaine and Merlin parted from each other just as quickly and began jogging towards them.

That's when Arthur knew that it had to be Merlin's heartbeat in his ears—and though he was not within hearing range at all, he heard his voice as if he were only metres away.

"...Haven't asked him yet. You should've seen his chambers—much worse than that. I feel awful, like it's my fault."

Gwaine's mouth was moving, but Arthur couldn't hear the response. He narrowed his eyes and kept eavesdropping—what about his chambers?

Arthur's chambers?

"I won't, not without asking first. Remind me never to show Hunith though, she'd be inconsolable at best... At worst, she'll be chasing Arthur around the castle with a bar of soap in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other."

Gwaine must've thought that was hilarious.

Arthur wasn't laughing, however. 

They picked up the pace as soon as they felt the King shooting daggers at them with his eyes and Arthur watched as Merlin struggled to keep up with Gwaine. 

Amidst his pathetic wheezing, he also noticed Merlin's heartbeat racing—quite dramatically, if he were honest. But when it didn't stop climbing, he couldn't tell whether or not he should panic or... He really didn't have the medical knowledge to know for certain what sounded healthy or normal or if normal was even normal for a sorceror. 

"Waterskin, quickly." Arthur demanded, holding out his hand for anyone to produce it. Percival was the first to move, shoving his forward and thank the gods it was more than halfway full.

As soon as Merlin caught up with Gwaine and Mordred, Arthur promptly pushed them out of the way and shoved the waterskin towards Merlin's chest.

"Drink it, or your heart's going to explode and I'll be the one that has to explain that to your mother." Arthur hoped his intimidating look would get through to him again, but then he realized that they weren't actually alone this time around—and he was, by no means, like a father to Merlin. 

Everyone was staring at them.

Merlin snatched the waterskin quite aggressively and muttered something under his breath, before taking a large swig of it and sitting down next to Elyan. 

Arthur shook his head and continued what he'd been saying before—

"Right, then... As I was explaining to you earlier, your physical endurance is the greatest asset you can have during combat—save for somebody like Merlin here, who could probably take us all out with the snap of his fingers." That gained him a few laughs and Merlin's mood seemed to lift a fraction, where he'd been glaring at him before. 

"But for the rest of you, it is all you have to protect yourselves. If you let it slip, that's on you the next time we run into battle and you cannot defend yourself properly. We won't always have Merlin around to protect us, in the event that you do decide it's less important." He looked around at the many heads now bowed in his direction. He noted that some of them appeared rather guilty—though the aim was never to condemn them, but to motivate them with the harshness of that reality.

"With that being said, I wanted to take a moment to thank each and every one of you, personally, for your determination these past few days. You bore the Pendragon crest with honour and with bravery—and without the help of sorcery. I recognize that it wasn't easy by any means, but it shows a great deal of strength on it's own. So, maintaining that discipline will reward you in the long run. Well done, all of you. You should be just as proud as I am, as being King means nothing to me without the support of my knights. Thank you." 

A chorus of applause and whistles resounded throughout the crowd, as all of the knights looked around at each other with pride. Gwaine turned to Percival and Leon and brought them into a short, group-hug, with Mordred standing around awkwardly and clapping along with the rest of them. 

Arthur cleared his throat to gain their attention once more. 

"One last thing to cover before you're dismissed. Merlin, you'll pick up where you left off with Mordred—and conjure those moving targets closer to the edge of the forest this time... Especially if he uses the bow." Merlin's pained expression said enough already, but he nodded in understanding.

"It was one time, sire." Mordred grunted petulently, deflating into his spot. Gwaine shifted closer to him and ruffled his hair fondly, while some of the others leaned in to comfort him as well, reassuring him that he wasn't the only one who had done that before.

Arthur's heart swelled for his knights. 

"Just be mindful of your surroundings and have some patience with yourself, you'll get it eventually."

"Will do, sire." 

"Good. Now, off with you." 

They all hummed in acknowledgement and filed out in pairs, minus Leon who stayed dutifully behind and waited for the King's instruction. Arthur watched as Merlin and Mordred made their way across the field and kept a large distance between them and the other knights.

As long as he could see them, there wasn't much need to worry. He kept telling himself that as he gestured for Leon to follow him. 

They didn't say much to each other as Arthur tossed him a shield and gathered one for himself. 

"We'll focus on blocking and parrying with the shield first, then without. Six rounds, after which you'll switch out with Lancelot. Remember to never take your eyes off of me—I'm not your King right now, I am an enemy of Camelot that's trying to kill you. You can't afford to hold back when you're fighting for your life, so I don't expect you to now. Understood?" 

It was worth noting that last bit, but Leon hardly ever gave him special treatment during these types of drills. It was why he always chose him first, opting to be at the receiving end, before the majority of his energy was lost.

Arthur got into position and Leon backed up slowly, holding his shield out in front of him.

"Ready, sire." 

"Good, hold steady—size me up and remember the way that I fight. When given the chance, you must exploit those weaknesses. We all have them."

They stared each other down, but it didn't feel much like a competition yet. Until Arthur made the first move, stepping forward and aiming directly for his throat. He was pleased when the edge of his sword collided with the shield instead, the sharp sound of metal-on-metal ringing throughout his ears. 

"Very good—"

Then, he felt it. 

Arthur stumbled forward unintentionally, a strange heat coiling and twisting around his stomach, spreading like wildfire throughout his veins. He furrowed his brows at the sudden feeling of arousal and barely managed to block Leon's counter-strike, stumbling back a little and regaining his composure quickly.

It didn't stop there, however—so Arthur tried his hardest to ignore it and pushed forward more aggressively, parrying the next attack with ease.

In no way was he sexually attracted to the man in front of him—he couldn't be, he'd never even thought twice about it. Yet there it was, an arousal so thick with unfathomable need, it was clouding his judgement and lighting his senses on fire.

Only when he was alone, the few times that he ever did, had he felt such desire. 

It had to be the spell—

His thoughts were interrupted by Leon's sword slicing through the air in a downward motion. Arthur dodged to the left and used the pommel of his own sword to knock the weapon out of his hand. He was breathing heavier with every second that passed, another shockwave of pleasure nearly bringing him to his knees.

He gestured flippantly with a wave of his hand for Leon to pick up his sword and continue.

But then he heard Merlin's own heavy breathing somewhere to the right of them and couldn't stop himself from looking towards the sound.

The sorceror didn't seem to be in the same predicament, however—as he drew back his fireball with both hands and hurled it towards one of the moving targets. A perfect bullseye as always, fizzling-out and dissipating against the ghostly material. 

That's not what got to him, however. It was the sound of his ragged panting as the magic flew easily from his grasp, the muscles of his jawline as they tensed and contracted with measured focus, the way his tunic slid up his body and past his waist, revealing a small sliver of pale skin—

Leon disarmed him before he could blink, and Arthur was suddenly laying flat on the ground, a boot pressed to his chest and the tip of his sword barely grazing his chainmail. Arthur groaned in frustration and let his head fall back in the grass.

"Sire, you're distracted... Might it be best to wait until tomorrow?" 

Leon held out his hand and Arthur took it, heaving himself back to his feet and squaring his shoulders. 

"I can't sit this one out, I just need a moment. Go and practice with Lancelot while I'm gone—well done, by the way." He shot Leon an anxious smile and attempted to look as unaffected as possible.

"Thank you, my lord." Leon returned that smile with one if his own and left him alone with his thoughts, turning back towards the crowd of knights and searching for Lancelot. 

Arthur needed to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. 

He made sure he was well out of sight, then headed straight towards the stairwell—taking the steps two at a time and hissing with every movement. It didn't seem to matter how far he went, however, as the pleasure kept coming in painful waves—relentless, almost teasing along the length of his cock.

He knew he was straining against his trousers and ignored the concerned looks of some of the maids. He needed this relief more than he needed air right now and he'd likely behead anyone that tried to keep him from it.

Arthur shoved open his doors and slammed them shut, making sure to lock them behind him.

Surely, it wouldn't find him here?

But he was wrong, gods was he wrong—

"Fuck..." He breathed, lurching forward at another surge of heat as he palmed himself desperately through his trousers.

Arthur scrambled to get rid of the confines and finally pulled his cock free, looking down at how it throbbed and leaked all over the planes of his stomach. He wrapped a large fist around himself and pumped slowly, a string of incoherent nonsense now falling from his lips. 

He leaned back against the wall next to his doors and couldn't stop his mind from drifting to Merlin.

His cock twitched as another wave of pure heat poured over his skin and he realized that it was everywhere, not just under his hand. So he chased it where it burned the most, his fingers dancing over his abdomen and up along his chest, savoring this delicious feeling for all it was worth. He wondered if Merlin could hear what he was doing—

Merlin, with his abnormally long lashes and flushed, plump lips that looked swollen and arched with mischief. With skin that was so delicate and fragile to the touch, that he longed so dearly for even the smallest taste—that rivaled that of the most expensive nobles in the kingdom. Hauntingly-blue eyes stared up at him from the image in his mind, the tip of his tongue peaking out of his mouth and swiping over his bottom lip. 

Arthur flicked his wrist and bucked wildly into his hand, deep, breathy moans filling his chambers as his thoughts filtered through countless images of Merlin's body—flexible and completely naked, deep in the throes of passion as he squirmed and writhed against Arthur's touch, moaning, crying out his name over and over and over again, until it was all just a blur of slurred syllables and desperate hands. 

Gods, he wanted nothing more in his life than to hear it. 

"Merlin..." He choked out, repeating his name much like the false scenario in his mind, as his hips stuttered to catch up with him and his cock spilled over his fingers, dripping onto the floor beneath.

It took so long for Arthur to catch his breath, to peel his sweaty back away from the wall.

What the fuck?

He wobbled over to his desk mindlessly and leaned over the wooden surface, eyes shut tight and mind reeling from what he'd just done. He could not go back like this, he knew it for certain. If any of that magical torture should catch him off-guard again, he would have zero restraint left to hold Merlin personally responsible and throw him into the dungeons himself.

He shall. 

He would, soon.

Maybe.

The King avoided his knights for the rest of the day, claiming urgent business of some kind, but never once seeing Gaius. He didn't even know how to begin that conversation, as he knew the moment he did, Gaius would surely look down upon him and Arthur wasn't prepared for that sort of judgement. Certainly not of a King.

Too much had happened in such little time and there was nothing he could do about any of it. 

So, he waited.

Until nightfall quickly approached and the castle was silent again, save for the soft beating of Merlin's heart across the corridor.

One thing Arthur knew for certain, was that Merlin had no ill intent. The boy was hardly capable.

He'd known that ever since Arthur had found out about his magic. When he'd confessed to saving his life countless times; jumped in front of daggers meant for the King, set buildings on fire to create diversions, commanded dragons to the fontlines of battle—all while under the false pretense of a lowly servant. 

No.

Arthur knew in his heart of hearts, that this had been purely unintentional.

Perhaps, even inevitable.

Arthur trained without his knights the following morning, arriving much earlier than everyone else and working his body to exhaustion before he could be assaulted by Merlin's magic again.

He'd exited his chambers just as Merlin arrived at his doorstep with a platter piled-high with food and a smile so bright, it threatened to split his face open.

Arthur nodded curtly and tried his hardest not to compare those lips to the images in his mind. He snatched a handful of grapes from the dish and regarded him with disdain. 

"Follow me, we'll eat in the courtyard."

"But you—"

"Shut up."

Merlin hadn't said a word to him since they arrived, only to toss food in his direction every now and then. He took his place at the stone benches across from Arthur and kept his head down low as he did, but he could still feel those blue eyes glued to the back of his head. The King's reflexes were surprisingly accurate when they were this close—so much so, that he knew exactly where the food would come from, without even looking over his shoulder.

He figured they might be able to use that to their advantage at some point.

"Still can't feel anything, sire?"

Merlin's shy, tender voice wasn't at all what he needed right now, as it nearly forced him to behead the dummy in front of him. He thought it was implied that he were to be left alone to train in silence. 

"No."

Merlin sighed again and it took everything in him not to lean towards the sound, but his expression never faultered, only hardened that much deeper as he continued to whale on the wooden statue in front of him. 

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I did everything I could, it doesn't make sense. We could... I mean, if you're comfortable with it—we could try again?"

Arthur breathed heavily through his nose and tried to focus more on his form than Merlin's voice multiplying inside his brain, as if it were a large chasm built only to absorb it. He didn't respond and instead, reeled back with the sword and pierced the dummy with such unyielding force, it lodged itself between the wood and sliced straight through to the other side. 

Arthur rolled his eyes in annoyance and stepped forward, grabbed the hilt, and yanked—

The sword effortlessly broke free at a pace much faster than he could control - splinters catching on his skin - and Arthur's heart dropped when it slid from his grasp and flew backwards, heading straight towards Merlin.

"Merlin!" 

Arthur was quick to react, but not nearly as quick as his magic—

"Frore!"

Glowing eyes stared back at Arthur as Merlin thrusted his palm forward and commanded the blade to stop in mid-air, inches away from his face. 

Arthur groaned and doubled over, clutching at his stomach, and fell to his knees from the impact of that one spell.

"Sire!"

Merlin rushed to his side, leaving the sword to land safely in the grass, and crouched down in front of him, both hands now resting on his shoulders. Small puffs of air disturbed the hair on Arthur's forehead as Merlin tried to find his eyes, panic clear in the way he threw many questions at him all at once.

"What—what happened to you? Was it the sword, did it hit you? Here, let go so I can see—Arthur?"

The guilt was too familiar.

"Arthur, let go of your stomach..."

Like when Cenred slit that boy's throat—or when he'd decided to leave Camelot, not knowing whether or not he'd survive and have to subject his kingdom to a future without a successor. Or like before, when everything changed and Arthur had to witness such a crime so foul, so disgraceful—

So evil.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so..." 

He gripped the front of Merlin's tunic and dragged the man closer to him, one hand clutching the back of his neck as he rested his forehead on his shoulder. He'd repeat those words until they felt like enough, until the shame was nothing more than a bad memory, but Arthur feared he'd never be the same person again. 

His mind failed him then, and it all came out of him faster than he had a chance to stop it,

"I should have gone with you, I'm so sorry... I knew you were right. I knew it was dangerous and you wouldn't listen, I should've followed you, I should've been there—"

"What, the Valley? Arthur, that's ridiculous, how could you have known? Stop apologizing to me of all people—you know I can't die..."

But you wanted to, Arthur's bitter thoughts told him. 

Merlin's voice was barely above a whisper and he could feel the beginnings of a cold trickle of some kind, trailing down his neck and creeping under his armour. 

Merlin's tears. 

He stopped talking then, only tightening his hold on Merlin as if he'd be taken from him at any moment. He slid a protective arm around his back and did his best to comfort him through it, relieved to find Merlin relaxing against him. Never again would something like that happen, for as long as he lived—he didn't give a damn about the side effects anymore. 

If it meant that he might be safer with it. 

Merlin cried for awhile, he didn't know how long exactly. If this was what he needed and he didn't have to say anything else, then so be it. He wasn't much for talking anyway. 

Arthur refused to pull away, didn't draw attention to the fact that normal training hours were upon them, didn't stop stroking his lower back. Until soft curls tickled the side of his neck, where Merlin's head lifted, bleary eyes scanning the area around them. 

"It's alright, no one's here yet." Arthur said, recognizing that look on his face.

Merlin nodded softly and looked down at their connected bodies, an embarrassed flush now painting his cheeks. Arthur thought it was a good time to end this closeness, before it got out of hand and he went searching for something more than just a moment of catharsis—a moment closer to the ones he thought about when nobody was around to watch his every move.

"You know what? I'm feeling rather uncomfortable in this heat," he grunted as he raised himself up to his feet and held out a hand for Merlin, "Let's cool off somewhere. King's orders."

"But—what about training?" Merlin asked, a bit wobbly on his feet as he stood up and trailed after the King. 

"Cancelled, as far as you and I are concerned. Gather whatever supplies you think is necessary and meet me at the stables in five minutes. I'll prepare the horses."

Chapter Text

"Shouldn't it be frozen? Where's the ice?" Merlin leaned over the edge and Arthur did the same, squinting his eyes to get a clearer picture of the water below.

Valid question, that. 

"You're certainly not the first to ask. Honestly, I've no idea—gorgeous, isn't it?" 

Merlin hummed, eyes wide open in childlike wonder as he took in the sight of a roaring waterfall, cascading through a large break in the mountains. It was quite a drop—at least fifteen metres from where they were standing at the edge of a snowy clifftop. 

The White Mountains. A secure little corner of it that Arthur had rarely ever taken anyone. 

"Wait. Arthur, we're not swimming in that?" 

Arthur snorted at Merlin's horrified expression. 

"Come on, Merlin. Scared of heights, are you?" He teased, already working on shucking his clothing off and draping it over the back of his horse. 

"Oh no, no way. You're not seriously about to jump off?! That's so dangerous, look at the size of those rocks—" 

"Yes, I do have eyes," Arthur quipped, now half-naked in his smalls and peering over the edge with Merlin, "I've done it plenty of times. It is scary at first, but that goes without saying. There's a trail that leads down to the basin—if you'd rather start there?"

Merlin looked conflicted, bemused, and Arthur could see him weighing the consequences in his mind like he always did. 

"It's warmer down there." Arthur added, noticing the way Merlin kept tugging his jacket closer to himself. 

"Fuck it," Merlin whispered through chattering teeth. He shook his head and removed his jacket quickly, letting it fall to the ground behind him. His neckerchief was the next to go and Arthur realized, with sudden clarity, that he definitely should not be watching him undress. 

He cleared his throat to get rid of the awkwardness and pretended to be more interested in the view, rather than the man that was now stripping beside him. 

"Does this area have a name?" Merlin asked as he finished tucking his clothes away in his horse's saddlebag. Arthur turned to look now, while he wasn't paying attention, and really wished he hadn't. His throat went dry at the sight of Merlin's small waist, hip-bones jutting and pivoted to the side, a small dimple peaking out over his smalls. 

Of course, they'd seen each other half-naked plenty of times. When they were younger and couldn't really think twice about it, or he supposed they didn't care enough to be embarrassed. But it was different now and although they were well past the point of hormones getting in the way, he suddenly felt like a starving teenager.

"Meridia Falls." He finally answered, averting his eyes so that he didn't accidentally stumble over the edge. 

Merlin joined him a few seconds later, a contemplative look on his face as he regarded Arthur with his hands locked behind his back. 

"It fits, I think. I haven't read much about Meridia, but I do know that she was powerful and detested necromancy. She was one of the original Prince's of Life—it's confusing, don't ask, nobody really knows. Only that her energy manifests as female, from what I can tell. She was said to be one of the original Keepers of Light..." Merlin trailed off and folded his arms over his chest, a small shiver racking his body.

"She would've been kin to someone like me, back when Dragonlords still prevailed. Not that I'm comparing myself to a god, but I am made of that same magic—"

Merlin broke off and chuckled softly, eyes glistening as he gauged Arthur's reaction. 

But he never knew of the history behind that name, didn't give it much thought other than how nice it sounded on the tongue. He supposed it made sense that Merlin would know something like that—and he, with his complicated relationship towards magic, would not. 

Still, who was to say that he wasn't akin to a god? He certainly looked just as ethereal in this light. He brushed that thought to the side for later review and gave Merlin a small smirk.

"Well, with how often you manage to put yourself in danger. A god? No. An idiot? Perhaps." 

Merlin openly gawked at him and smacked him on the shoulder playfully, giggles bubbling up in his chest when Arthur quickly retaliated. He plucked Merlin off the ground as if he weighed close to nothing and couldn't stop himself from laughing wildly at the way his tiny body thrashed around, fighting desperately to get back on safe ground. 

"Stop—put me down! Arthur! Don't you dare throw me off this cliff, I can't do it! I can't! Arthur!" 

Arthur ignored his protests and approached the edge, chuckling at the way Merlin looked behind him and squeaked in fear, crawling up Arthur's chest and squeezing his eyes shut. 

He breathed heavily and realized that they were now much closer than before—hips pressed flush against each other, Merlin's legs locked tight around his waist. And no, he couldn't ignore how small his body was in comparison. 

"Ready?" Arthur asked, as Merlin opened his eyes finally and his heart rate jumped at the question. He looked behind them once more and whimpered softly, but nodded his head. 

"You're not letting go of me, are you?" 

Arthur only winked in response and backed them up slowly, causing Merlin to absolutely panic and struggle as he grabbed ahold of his biceps for dear life. He paused a good distance away and then broke into a sprint, heading straight for the edge and shit, Merlin's nails were sharp. 

He leapt off the edge and a feeling of pride filled his chest at the way Merlin held onto him for safety. Arthur gripped him tight and threw his head back, shouting from the adrenaline as their weight carried them down at immense speed, bodies spinning through the air and then crashing through the hard surface.

They parted from each other unintentionally, partially due to the impact, and Arthur kicked his feet to push himself up to the surface. 

He broke through and panted heavily, rubbing the water out of his eyes so he could look for Merlin. He was nowhere in sight though, but at least Arthur could hear the soft beating of his heart. It was much slower than when they'd jumped off, so he knew he was at least safe, somewhere around here. 

"Merlin?" He followed the sound, amazed by the fact that he could hear it above all this noise. He swam towards the waterfall and noticed a blurred figure standing behind it, that familiar mop of dark hair shaking the water out. Arthur approached the steady stream of water and was now standing on a shallow edge, barely knee-deep and refreshing against his skin. 

Arthur ducked under the water and let it pour over his shoulders and chest, carding his fingers through his hair and slicking it back out of his face. Merlin's heart skipped a beat, sharp and almost too quick for it to go unnoticed through the sound of water collecting at his feet. He looked over his shoulder and caught a pair of dark blue eyes staring directly at his chest. 

Merlin's legs dangled over the edge of a rock, parted slightly—sopping wet fabric clinging to his thighs.

As if it couldn't get any worse, Arthur figured that if Merlin could hear his heart, he'd know straight away that he was affected. He admired the way the water pooled a little in the small dips above his waistband, and spilled over, absorbing into the fabric.

They really didn't leave much to the imagination.

Arthur chanced a look at his face, then and he kind of wished that he didn't, because Merlin's eyes were already staring back at his. His pupils were blown and impossibly dark, as if he were focused on trying to put something together in his head. 

"What?" Arthur asked, flinching a little at the sound of his echoed voice. 

Merlin blinked and lowered his eyes, kicking his bare feet in the water. 

"Nothing."

And just like that, the moment was broken between them and he could relax again. He didn't know what would've happened if they'd continued to stare at each other like that. He was half tempted to find out again, but Merlin's voice stopped him.

"Will you tell me what happened? I mean, before you got back... From the war."

Again, he wasn't much for talking. But he figured he owed an explanation, especially to the person he left behind. Arthur hummed and considered what information he'd be willing to share, what would be appropriate to share at a time like this.

"There's not much to say, honestly—other than how simple it was to find him, he'd become just as predictable as Odin when Mithian took the throne. Cenred's mind was gone by the time I got there, so I took advantage of his disposition and I won. End of story." 

Merlin was fixated on his lap, where he played with his fingers and didn't give any indication that he'd heard what was said. Of course, Arthur failed to mention the fact that if he'd lost control of his emotions during that fight, he would've just as easily lost his life. And he came close, extremely close.

"You're lying."

Arthur huffed indignantly and stepped out of the water, anger flaring in his chest.

"Merlin—why does it concern you? Is it not enough that he's dead and Camelot is safe—that you are safe? Do I not reserve the right to keep some things to myself?"

Merlin flinched at the tone of his voice and Arthur noticed a brief flash of hurt wash over his features. He felt incredibly guilty then, he shouldn't have lashed out like that—not while they were supposed to be on a break from it all.

"M'sorry, sire. You're right, it's not my place to question you." Merlin kept his head low as he spoke, the tension thick between them as Arthur considered those words and hated the way they sounded coming from him. 

Merlin wasn't just a subject to him, he remained still the closest thing to family that Arthur had left. 

"Spare me that nonsense, for god's sake—am I just your King?" 

Merlin's jaw tensed, but he remained silent regardless.

Arthur paced around the small cavern, pinching the bridge of his nose and stirring the shallow waters below. He knew that there wouldn't be a way out of this without them ultimately giving each other the silent treatment and pretending that the other didn't exist. It was, apparently, their most effective way of communicating.

"If you must know," He inhaled sharply—thought about how to put this and realized that there was no gentle way of saying it. It wasn't honourable, it wasn't heroic, and he only hoped that Merlin wouldn't be as ashamed of him as he was with himself.

"He murdered his own child... Shortly after I arrived at the Church. His name was Amir—barely four years of age, if I remember correctly. I kept telling myself that I was exhausted and in shock, but that's no excuse, Merlin. You don't let children die like that, ever, no matter the circumstance. And yet, I chose not to save him and he bled out on the floor while I killed his father right in front of him."

The silence that followed was so heavy, Arthur had to make sure that Merlin was still there with him. 

And he was. He'd been standing right in front of him this whole time, brilliant blue eyes searching his face, where Arthur had been taken someplace dark and unforgiving inside his mind. 

"I'm sorry, Arthur... I didn't realize. I understand blaming yourself, trust me I do—but you can't expect to keep everyone safe, it's damn near impossible to, and hell knows I've had my fair share of that guilt. Sometimes it's just too quick, too fast, out of your control—you're only human, you're not just a King. You make it your duty to protect Camelot and that comes at a price, as it always has. But I don't think it's your fault this time, even though it'll be hard to forget. You never really do to be honest, not when it's children."

Arthur was taken aback, he'd never heard somebody speak to him like this before.

On a deeper level that he wasn't used to, it felt like Merlin related to him in some ways. He'd regarded him without judgement—and it never once felt biased or unjust, as if here just a King and of course he could do no wrong—not like in the eyes of many that looked up to him.

He was so struck by the blatant honesty of the man in front of him—that had the power to displace walls far and wide between them, who could burn down buildings in his name. 

And perhaps... Perhaps he understood now. That there was nothing he could do in the moment and that maybe he needed to accept that for what it was. It felt so cold and his mind tried to reject it at first, but some of the weight had been lifted off his chest and all that he could do now was breathe.

"Thank you." He whispered, brows furrowed as he realized that their bodies were mere inches apart, now.

He breathed in the smell of fresh, spring water and there was that same taste collecting on his tongue; dewy mist from the waterfall. Merlin looked even more divine in this light—the water reflected off his skin and bathed his chest in abstract shades of white and gold; fading into each other and expanding, blooming, collapsing and repeating. He'd lose it if one of them didn't move.

"Don't have to thank me, sire. I may not know what it's like to be King, but I do know what it's like to feel helpless sometimes." Merlin gave him a small, pained smile as he averted his eyes, stepping away from him and heading towards the waterfall.

With Merlin's back now fading under the torrent of water, Arthur considered him. He didn't just have his fair share of guilt, that much was clear from the day he met the boy. There were broken pieces there, that Arthur himself had been witness to at one point—that he'd fought so hard to preserve, but perhaps didn't have enough decency to deal with after the fact. For as well as he hid it, Arthur could see now and consider, for once in his life, that he wasn't alone. 

"You coming? There's more than just the cave, sire - not that it isn't nice on it's own - wait, there's turtles! My god, they're fucking huge—" 

Merlin disappeared somewhere beyond the waterfall and Arthur could hear him struggling to run through the shallow basin. Until it was followed by a particularly loud screech and the telltale signs of him falling face-first into the water.

Arthur pictured Merlin flailing his arms about like a drowning puppy. He stepped out from the cave, folded his arms over his chest and heaved the most dramatic sigh he could manage—

They were going to be here for awhile, weren't they?

It was nightfall by the time they made it back to Camelot.

Merlin led the horses into the stables and Arthur rested on the threshold, watching him. He didn't like that their little respite had ended—the weight of his neglected duties looming over his shoulders, waiting for him back at his chambers. Where he'd be alone again, likely with a fresh stack of reports and strewn clothing that still needed washing. 

He'd wanted more time than this. 

"Merlin?" 

The sorceror hummed in acknowledgement as he hitched Arthur's horse and went to go feed him a treat from his bag. An endearing laugh fell from his lips when he was rewarded with an appreciative headbutt. Arthur hoped he didn't notice the way he'd been admiring his figure this entire time—Merlin was all soft features and gentle hands, with a moonlit aura to guide his path.

"It's been nice." 

Come on, really? Anything else?

"Being there, with you. I don't often make time for it." 

Merlin had just finished locking up the gates when he froze in place, turning his head slightly towards Arthur. A ghost of a smile now danced on his lips, followed by a flattering, rosy hue on his cheeks. He nervously played with the keychain in his hands and the sight made Arthur's heart ache. 

"Really?" Merlin asked, voice small and unsure. He must've taken Arthur's silence as a confirmation—otherwise, he had no reason to disagree with himself. "Didn't expect that, sorry."

Arthur knew he might be making this interaction way more uncomfortable than it should be, so he hurried to catch up with it and silence it for good. He shifted his weight and cleared his throat softly, attempting to look anywhere but those long, elegant fingers.

"Our differences aside," he ignored Merlin's unnecessary apology and pulled himself off the wooden archway to head back on the trail, "I consider you a dear friend. We should plan for another time."

Oh yes, a friend.

What's more friendly than staring at his wet thighs like he hadn't ate in nearly a decade?

There were soft footsteps behind him as they walked towards the citadel together. Merlin's heart rate had since doubled in speed and Arthur could feel his own reacting in the same way, while he waited for a response.

"I'd like that, sire."

"Arthur?" Merlin whispered.

He backed him up slowly, carefully, as if he were hunting a wild deer in the forest. Merlin's eyelashes fluttered as his back hit the nearest wall with a soft thump. 

He shouldn't be doing this. Taking advantage of this small hideaway just to corner him and admire him for what he was. He couldn't stop, however, he had to—

"I must, please." He'd never had to beg for anything in his life, but he felt it was right to do so now. Merlin was all restless fretting and short breaths in front of him and gods, if his heart didn't calm down, he'd be forced to surrender the blasted thing and beg like a dog.

He reached out to him and gently stroked the backs of his knuckles along his delicate cheek, his mother's ring gliding under the moisture, sunlight glinting off of the polished, silver inlet. Merlin sighed and let his head fall back against the stone wall, eyes closing and relaxing against his touch. 

"You must what, sire?" He breathed and Arthur inched closer to him, feeling Merlin's warm breath mingling with his own as Arthur splayed careful fingers over the exposed skin of his neck. Merlin inhaled sharply and opened his eyes, briefly glancing at Arthur's hand and then flitting his gaze back to him.

"I'm not sure if I know, forgive me." Arthur huffed out a nervous laugh and went to remove his hand—

"No, don't. Don't stop." Merlin's fingers curled around his wrist, effectively cutting off Arthur's better judgement and any willpower that he might've had to pull away in the first place. His eyes were so intense and pleading, wandering over Arthur's chest and neck—long fingers tangling themselves with his and holy hell his resolve nearly crumbled into dust at their feet. 

He moved faster than his brain could keep up with, faster than his hands actually knew what to do with, as he lifted Merlin at the waist and pinned his body to the jagged rock behind him. He grabbed and pulled at his hips, digging his fingers into the soft skin there, trying his hardest to feel everything all at once. And he tasted that much deeper, his tongue now lapping along the curve of Merlin's neck with so much purpose to unravel, teeth grazing and nibbling on his fragile skin.

"Arthur, please..." Merlin begged, his voice dissolving into a soft whimper as he clung on desperately to Arthur's shoulders and began to move his hips against him—

He pulled back to look at him, lips parted at the beautiful flush on his cheeks, the way he bit down on his lower lip and stared at Arthur with such intensity in his eyes. There was a clear whisper of a challenge between them, now.

Arthur looked down at them and rolled his hips once, groaning at how perfectly they fit together, how easy it was to make him fall apart. A string of beautiful moans fell from Merlin's lips and so he did it again, and again, and again—

"Nngh—" Merlin's eyes rolled back in his head and Arthur took that opportunity to grip his chin hard, pressing their hips together and hissing at the friction that nearly sent him over the edge. His cock strained against the wet, sticky clothing, and Merlin curled his lips around Arthur's fingers—

"Yes—that's it, darling. That's it." He groaned as Merlin eagerly sucked on his fingers and Arthur hooked them deeper in his mouth, pressing them against his warm tongue. He felt his knees almost give from the sight, hips stuttering to keep up with the brutal pace. 

Merlin melted into a mess of incoherent noises, his hand tapping Arthur's shoulder to let him know that he was close. He nudged Merlin's face to the side and dipped his head down to suck deep bruises into his skin, groaning as he coaxed him through it. Merlin's chest heaved uncontrollably, his moans turning into cries, fingers clawing at Arthur's shoulders and traveling up to the back of his neck, tugging at his hair. 

"Come on, darling—let me feel you." Arthur whispered next to his ear and it was met with a soft, high-pitched moan, muffled around his fingers as Arthur felt his cock spasming on his own. Merlin canted his hips and arched his back beautifully, searching for more friction, and it was so obscene, the way that warm substance seeped through and coated his stomach, and god it felt so good on his cock. He gritted his teeth and pulled his fingers from his mouth, grabbing his hips again to grind Merlin's body against him.

"Merlin—" His jaw fell open as Merlin met each thrust with one of his own. Arthur panted desperately and gave into it, snaking his hands around to grab and squeeze at Merlin's arse, pulling it roughly into his cock. Merlin cupped his face with both hands, his warm, honey-sweet breath ghosting over his lips—

Arthur woke up gasping for air in his bed, both hands clenching the soft fabric of his bedding on either side of him. He was absolutely covered in sweat, the beautiful images in his mind failing to release him from their grasp. It was still dark outside and he didn't know how long he'd been out for, but he didn't care.

In a daze, he noticed his hips were still moving of their own accord, but nothing was giving and with a frustrated huff, he wrapped a hand around his cock and groaned particularly loud—the sound echoing throughout his chambers. He hurried to cover his mouth as he worked himself through it, eyes rolling back in his head. 

But then he heard something.

So impossibly soft in the distance.

He thought it might be the dream playing tricks on him again, but then it grew more insistent by the second, with every torturous little mewl and by the gods, it's Merlin's voice. Coupled with his rapid heartbeat, the sound was unmistakably him.

Arthur knew he should be worried for a second—was he having a nightmare?

But then, it was quickly overpowered by the sound of something slick and hellishly erotic and holy fuck, his cock was dripping just thinking about what on Earth he might be doing to himself.

If he were in pain, it would sound much different than this, yes? 

"Yes, oh my god—" 

Arthur threw his head back into the pillow and squeezed the base of his cock, clenching his jaw to keep from saying something in response. He didn't know if Merlin would be able to hear him or not, but he wasn't even sure if it were Arthur he'd been thinking about—

Hang on, was he even alone?

The notion that he wasn't, sent a wave of nausea straight through to his stomach. He paused briefly, the possessiveness drowning out any lingering thoughts that could've been remotely tempting. 

He better be alone right now.

Arthur furrowed his brows at the intrusive thought and tried his hardest not let it get to him, but it only continued to nag at him incessantly.

Until,

"Nngh, yes—please, please—"

Arthur's face softened a little at that and he wanted, needed, to be the one touching him right now. He pretended it was him that Merlin begged for, his cock helping him through it. He continued stroking, much faster than before, gritting his teeth through the low growl that formed in his throat-

"I love you—"

No.

No, he didn't hear that.

He ripped his hand from his cock and covered his ears immediately, attempting to drown out all of those sickening lovemaking noises. Because that's exactly what they were—why else would he say such a thing, if someone were not there in his chambers?

No longer curious and no longer sexually interested, Arthur stood up from his bed and rushed to the far corner of his room, standing in front of the wall and resting his forehead against the cold surface. He had to calm down before he did something truly deranged, like break into his chambers and execute the person now putting their filthy hands all over him.

How could he possibly come back from this?

Was it a woman?

No—it must be a man, surely. Judging by his words and the sheer implications behind them, the pathetic begging, it was entirely a man ripping those noises out of him. Was it Gwaine, then? Mordred, Leon? Who was more prone to love amongst them? Who even had the time to entertain such a thing—

After spending the entire day with him, no less.

And agreeing to do it again, actually sounding like he wanted to do it again. After looking at him with those devastating eyes—as if no other could compare, as if only he existed and no one else.

Why this, why now?

No more, then. 

No more.

He uncovered his ears and waited for Merlin's voice to assault his pride again. But there was only silence this time around. Silence, and a steady, slow heartbeat. 

Arthur couldn't calm down enough to sleep.

He spent the rest of his night at his desk—reviewing paperwork and signing documents, stamping his seal and repeating the process until the words looked foreign on the pages and the bridge of his nose ached from where his glasses rested. Add a little bit of wine to the layers of sleep under his eyes and for awhile, he could effectively rid himself of this feeling.

When there was nothing left to distract him, however, he stared out the window.

Tapped his foot.

And waited to hear movement of some kind, confirmation perhaps, that he'd misinterpreted it and Merlin had been alone the entire time. 

But it was only the sound of soft breathing and a little shuffling here and there. He'd pull the sheets closer, flip his body around every now and then, then promptly knock himself out again.

The first morning bell sounded.

Arthur stood up from his chair immediately, gripping the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turned white. He had to go out there, he had to know. Merlin and whoever it was would come out of his room any second—

No. There's no telling what he might do to the person. His heart hammered against his chest from the thought of actually seeing them—no, he'd stay right here. 

Let him be happy with his decision.

Arthur pounded the desk with his fist.

His inkpot tipped over and rolled off the edge, where it emptied and spilled all over the floor like the contents of his own heart. 

Chapter Text

Merlin's head popped up from under his pillows, hair slightly matted and sticking to his forehead. He kept his eyes shut against the offending sunlight and wriggled his body around, kicking his feet a little to cover them back up.

The breakfast bell had already gone off, but his head currently felt like it was stuffed full of debris and he really didn't feel like moving. He was drained from the night before, and somewhat confused by his body's weakness. It didn't help that his bedsheets were sticking to his skin in areas that it really shouldn't be, and when he pondered on the reason for it, he let out a frustrated groan and flipped over again, his confused laughter now muffled by his bedsheets.

Merlin had never dreamt so vividly in his life. Images of Arthur's face and half-naked body resurfaced all at once. It had turned desperate and so carnal, so innate, that Merlin could've sworn he was actually there for a moment. He'd never experienced a dream that had felt so close to reality before. 

Merlin grabbed his pillow and stuffed it under his face, whining in frustration for the crisis he was currently having.

-Thump-

Tink-tink-tink...

He flinched in alarm and nearly fell out of his bed at the noises coming from across the corridor. Merlin lifted himself and winced at the rough drag of fabric on his stomach and cringed in disgust from the implications. He got out of bed and waved his hand lazily—

His eyes flashed quick, not bothering to mutter a spell this time. All evidence of last night's events were erased and his body was clean and ready for fresh clothing. He sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to untangle the knots as best as he could. He was still wet, for whatever reason, even though he could've sworn he'd taken a bath when he'd gotten home last night.

He jumped again at the sound of Arthur stomping about his room, large boots most likely denting the floorboards in his wake. It sounded like he was pacing.

Pacing—at this hour? Merlin rolled his eyes at that.

Whatever had garnished that reaction probably wasn't good, so he rushed to get dressed and didn't even consider the fact that he was partially limping. However acutely aware of it he was, he opted not to heal himself. There was no time for it and Merlin had never been good with healing spells, anyway.

And he most definitely didn't have time to fight with the baker.

He waved his hand flippantly again, as if it would've been easier to bend all of humanity to his will, and time promptly obeyed his command and stood still around him. Not a single movement or sound could be heard. 

Merlin's thoughts of wayward peanuts and thick, country accents hurling slurs at him made him shudder, as he waltzed into the kitchens and took whatever food he wanted, everything laid out for him and at his immediate disposal. This abuse of magic might've disturbed the balance of the universe or whatever, but he didn't have the energy to dwell on it. He'd been much more reckless in the past, this was nothing in comparison.

In fact, he kept the spell going as he made the short trip back to his mother's chambers. The less time he wasted, the faster he could get to Arthur and figure out what in the hells was wrong with him today.

He pushed open her doors and stumbled inside, whistling and humming to himself as he went. Hunith stood frozen in front of her window, bent slightly at the waist with a cloth folded in one hand and a vase full of flowers in the other. He smiled when he saw her, swiftly placing her food on the table and pouring her a generous cup of tea.

Merlin noticed the bouquet of Marigolds that she'd been tending to—stunningly orange, bloomed, with a tinge of red around the edges. He sighed and went to go peck her on the cheek, plucking one of the smaller ones and praying that she wouldn't notice it missing. 

She would definitely notice.

"I know you hate it when I do this, but I love you, mum!" He shouted, even though she couldn't hear a word he'd said. He discreetly placed the flower on Arthur's platter and sped out of her chambers.

Everybody liked flowers, right? Even very large, very angry Kings. 

He thought so, anyways. 

Gods, he hoped it wasn't as bad as when Morgana threatened to runaway and live with the druids, all because Arthur wouldn't let her keep a baby dragon as a pet. Merlin had been the mediator during that lovely little conversation and had explained, in very simplified terms, that a dragon needed their freedom to keep their wings healthy and their emotions under control. Or else they would all, including Morgana, live a very short life. 

She let him go after that. 

Merlin attempted to calm himself and steady his breathing as he counted the steps to Arthur's chambers. He could feel the sweat about to break out on his forehead, as he lifted the enchantment and time resumed as normal. 

But as soon as life returned to the castle, Merlin felt the most sickening drop in his stomach, like something clearly wasn't right. The energy pouring from beyond Arthur's doors felt so raw and unusual, tangible in the atmosphere around him. He couldn't quite place it, but he knew that Arthur was safe and at least physically okay—

For the most part?

He knocked on the King's doors urgently. 

"Sire? It's Merlin."

Arthur released a string of incoherent noises, strangled and caught somewhere between a cough and a frustrated shout, followed by the sound of him repeatedly pounding his fist against his desk. 

Merlin furrowed his brows and went to open Arthur's doors anyway, as he couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously off with his behavior this morning. But before he could get it open fully—

"Ah, there he is! Not sporting that pitcher as a jester's headpiece this morning?" 

That weird energy nearly choked him again, as Gwaine's blurry figure suddenly came into view and he clapped a rough hand on his shoulder. Merlin, too dazed and reeling, only shook his head in response, staring blankly at the knight. 

"You alright, my friend?" 

"Uhm..." Merlin swallowed and blinked a few times, shaking his head to dispel the darkness that had accumulated in every corner of his mind. "Yes, I'm... I was just trying to..." He trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper. He stopped trying to explain and went to go push Arthur's doors open, not even noticing when he'd used magic to unlock it. As he pushed forward, however, he quickly lost his footing and Gwaine stepped in to keep him steady and cradled his right arm to his chest, all food still safely on the platter.

Merlin never stumbled over himself like that—at least, he hadn't in a very long time. The brief feeling of embarrassment appeared to sober him up a little, but not enough to remove himself from the knight's grasp.

Gwaine faced Merlin directly, his features hardening in concentration. He noticed his brows pinched in deep concern, lips taut and eyes searching Merlin's face. He hooked his thumb and forefinger under Merlin's chin and tipped his head up and from side to side—

"Sir Gwaine, Merlin." Arthur's clipped voice startled both men and Merlin's eyes grew wide with fear. Neither one had noticed that their little mishap had placed them halfway inside the King's bedchambers.

Merlin's gaze quickly snapped to Arthur, who appeared to be staring down at a blank piece of parchment. Gwaine removed his fingers from Merlin's chin and backed away from him altogether, clearing his throat gruffly. 

"Let's talk later, yeah? I'll come by yours this evening... See you in training, princess." Gwaine said, gesturing with a curt nod to the King and shifting his eyes between Arthur's hunched form and Merlin's blank expression.

Neither of them responded, so the knight—extremely confused and uncomfortable—backed out of the King's chambers and close the doors softly behind him.

Arthur hadn't slept, that much was apparent even from this distance. Merlin stood there for a while and regarded the man carefully. Through the darkness that surrounded Arthur like an invisible fortress, nothing appeared to be wrong with him.

He willed his legs to move then, walking towards the man that sat peacefully at his desk—quill in one hand as he began to scribble hastily on that sheet of parchment. It was suddenly way too hot in this room, and Merlin would kill for a cold bath for once. Arthur refused to look up from his work while Merlin placed all of their food on the table adjacent to his desk. 

He was determined to fight through that cloud in his mind, so he took his time setting the table. Fixed the etiquette how it should be done, filled their goblets, rearranged the cloth and repleneshed the display of fruit that nobody ever ate from. 

Then, like more alarm bells, Merlin took a quick glance around the rest of his chambers and realized that not a single object was out of place. The floors were free of clothing, his bed was made, the dustbin near his desk had to have been recently emptied, and there wasn't a speck of dirt in sight. 

Anywhere. 

It hadn't looked this clean since Merlin was still a servant. 

"Been enjoying yourself this morning, have you?" Arthur asked calmly, though it sounded more like an accusation than anything else. Merlin cleared his throat in an effort to not think about the burning pain in his legs, along with the memory of that dream.

It didn't work. 

"I'm—sorry about barging in like that, sire. Gwaine caught me before I could drop any of your food, s-so..." Merlin apologized, voice trembling. He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth again to ask Arthur what was wrong, but decided to wait until a more appropriate time. 

"Mm." Arthur flipped the parchment over aggressively and continued his writing. 

That reaction made him feel even more guilty for disturbing the man, but stranger things had happened to them before and Merlin never even questioned it.

Merlin hovered over their breakfast, unsure if they'd be eating together or not. in fact, he was hoping they could pick up from where they left off yesterday. A lot of the tension between them had seemed to fade and he almost thought that they could be normal around each other. But somewhere between coming home last night and waking up this morning, it felt as if that'd changed completely and Arthur had taken more than a few steps in the opposite direction.

The only thing he could do now was try to pull him back. 

"It won't happen again, I promise."

Shick.

"Oh, I very much doubt that," Arthur cut him off abruptly, pulling out a small envelope from his drawer and folding the parchment in half, placing it inside, "but I appreciate the sentiment, regardless."

Merlin huffed out a short laugh and scratched the back of his neck in confusion, glancing around the room awkwardly. Normally, this type of pompous behavior from royals didn't faze him at all. But this was Arthur. This was the man that finally opened up to him yesterday, after years of what felt like a one-sided friendship. It didn't make any sense.

Merlin cleared his throat and went to respond.

"Uh—"

"You may eat, then deliver this letter to the courier. Training will resume this afternoon and I expect a full report on my desk no later than sundown. The Northern Druids have immigrated to the west towards Caerleon and shall petition the court on your behalf—see to it that you offer your guidance in correspondence only, you may not present yourself in front of her." 

Arthur sniffed haughtily, then continued.

"Furthermore, inventory of all magical artifacts is disturbingly overdue, there are at least a dozen new interviews still pending for Gaius' new apprentice, and I require a full assessment of all damages that must be paid out for the incident this past winter. The couple has threatened to charge Mordred with reckless use of incantations, in spite of the immunity granted to him as a Knight in training. Now, as for the applications..." Arthur paused briefly to shuffle through the stack of parchment and slip a few of the pages free.

"You may begin with Katerina and her husband, Alexander—who have graciously offered their aid, unprompted, for the refugees now crossing the border. Add your mother to that list, if you cannot find an apprentice suitable enough by Queen Mithian's arrival in two days' time." He placed a lone sheet on top and forced the stack back into formation, a soft shick reaching Merlin's ears, concluding this all-too formal debriefing.

Merlin blinked.

Once.

Twice.

At a genuine loss for words, he approached Arthur's outstretched hand and slowly retrieved the envelope and stack of letters from him with two, shaky fingers. The man retracted his hand quickly, still too focused on his work to give him one, solid look in the eye.

Merlin felt dizzy just watching him move like that; so calculated, almost determined to appear vastly more put-together than Merlin knew him to be.

"Now, assuming you still possess the ability to speak—do you have any questions for me, Merlin?"

Right.

You see. 

Merlin wasn't a violent person, by any stretch of the imagination. Never let his anger carry him or corrupt his magic.

However, at the present moment,

it was all he could do to not strangle the man sitting in front of him.

"No." He stated, dropping all honorifics through clenched teeth that may fracture in his mouth. 

Arthur had just spoken to him like he had when they'd first met, as if Merlin were incompetent and needed to be consistently reminded of his duties. Very much like a child and very far from a respected individual in this court. He knew exactly what was expected of him and had already done most of what Arthur had just stated. But although they were nearly complete, he now had to figure out a way to finish it all in less than six hours—with training, no less. 

He also couldn't forget about the tomes needed for Gaius' new study on Meadowsweet and it's holistic properties, then he had to disenchant some of that plate armour for the blacksmith to make room for new recruits. Oh, and who could forget the preparations for a candlelit vigil, tonight? The families who'd lost their children in a war that Arthur was determined to fight all by himself. 

What's worse, Arthur had never given him proper clearance to go back to work, so naturally, it'd all piled up within the past month or so. It wasn't like he hadn't tried, but the King would dismiss him at any chance he got, reject his findings and order him to rest until further notice. And apart from training, he upheld that and tried not to pester him too much.

This was the notice, apparently.

On top of that, he really didn't understand the Queen's role in all of this. His head swam as he tried and failed to see the sense in it, amongst processing everything that'd been thrown at him all at once. 

It was nothing short of reckless for the Queen to make the trip and if Merlin had any say in it, he'd argue that she remain in her kingdom and not put her life at risk. Not while Odin and his men were actively waiting for the chance to strike, and especially now that Cenred was out of the picture.

He'd speak up on her behalf, if nobody else had prior to this. 

"Is it really wise for the Queen to travel right now?" He asked, his voice challenging, as if to snap him out of this nonsense.

"We've urgent business to conduct that would otherwise be impossible without her counsel. It's not up for discussion." Arthur's right brow twitched in irritation. The muscles in his jaw spasmed as if it physically pained him to say that.

Merlin was determined to get to the bottom of it. Arthur hadn't exactly been forthcoming about the nature of her visit and that bothered him to no end.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he looked towards the food that'd probably gone cold by now and then back at Arthur. 

He approached his desk as casually as he could manage and leaned over the edge to try and gain Arthur's attention. When the man still showed no sign of giving into his antics, Merlin steeled his expression and threw all caution to the wind. He didn't want to throwaway years of progress, but when it came to his friends—Queen Mithian included—he'd always do his best to protect them. 

No matter the cost.

"If it's so important to you, Arthur, then why don't you take the trip to Nemeth yourself? Like the one you planned for, then lied to me about? Or are you so content with yourself—to just sit here, playing King, while the rest of us wait for the news that she's been captured or ra—"

Snap.

The tip of Arthur's quill broke under the pressure, smearing ink all over the page. Merlin stood his ground, both palms flat on his desk as he crowded into Arthur's space. It was treason, he understood, but he cared too much to let it go this time. 

Arthur stood up quickly, now towering over Merlin, trying and failing miserably to intimidate him. His eyes were blackened with a familiar rage, but never had anything like that been directed towards Merlin before. 

"If you ever speak to me like that again, I will—"

"You'll what, Arthur? Ya' going to sack me, throw me in the dungeons just to prove a point? Discard me like trash, only to drag me back when you realize that you might actually need me? Me and my magic, that was created for you?"

Merlin felt the tears coming, but he was so distracted by his anger, he couldn't be bothered to stop them. Before Arthur could respond, however—Merlin continued, forcing himself to look him in the eyes while his voice shook with years of pent-up emotion. 

"I don't want to understand it anymore, Arthur—why you seem to tolerate me one day, then despise me the next. How you can stand to put yourself and your friends in danger, time and time again when I..." Merlin paused and willed his voice to stop shaking as he wiped the tears from his chin, "It's a death sentence and you know it. Might as well just take her kingdom for yourself at this point, because I fail to see any other outcome."

The words settled in the stillness around them, much like the small particles of dust now igniting under the morning sun. 

Yesterday had been a mistake. A fault in their steps to try and find some middle ground. 

Arthur's mouth parted on a slow exhale, a look of deep concern now wiping his expression of anything else that had been there before. 

Merlin shook his head at it—that look—where was it when they climbed a mountain together, not knowing if either one of them would come out alive? Where was it, when Balinor died in his arms and Arthur was right there. 

He went to go turn around and leave, but Arthur reached for him at the very last moment and grabbed his wrist, effectively holding him hostage against the front of his desk. His penetrating gaze only deepened that much further and if the circumstances were any different, Merlin would've melted under his touch.

"I'll send word, if you wish for me to leave again..." Arthur's voice trailed off into a whisper, as if he were trying to comfort a helpless animal in the woods. "You truly believe I could despise you, after all this time?"

Merlin shrugged his shoulders as if it were as obvious as the need to breathe.

He glanced down at where Arthur's thumb began stroking the inside of his wrist and realized, belatedly, that the darkness had lifted completely and his mind was finally clear again. 

The confirmation that the Queen would remain safe, sent Merlin's mind reeling with so many questions left unanswered, of why Arthur would even consider it in the first place—why he'd go to such extreme lengths and for what purpose?

"I don't—"

"Merlin, I—"

A few rapid knocks at Arthur's doors broke the tension between them.

Merlin flinched at the sound and removed his arm from Arthur's hold, backing away from him slowly. He looked down at the envelope in his hands and without saying another word or waiting for Arthur to call them in, he took it upon himself to open the doors.

"Merlin?"

"Lady Morgana—"

"My gods, what happened to you? What's wrong?" Her eyes were frantically searching his, the concern on her face making her appear much more mature than she actually was. 

He didn't answer her and instead, opened the door wide enough for her to slip through, her heels clacking obnoxiously as she stepped inside and looked between the two of them. 

"Am I missing something?"

Merlin shook his head in her direction, took one last confused look at Arthur, then left them to it, quietly shutting the doors behind him.

"Sire?"

Merlin shifted and grumbled, rolling over to swat at the hand that tried to stir him awake by his shoulder. 

"Mmm, stop.... M'doing inventory for a... For a prat-faced idiot with blonde hair..." He slurred. A small puddle of drool had formed beside his head. He went still once more, until a harder-than-necessary slap on his cheek roused him almost instantly. He jolted awake with a gasp and sat up straight, eyes wild and panicked, hair sticking up in every direction. 

"It's alright! It's okay, it's just me—sorry to, um... To have to do that, my lord." Merlin relaxed slightly at the sound of Leon's voice and stood up from the cold, dusty floor of the dungeons. He wiped off his trousers and sighed in relief when he noticed Leon holding a torch. He didn't think he had the energy to do anymore magic tonight. 

"Thank you, Sir Leon... I don't know how long I would've been asleep for if you hadn't woken me." Merlin yawned and picked up the stack of records on the floor, scratching his head and shivering in disgust when he felt something small and most definitely alive fall out of his hair. He shook the parchment and blow off the dust to review the numbers again.

"It's no trouble. The King sent me to relieve you of your duties." 

"Oh, yeah?" Merlin snorted, unbothered and definitely in no rush to leave just yet. 

"Surprising indeed, he was rather cryptic about it. He said he requires your presence for the vigil in the courtyard." Leon grimaced at the spiderweb dangling over his shoulder. 

"Even when I didn't show up for training," Merlin muttered to himself sardonically, "probably needs me at his side so he doesn't look like a complete fool—you know, in front of all the grieving mothers and amputees." He threw his records on top of one of the dusty display cases and crossed the room, pausing suddenly, before turning around on his heels. He gestured impatiently for Leon to take the lead.