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Chapter Text

Prologue

“Gaius,” Dale said. He'd been grinding herbs for a long while now, staring down into the pestle as he tried to screw up his courage. 

“Hm,” the physician said, a response that was quite typical for him. 

“Can I... can I ask a question?” 

“You ask questions all day,” Gaius said, looking up from his book and eyeing him. “Why would this be different?” 

Dale stopped grinding, and turned his head, gazing up into the little room at the back of the chamber. He could hear soft talking, and he could just glimpse the gleam of a crown on golden hair through the half-closed doorway. 

“It's about the king, Gaius,” he answered, voice hushed.

Gaius didn't answer, but when Dale dared to glance at him, he was reassured that the physician didn't look upset or annoyed. He simply waited, his patience giving silent permission. 

“Why does King Arthur care for Merlin himself?”

Gaius reached for his glasses, pulling them off and folding them slowly. He stared off into a corner of the room, his eyes far away. 

“After everything Merlin has been through, the king is the last person he remembers. The only person he trusts.” He sighed. “He doesn't even know me, and I was his mentor for years.”

“Come on,” Dale heard the king say, his voice barely audible. “You haven't eaten for over a day, Merlin. It's time to break your fast. I'm only asking for a few bites.”

Dale knew the rumors, of course. He'd heard the stories. 

Merlin the sorcerer chained up. Tortured, starved, left alone in the dark for days at a time. It'd taken the king and his men months to find him. 

But he'd never been allowed to see Merlin since he'd begun working for Gaius as an assistant. He was asked by everyone what Merlin was like, but he didn't know. 

The only person left who was allowed to know was the king. 

“Yes, sire,” he heard faintly, the only words he'd ever heard Merlin say. 

“We can hope things will change,” Gaius said, his voice a little unsteady. “But for now, Arthur is the sole reason Merlin still tries.”

Chapter Text

“You'll stand trial,” Arthur said quietly, staring down at Sarrum, held in place on his knees by Leon and Percival. “You'll be found guilty, and you will die.”

He fingered the pommel of his sword. “But this is your real punishment.” Righteous fury and disgust rose within him, but instead of causing him to lose control, it gave him more. His voice came out hard, the voice of a king doling out justice. “Knowing that you haven't eradicated magic.” He paused, watching Sarrum's eyes spit fire. “Knowing that you did not kill the greatest sorcerer in Albion.” 

Sarrum snarled and tried to leap at him, but Percival was quicker. He took his fist and rammed it into the side of Sarrum's head, making him crumple to the ground, almost unconscious. 

“Chain him for the night,” Arthur told Leon, then turned as he heard someone cry his name. 

Gwaine sprinted up to him, his expression grim. 

“Did you find him?” Arthur said, before Gwaine could even speak. 

Gwaine nodded. “In the farthest pit.” He clamped his jaw, his fury evident as the two of them started running back the way he'd come. “They were preparing a flogging. Middle of a siege, and Sarrum's last order…”

Arthur ran faster, forcing himself to ignore the images Gwaine's words conjured. 

They approached the last of the pits, weaving between the holes to reach the farthest. A thick chain extended into the depths, and three Camelot knights stood by the crank. One turned it slowly, while the other two guarded a few of Sarrum's men—some bloodied but still conscious, some mere bodies on the ground. A long, sleek whip had been discarded several feet away, lying near the blackened whipping pole. 

At the pit's edge, leaning into the darkness, knelt Elyan, watching the chain's progress. 

The last few steps he took felt like an eternity. And yet, it was only moments before Arthur was on his knees beside the knight, staring down into the black hole before him. 

There was no sound from the darkness, and for a wretched second, Arthur thought Merlin wasn't down there. That there had been a mistake, that his knights had found the wrong prison, that... that he'd been incorrect. 

That Sarrum really had killed the greatest sorcerer in Albion. 

That he’d really killed Merlin. 

Arthur only realized he hadn’t been breathing when something came into sight, and he took a deep breath. 

“Merlin,” Elyan said, his voice relieved. “Merlin, it’s all right. It’s Elyan; we’re here.” 

The blurry shape below them came a little closer, easing up into the light, and beside Arthur, Elyan gasped. 

Merlin’s back was red, the skin utterly destroyed by repeated floggings. His face wasn’t visible, as he hung limp from the chain, which connected to a thick iron band around his waist. Between his back and the iron was at least three inches of space created by months of starvation. Even still so far away, Arthur could see his emaciated limbs.

“By the gods,” Gwaine breathed from his other side. 

The chain kept creeping up the wall, Merlin’s body still utterly limp, scraping against the wall as he was slowly pulled to the edge. 

“Is he alive?” Gwaine asked, his voice husky. 

“Yes,” Arthur answered, refusing anything else, and repeated himself when he saw Merlin’s back lift just slightly with a breath. “Yes.” 

Elyan reached down, grabbing the chain and helping to pull Merlin the last few feet. Upon first touching him, his hand slipped, losing grip with all the blood, but he tried again and managed better. Arthur leaned to help him, and together they lifted Merlin out. He came to rest on his side, with Arthur at his back, his hands already slick with Merlin’s blood. 

In the full light, the extent of the wounds was truly visible. As he scanned Merlin’s body, Arthur felt his stomach turn and turn again, sickened to see this on anyone, but most of all Merlin. 

What skin he had left was white, bleached by months of darkness. His hair had grown and hung in a tangled matt, stiff with filth and blood. When Elyan gently pushed his hair back, they found his face nearly unrecognizable—swollen by layered beatings, one eye completely shut, and uneven facial hair that had grown where there was open skin to grow from. And his hands. Knuckles broken. Fingernails gone. Skin cut and bruised. 

He was clothed only in the remains of tattered trousers. Through the gaps, Arthur could see more cuts, along with burns and bites. Most of Merlin’s muscle had been burned away, taken as fuel for a body desperate for something to survive on, leaving his bones to stand out in sharp detail. He lay perfectly still on the ground, his good eye half open, and his breathing only noticeable on the wheezing inhale.

“Get a stretcher,” Arthur managed, meeting eyes with Gwaine and Elyan. 

They leapt to obey, both taking off at a run, making for the medical tents that’d been set up a quarter league from the gates of Sarrum’s fortress. 

Arthur watched them go, then turned back to Merlin, resisting the wave of nausea that rose at the sight of him. Gods. Oh gods, Merlin… 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, bending over Merlin’s face, and felt tears start to burn in his eyes. “I’m so sorry I took so long…” 

Merlin took another wheezing breath. Arthur pressed his lips together, trying not to completely lose control. After all this time, all these months of failure, he wouldn’t fail Merlin now. 

“We’ll take you to Gaius,” he said, forcing the words to come out strong. “You’ll be all right, Merlin. I give you my word. I will see that through to the end, if I do nothing else.” 

Carefully, he pulled Merlin’s hair back a little more. Merlin’s face twitched, and then his neck arched as he bucked, as though trying to pull away. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said, lowering his tone again. He held perfectly still, letting Merlin both hear and see him. “You’re safe, Merlin. It’s over.” 

Again, the only response was a horrible rattling breath. Tears threatened to take over again, and Arthur took his own deep breath, calming himself. “It’s Arthur,” he said. Instinct gave him a nudge, and after a moment, he added, “It’s King Arthur.” 

“Sire,” Merlin managed through cracked lips. His voice grated, as though he hadn’t spoken in days. Likely longer. 

“Yes,” Arthur said. “I’m here.” 

“Sire.” Barely audible. Merlin twitched again, and Arthur reached for one of his mangled hands, laying his own very carefully over it. His knees pressed into Merlin’s back, and he could feel the fresh blood there seeping into his trousers. 

“I’m here, Merlin.” 

Merlin breathed in, another labored wheeze, and whimpered. Arthur bent closer, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s, and prayed to any god who would listen that he could keep his promise. 

That he would see Merlin well again.

Chapter Text

Arthur raised his hand to knock on the physician's door, then startled as he heard a cry from within.

There was a crash, and then someone spoke in a low voice, interrupted by more cries.

Arthur opened the door without bothering to knock. When he entered the room, he found it empty, but twice as chaotic as usual. The typical organized mess was in complete disarray, with healing paraphernalia strewn across every surface, including the floor.

Another crash came from the chamber at the back of the room, and this time Arthur heard Gaius speaking softly.

“...lin. I'm your… friend. I'm your friend. I'm not going to hurt you.”

Merlin didn't respond. But Arthur heard a faint whimpering.

“Gaius,” he called, stepping across the floor, and a moment later, Gaius appeared in the entrance to Merlin's room.

He was in as much disarray as his chambers. His hair was tangled and fuzzy. There was a splash of something across his robe, and his hands were shaking slightly. He slowly came down the steps, setting a mug he carried on the table when he reached it. He looked at Arthur with red eyes, his shoulders slumped.

“What is it?” Arthur said.

“He doesn't recognize me,” Gaius said, his voice trembling. He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “He doesn't recognize this as food, either. He's afraid to accept food from me.”

“He…” Arthur said, confused. He remembered how Merlin didn't seem to recognize him at first, either. He'd thought... surely, that had only been that initial moment. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Gaius said, hopelessly certain. “I've been trying to get him back in bed for hours.”

“Back in bed?” Arthur repeated.

It had been less than two days since they'd found him. In that time, Merlin had been mostly unconscious, and all of that time he'd spent in either a stretcher or his bed. Knowing the extent of his injuries, Arthur also knew that he shouldn't be able to walk.

“Yes,” Gaius said, his voice breaking. He covered his eyes with one hand. “He can barely move, but he won't let me touch him to help.”

Without thinking, Arthur put his hand on the old man's shoulder. Gaius felt so small, as if this trial was wearing him away just as it had worn Merlin.

“Let me try,” he said quietly. “He knew me, when we found him.”

Gaius uncovered his eyes, showing them to be wet with tears. “Please,” he whispered, mouth trembling.

Arthur nodded, and he wordlessly took the mug and stepped up into Merlin's room. The window was covered, leaving the room dim despite the late morning light outside. It took several moments for his eyes to adjust and the room to come into focus.

He hadn't seen Merlin since the previous afternoon, when he'd been ordered away so Gaius could care for him. He remembered clearly what Merlin had looked like—it was something he'd never forget.

And yet, seeing him now was like seeing him all over again.

Merlin was hunched in one corner of his room, shaking, his good eye half open in a squint. He was clean, his face shaven and hair cropped close to his head, and he wore his own clothes, trousers and a tunic, which now looked enormous on his skeletal body. He had one sock, and the other foot was bandaged, covering the wounds there. His hands were bandaged too, and some of the fingers splinted, doubtless having been rebroken to better heal.

All of the clothing and bandaging should have helped, but instead, it just made Merlin look smaller and more hurt, and it made Arthur's chest ache.

He didn't close the door behind him, leaving it slightly open as Gaius had done. He knelt down without approaching Merlin, settling on the floor several feet away. “Merlin,” he said, waiting to see what Merlin would do.

For a long time, Merlin just watched him. Then he inhaled slowly, and his shoulder hitched. “Sire,” he said. He spoke quietly, but his voice shook with relief and recognition.

“Yes,” Arthur agreed. “You can call me that. Although you didn't use to.” He smiled, but it faded when Merlin didn't move or speak. “Perhaps you don't remember that, though.”

Merlin stared at him, and then closed his eye, making a soft whimpering sound and leaning his head on his knees, pulled against his chest. His hair was uneven, but short, and with his head bent, Arthur could see the bandages that wrapped all the way up to his neck, covering the many lashings on his back.

“You must be tired,” Arthur said softly. “You can move to the bed, if you'll let me help you.”

Merlin didn't respond, but he didn't cry in protest the way he had with Gaius.

“I'm going to come closer,” Arthur said. It took some thought to dictate his actions this way, but it seemed to be working, so he made himself continue. “I'm going to come closer, and help you, all right?” He stood slowly, then carefully stepped across the room. He knelt next to Merlin, and when Merlin still didn't move, he laid a hand carefully on his back.

Merlin raised his head, turning it to look at Arthur. He was still shaking.

“I know it hurts to move,” Arthur said. It was surely agony. “But I'll help you.”

“Sire,” Merlin whispered.

“Yes,” Arthur agreed, with a half-smile. “Come on.” Gently, he brought both hands under Merlin's arms. He lifted Merlin to his feet, thrown by how light he felt. He scarcely weighed more than a child.

Merlin stumbled, whimpering at the pain, and Arthur did his best to hold him up without putting his hands anywhere he knew there was a deep injury or wound. “Just a few steps,” he said, taking one himself. Merlin limped along, his shaking worsening, and by the time they reached the bed, he collapsed entirely.

Arthur managed to cushion his fall, but it still obviously hurt Merlin badly, because he choked on air, his strangled cries and whimpers filling the room as he lay crumpled on one side, trying to ride out the pain.

“Easy,” Arthur said, carefully lifting Merlin's head to slide a second pillow beneath it. “That's it. It will pass.”

He sat on the edge, the mug within reach by his foot, and laid his hand on Merlin's forearm. Slowly, Merlin's breathing evened out. He looked at Arthur without speaking, his good eye running over with tears.

“Stay here,” Arthur said, trying to convey that this was an order while still speaking very gently. “You can’t afford to move right now, Merlin.”

Merlin didn’t answer, but as the pain eased, his tears also stopped flowing, and Arthur used a corner of the blanket to wipe away the moisture, careful of the healing cuts and bruises on Merlin’s face.

“That’s settled then,” Arthur said, reaching down for the mug. For the first time, he looked inside, seeing that it was a thin soup. Merlin’s stomach probably wouldn’t handle anything else for a while, especially if he refused to eat even that. “Can you eat, too?”

He expected it now. Merlin didn’t respond, not audibly. Arthur nodded.

“Good,” he said, “Because I’m not going to eat this soup, and someone has to eat it.”

Merlin looked at him, and Arthur saw that his eyelid was drooping. He picked up the spoon and brought it to Merlin’s lips, determined to get at least a little food in him before Merlin fell into exhausted sleep.

Chapter Text

As Arthur took the stairs to Merlin's room, he took a deep breath, his now customary preparation for the scene before him. He pushed open the door. “It's me, Merlin.”

Merlin sat in the corner, where Arthur usually found him, if he wasn't sleeping. His legs were pulled up to his chest, his arms folded around them, and his gaze was fixed on the open window, which had finally been fully uncovered a few days ago. As Arthur entered, he looked away from the window and up at Arthur. “Sire.” 

Arthur approached slowly, cataloging Merlin's appearance today. Marginally better, bruises almost gone. Three fingernails still missing. Scruffy face. He wore the same clothes Arthur had helped him into yesterday. 

“You can call me Arthur, Merlin,” he reminded. 

Merlin stared up at him, swallowed, and looked down at his knees. “Yes, sire,” he said haltingly. 

Arthur set the tray he carried down on the table by the bed, then knelt next to Merlin. Carefully, he set his hand on one of Merlin's, then worked his way around it until he could grip gently. “Let's stand up.”

Merlin looked at him again, mixed emotion swirling in his eyes. That awful blend of confusion, pain, and trust. He nodded. 

Arthur helped him stand and guided him to the bed. Merlin sat without being prompted, took the bread that was handed to him, and ate it. It was slow going, because his hands still shook so much that it was difficult to coordinate them with his mouth. 

Arthur knew better than to try and help; for some reason, it made Merlin shut down, as though having someone help him even to eat made him too ashamed to go on.

Instead of helping, he talked. This was what he did, what he'd done for the past two weeks: talk to Merlin as he used to, as if they were still master and servant, king and secret advisor. Not what they were now, a king lost in care he didn't know how to give and a sorcerer scarred by trauma that might never fade. 

Because the things that'd been done to Merlin, in the months that Arthur hadn't found him... 

Arthur had seen horrors before. Witnessed them, bore them, even committed them. But what had been done to Merlin... 

They didn't even know the full extent, because Merlin physically couldn't speak of it. Perhaps he couldn't even remember, if his mind had retreated far enough. But what they did know was awful enough.

Arthur would never forget the sight of his dearest friend hanging limp, dragged from the depths of a pit by the cold iron chain around his waist, too near death from starvation, pain, and magic depletion to even notice the flogging pole he'd been headed toward. 

He shuddered, realizing he'd trailed off in the middle of telling Merlin about the latest council meeting. At his side, Merlin dropped his empty hands into his lap, where they lay twitching. 

Arthur turned and made himself smile at him. Merlin's eyebrows lowered just slightly. 

“I know,” Arthur said quietly. “I'm an idiot.”

Merlin's face changed again, relaxing. Arthur might have imagined it, but he thought he saw the corner of his mouth twitch, and his shoulder raise just slightly. 

Arthur reached across him to the tray, taking the small chunk of cheese and putting that into Merlin's hands as well. “Eat that, too,” he said. “I still have more to catch you up on.” He leaned over, gently pressing his shoulder into Merlin's. 

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said softly. 

Arthur tousled his hair, and then went back to his story while Merlin slowly worked on the cheese beside him.

Chapter Text

“Sire,” Gaius said, rising to his feet. He moved quicker than was typical. 

Arthur shut the chamber door, stopping there by the entry. “What is it?” he asked, seeing Gaius holding something back. 

“He's... he's been struggling. He doesn't understand why you haven't been here.”

Slight worry pulsed through him, and he stepped further into the room. “How bad?” he asked. He tried to sound as if he was merely collecting the facts, but his tone betrayed him, a little of his concern leaking out. 

Gaius' face grew a little more serious. “Bad,” he said. “I've barely gotten him to eat. He's been refusing to sleep. If he wasn't so weak still, I think he would have tried to go after you.”  

Arthur clamped his jaw, fighting back what felt like guilt. He was still a king; he still had duties to attend to that no one else could do. 

But even a few days away reminded him a little too much of the months not so long ago, when he'd been forcibly separated from Merlin, struggling against despair to keep searching for a sorcerer they'd almost declared lost forever. 

“Do you have something prepared?” he said, finally crossing the room all the way to Gaius. “I'll get some food in him before he sleeps.”

Gaius nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. Wordlessly, he lifted the lid off a pot on the table and ladled stew into a bowl. He handed it to Arthur, who tried to smile in reassurance before taking it and making his way up the stairs.

The door was open a crack, and he pushed it open with his shoulder. He looked to Merlin's usual corner, only to find that he wasn't there. Instead, Arthur had to look around the room in confusion, finally spotting Merlin holed next to the cupboard, his face turned toward the wall. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said gently, not wanting to startle him. “Merlin?”

Merlin's breath caught, and he turned his head instantly, staring up at Arthur from the floor. “Sire,” he said, his voice breaking on the word. Arthur gave him a half-smile, and Merlin opened his mouth. “Arthur,” he whispered. 

It was only a name. 

And yet the single word made Arthur catch his own breath, and he immediately knelt, setting the bowl on the floor. 

“Yes,” he said, finding he was really smiling this time. “Arthur. I'm sorry I was gone, but I'm back now.”

Merlin's head tipped back, leaning against the cupboard. Where his hands wrapped tightly around his pulled up legs, Arthur noticed them relax slightly. They didn’t release, but they eased a little. 

“Arthur,” he said again, still soft, as though he was trying out the new word. Only the third word he'd said since being recovered. 

“It's me,” Arthur agreed. “Can you do something, now that I'm here? You need to eat and sleep.” 

He examined Merlin's face, taking in the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes as he waited for Merlin to answer. Eyes that seemed a little warmer than moments before. 

“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin said.

Chapter Text

“You remember this,” Arthur said, showing Merlin the shaving razor. “You've seen this before. You may not remember, but you used to help me shave.” 

Merlin looked between him and the razor, pressing his lips together. He seemed nervous, but not as bad as he'd been the past few days. 

“I know,” Arthur said, “I'm getting a little repetitive. I'm not used to holding so many one-sided conversations.”

Merlin looked at his lap, where his hands were trembling on his knees. Arthur couldn't see his face very well, but he thought Merlin's mouth might have twitched with something like amusement. 

"All right," Arthur said, wetting his hands in the basin on the table and rubbing the soap bar between them to work up a lather. “I'll take it slowly. You can stop me if you need to, just like yesterday.”

Merlin raised his head, and Arthur rubbed the lather into his face, soaping up the uneven beard that irritated Merlin so much. Then he rinsed and dried his hands, and he picked up the razor. 

“It's me,” Arthur said softly, seeing Merlin cringe a little. “It's Arthur. You know that. You trust me.” He laid his free hand on Merlin's shoulder, and forced himself to stand still and let Merlin just look into his eyes. It was still a little awkward for him, but he'd found that it was one of the only things that truly calmed Merlin, so he made himself do it.

For Merlin.

Merlin finally closed his eyes, a little tense, but ready, and Arthur carefully held his chin and brought the razor to meet it. 

He didn't let it touch the skin fully. Instead, he skimmed across the foamy hair, catching mostly suds, but allowing Merlin to feel what it would be like. 

It was the right choice. The past two mornings, he'd moved too fast, trying to use the razor as it was meant to be used right away, and terrifying Merlin with the unfamiliar blade against his skin. Now, he went far slower, striving to make his movements smooth and gentle. 

Merlin didn't scramble away. Instead, he sat quietly and as still as he could manage, considering the tremors he couldn't control. He opened his eyes now and then, searching out Arthur's face, and then squeezing his eyes shut. 

Arthur expected it to take a long time, but instead, it seemed to go quickly. It didn't seem long before he was swiping the last stroke with the blade and wiping Merlin's face dry. 

“That's it, Merlin,” Arthur said, straightening and setting the towel on the table. “I'm finished.” 

Merlin took a deep, shaky breath, opening his eyes. He lifted a tentative hand and felt his newly smooth jaw, and Arthur smiled at him. 

“Better?”

Merlin nodded, not even hesitating. Arthur couldn't speak for a moment, surprised by the immediate response, and then both touched and amused that it was shaving that had finally gotten Merlin to answer a question as quickly as he once did. 

“Good,” he said, pleased, knocking Merlin's arm with his fist. “Not too bad for a first time barber, either.”

Merlin looked up at him with a hint of a smile, and Arthur found it suddenly hard to speak as a lump formed in his throat. 

“Come on,” he managed. “You need to eat something.”

Chapter Text

“How will this work?” Gwaine asked, his expression worried. “He doesn't even remember Gaius.”

“He won't remember you,” Arthur said certainly. “But I don't think he will be afraid.”

Merlin had grown used to Gaius by now, even if he didn't seem to know him. He would listen to him, do as he asked, sit quietly whenever he was treated. He wouldn't interact the way he did with Arthur, but he wasn't distrustful. 

“Just pay very close attention,” Arthur told Gwaine. It was so very hard to explain how things were now. “He says so little, I only understand him by watching.” 

Gwaine looked at him, his eyes full of pain. “We messed up,” he said hollowly. “We can't ever undo that.” 

“No,” Arthur agreed. “And I don't think Merlin can either.”

But he still hoped. He hoped for Merlin—not the same Merlin, for that he knew was impossible. But a Merlin who would speak with them, be curious again, and interact with his world. Laugh, maybe. 

Gwaine nodded, a single jerk. “So,” he said, popping his jaw, “How will this work?”

“I'll bring you in when he's ready,” Arthur said, opening the door to Gaius' chambers and letting Gwaine step in first. “Then... we'll just see.”

He left Gwaine in the entry and took the stairs to Merlin's room. He knocked and pushed the door open. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said softly, before Arthur even greeted him. For once, he wasn't curled in a corner, but sitting on his bed, his back to the wall. Arthur had finally managed to help him shave a few days ago, and his face was still mostly smooth. 

Merlin had seemed frustrated by his growing beard, but he'd been far more terrified of the razor blade. It'd taken Arthur days to convince him to let him use it, and then several more days before Arthur could get further than a single stroke without Merlin ducking away and cringing back in his corner. 

“How are you, Merlin?” Arthur asked, still standing in the doorway.

Merlin didn't answer, as usual, but he rubbed his blanket with one hand and tipped his head back to lean on the wall. He was relaxed, it seemed. 

“That's good,” Arthur said, smiling at him. He stepped forward and sat on the bed. “Merlin, I brought someone to see you, if that's all right.”

Merlin raised his head, his expression mostly flat, but Arthur could see the alertness in his eyes. Almost alarm, but not quite. 

“He's my friend,” Arthur said, the least confusing explanation. “He came to meet you.”

Merlin lifted his arms and wrapped them around his knees. He looked down for a while, maybe thinking, and then up at Arthur again. 

“All right,” Arthur said quietly. “If you want him to go away, he will. I give you my word.”

He stood up, feeling Merlin watching him, and stepped back to the doorway, where he saw Gwaine push off the wall he'd been leaning against, his expression hopeful. 

Arthur nodded to him, and Gwaine came up the stairs and through the door, where he paused next to Arthur. 

Arthur saw his face twitch, taking in how Merlin looked. 

Curled up on the bed, his arms around his knees, his hands scarred and still a little misshapen. Light stubble on his chin, his hair still short. He looked like Merlin, but not like the old Merlin. 

Gwaine, Arthur remembered, hadn't seen Merlin for weeks, not since they'd first recovered him, chained, bloodied, and barely breathing. 

“Hey mate,” Gwaine said, his voice thick. 

Merlin's fingers tightened and un-tightened against his legs. He pressed his head back against the wall, watching Gwaine without speaking. 

Gwaine gave Arthur an uncertain look, and Arthur nodded again, encouraging him. Slowly, Gwaine stepped forward and settled on the end of the bed. He looked down at his hands. “It's... I'm glad to... meet you,” he said, his voice breaking a little. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said, a faint question in his tone. 

Arthur moved closer, putting his hand on Gwaine's shoulder. “This is Gwaine.”

Merlin's shoulder hitched slightly. He didn't speak, but he hummed, just a short little sound like he was acknowledging what Arthur had said. 

It wasn't hello or I remember you. But it was something, and it made Gwaine smile a real smile.

Chapter Text

“Merlin,” Arthur said one day. 

He was seated in the lower part of the physician's chambers, going through some work he'd brought up. Gaius was making his rounds in the lower town, and Merlin was still desperately afraid of being alone. So Arthur was here while he worked, keeping Merlin company, and Merlin was subsequently calm, very slowly flipping through a book with detailed pictures of plants. 

Arthur's work included a few recent magical issues, which had sparked the question he carefully asked. “Do you remember your magic?”

Merlin stopped flipping pages. He didn't go still, because he never became fully still anymore unless he was asleep. His hands always shook slightly. But he stopped flipping pages, and when he looked at Arthur, it was with genuine fear. 

He'd been imprisoned by Sarrum, who despised magic and tortured those who had it without mercy. The hatred would have been blatant, and it was clear that scar still ran very deep. 

“I'm not going to do anything,” Arthur said. 

Merlin's face was white, and he swallowed. Seeing his continuing terror, Arthur stood up and came closer to put his hand on Merlin's shoulder. 

“I'm Arthur,” he said quietly. “You know me and trust me. I won't hurt you.”

Merlin nodded shakily, his gaze on the book. “Arthur,” he repeated in a whisper. “Yes. Yes.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed. “Your magic is allowed here. But just because your power won't be chained doesn't mean it will be forced. You have a choice; you always do.”

Merlin didn’t move, but Arthur could see his eyes growing wet. He wondered if Merlin had enough snatches of memory surrounding Arthur to remember revealing his magic to him. His words doubtless would hold more meaning if Merlin remembered how they had slowly come to trust one another again. 

“I mean it, Merlin,” he said softly. He tousled Merlin's hair, seeing his mouth twitch with something like a shaky smile, and returned to his seat, leaving Merlin to digest this new assurance of acceptance and safety.

Chapter Text

Merlin only began to shake when they were more than halfway to the cave.

They'd been making their way through the castle, Arthur at the front, Merlin walking just behind him. He had refused help, resisting Arthur's offer of a supportive arm. 

But as they drew closer to the deeper parts of the castle, Merlin must have seen something. He had begun to tolerate the Round Table knights, now that Arthur had slowly started to reintroduce them. 

But other people he still shied away from, which was why Arthur was taking him through the castle in the very late evening, when Merlin was still awake, but after nearly everyone had retreated for the day. All the same, there were a few here and there, none of which had really frightened Merlin until now. 

Arthur thought maybe it had been the guard who had shifted as they passed, nodding to Arthur in respect. Or perhaps the manservant just before that, who'd dropped something with a clatter. 

Regardless, Merlin suddenly stumbled, and when Arthur turned, he found that Merlin was shaking, his usual tremors completely out of control. By now, when this happened, Merlin's default was to shy away from even Arthur, pretend he was fine, hide his panic as best he could—something he was incapable of at the beginning. 

But here, he had nowhere to go. He barely seemed to remember the castle, let alone all its many paths and tricks. He had shut his eyes, maybe hoping if he couldn't see Arthur, Arthur couldn't see him. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said gently. He reached out, very slowly placing his hand on Merlin's shoulder. “Easy. We're alone. It's all right.”

Merlin clenched his jaw, trying to control himself, his hand on the wall going white as he tried to physically stop his shaking. It frustrated him so much that sometimes he would cause bruises, trying to hold his limbs still when it was impossible. 

Arthur stepped closer, running his hand up and down Merlin's arm, giving him something else to focus on. “Easy,” he said again. “I thought the castle would be empty by now. I’m sorry.”

Merlin sighed—obviously not at Arthur, but at himself, furious at his own loss of control. He still said so little that it was very much a guessing game, but Arthur knew he felt helpless. He felt lost and drowned in his own body, in physical responses he had no control over. 

Carefully, Arthur slid his arm under Merlin’s and wrapped it across his back. “Come on,” he said, making sure to balance firmness and kindness. Too firm and it was heartless. Too kind and it made Merlin angrier. “We don’t have much further.” 

Merlin obeyed, letting go of the wall and moving again. He put his arm over Arthur’s shoulders, his muscles quivering, his hand gripping painfully tight. Arthur didn’t say anything, only kept walking steadily. 

This was an improvement, actually. He would rather the situation hadn’t forced Merlin into accepting support. But at the same time, it was a relief that Merlin wasn’t alone with his panic again. 

They reached the stairs to the cave and started down them. Arthur had already ensured that twice the number of torches were lit, creating a doubly bright passageway so that Merlin wouldn’t have to walk through a dim stone cavern. 

“Aithusa,” he called out, and then they stepped through the doorway. 

A gust of air blew through his hair, cool against the light sweat he’d worked up. At his side, Merlin’s breath hitched, and as Aithusa rose into view, Arthur tensed, ready to help Merlin out in case the dragon made him more terrified instead of less. 

But turning his head, he saw Merlin’s expression, and instantly eased. He wasn’t afraid. 

Aithusa gracefully settled in front of them, folding his wings against his body. He stretched out his head until his nose was feet from Arthur and Merlin’s faces. With just a hint of a smile, his deep eyes glinting with pleasure, he spoke in his warm, young voice. “Merlin.” 

Merlin’s arm slipped from Arthur’s shoulders, and he collapsed, falling to his knees. Arthur fell with him, dragged down since his arm was still around Merlin. Merlin put his hands over his face, trying to hide that he was crying. “Aithusa,” he managed, and Aithusa made a deep thrumming sound, like a giant, majestic cat. 

He brought his head closer, pressing his snout against Merlin’s bowed head, his breath hot but sweet. “Dragonlord,” he said, and then made a series of soft growls and grumbles in the dragon tongue. 

Merlin wept harder, his whole body shaking, but Arthur could hear the difference. It wasn’t how he wept when he was alone, or when he simply couldn’t hold it back any longer. It was relieved, safe in the comfort of Aithusa’s unconditional love and loyalty. 

And perhaps, that Arthur still hadn’t left him.

Arthur shifted, moving so he could more easily sit, but not withdrawing his arm from Merlin’s back. Aithusa lifted his wings and laid one across Merlin and one across Arthur, wrapping them in warm dragon skin. 

Without speaking, Arthur turned and pressed his forehead into Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin turned his head slightly, his sobs slowing down and breath calming. 

He didn’t speak either, but Arthur heard what he meant to say all the same. 

Thank you.

Chapter Text

Merlin looked at him again, and Arthur stepped back toward him. 

“Go on, Merlin. Just try. Nothing will happen to you.”

Still, Merlin waited, and Arthur closed the last distance between them. He let Merlin look into his eyes, searching for what, he never knew, though Merlin always seemed to find it. 

Finally, Merlin's expression eased. A hint of a smile pulled his lips, and he ducked his head, almost bashful. 

Arthur smiled. “Go on,” he said again, squeezing Merlin's shoulder gently. “Show me.”

Merlin leaned forward, stretching his fingers toward the fireplace. His hand was still unsteady, and his fingernails would never grow back. But the rest of his skin was healed, if scarred. 

For several moments, nothing happened. Then one of the logs sparked, spitting red and gold streaks in the air, and a flicker of flame licked along its edge and slowly lit the rest of the wood. 

“Arthur,” he breathed, and Arthur could see him really smile for the first time since his return. 

“I see it,” he said, once he could speak. 

“Magic,” Merlin whispered to himself. Arthur squeezed his shoulder again, and Merlin lifted his hand, putting it over Arthur's. 

“It's your magic,” Arthur told him. “And one day, you'll do more than this.”

Merlin sighed, his body relaxed and face content. His hand on Arthur's only trembled faintly. 

Arthur had other commitments, other duties that required his attention. But not just yet. He could delay for a while longer and stay here with Merlin, standing in the comfort of another small victory.

Chapter Text

As Arthur walked Merlin through the castle, making their way from his chambers back to Merlin's, he wondered if he was the only one who felt a slight buzz of nerves. He'd explained who would be in Gaius' chambers, but he worried that Merlin didn’t understand. So as they climbed the tower stairs and approached the door, Arthur braced himself for a scene that might hurt. 

He knocked and pushed the door open, stepping in ahead of Merlin. At the table, Hunith stood up, meeting his eyes. Arthur gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile, then turned. 

“Merlin,” he said, putting his hand on Merlin's elbow, “This is your mother. Hunith.”

“Hello, Merlin,” Hunith said, beaming. 

“My…” Merlin said, trailing off. Slowly, he stepped across the stone floor, growing closer to Hunith until he stood only a few feet away. 

“It's all right if you don't remember me,” Hunith said softly, shooting Arthur a quick glance. Arthur could see her complete honesty. He ached with simultaneous relief that she understood and with pain that this was how it had to be. “I don't mind if you don't remember. And you can call me Hunith... if you'd like to.”

Arthur couldn't see Merlin's face. But he could hear him give a faint wheeze, like the wind had been knocked out of him. 

Hunith smiled, seeing something in his face, and her mouth began to tremble as she fought tears. 

“Mother,” Merlin whispered with meaning. He twitched a little, and Hunith closed the distance between them and wrapped him in a hug. 

Merlin didn't like to be touched, except by Arthur, who he still pulled away from at times. But now Merlin buried his face in his mother's shoulder, beginning to cry, and used both his arms to hug her back tightly. 

“Oh Merlin,” Hunith said, kissing the side of his head and stroking his hair. “Merlin. It's all right. I'm here.”

“Mother,” Merlin repeated, almost wailing, and Arthur felt his eyes begin to burn. 

He hurriedly stepped out into the stairwell and closed the door behind him, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he afforded them some privacy.

Chapter Text

When Arthur knocked on the door to Gaius' chambers, he wasn't surprised to hear Hunith call “Come in!” instead of Gaius. Hunith had a guest chamber of her own, of course, as the mother of a titled man, but she spent most of her time in the physician's chambers with Merlin. She would only be here for a few more days; like Arthur, she was a leader and had duties that demanded her attention. 

He pushed open the door and stepped in, then paused, his heart leaping a little at the sight within. 

Gaius was at the top of his little balcony, looking happier than he had in ages as he perused his bookshelves. In the main chamber, Hunith stood at the table, kneading bread, and Merlin sat on the bench, his chin pillowed on crossed arms as he watched his mother's hands work. And sitting next to him, her conversation with Hunith broken by Arthur's entrance, was Gwen, her newly rounding face warm with real happiness. 

“Having a party without me?” Arthur said with a smile. 

Hunith and Gwen both smiled back at him, and Arthur watched as Merlin raised his head and gave a hint of a smile, too. Briefly, Arthur sent what must have been the hundredth little prayer of thanks to whoever was listening. 

He’d hesitated long in letting Hunith meet Merlin, something both Gaius and Hunith agreed with him on. But now, more than three months into Merlin’s recovery, the ultimate decision had brought untold benefits. Hunith's presence had made a world of difference—and the greatest proof of it was right before Arthur, in the form of his wife, a whole new person that Merlin was perfectly comfortable sitting next to. 

“I miss baking,” Gwen said. He bent to give her a kiss, and she smiled and then went on. “So Hunith is showing me how to braid bread.”

“Merlin could teach you just as well,” Hunith said, and Merlin gave another little hint of a smile, settling back on his pillowed arms to watch her again. 

Arthur’s heart nearly stopped. He’d remembered. Merlin had remembered something from his past and smiled at it, please at the memory instead of shuddering away. 

“He was braiding our bread into flowers and birds before he was ten summers old.”

“That must have been pretty,” Gwen said, and Arthur noted how she smiled at Merlin but didn't prod him for details. She had listened, as she always did, and remembered every detail of what he'd told her during all the weeks that Merlin would only allow Arthur to be close to him. 

Hunith nodded. “Will you be braiding bread as well, sire?” she asked. The honorific had the same cheeky ring to it as Merlin's used to. 

“Certainly not,” Arthur said. “I take part in the eating, not the cooking.” 

“Baking,” Gwen corrected. “And no one is ever letting the king within six feet of an oven ever again.” 

Once, Merlin would have laughed heartily and thrown a half dozen jokes and jabs about Arthur's past disastrous attempts at preparing food. Now, he simply lifted his head and met Arthur's gaze, his eyes alive with real joy for the first time in months. 

He wasn't the same Merlin and never would be. But he was still Merlin, and his reaction made Arthur grin back and rub his knuckles in Merlin's hair. 

“Shut up, Merlin,” he said, and Merlin ducked away and settled back on his arms, his eyes still warm with contentment and slowly, slowly returning peace.

Chapter Text

“I'm going to make you some new shirts, Merlin,” Gwen said thoughtfully one night, while she stitched embroidery on the hem of a baby blanket.

Merlin had left his own little room to come to Arthur and Gwen's, the only other room he would remain in for more than an hour. He sat on the floor near Gwen's feet, watching the fire. 

“What is your favorite color, now?” she asked. “It used to be green.”

Arthur looked up to watch them. Merlin didn't look away from the fire, but he seemed to be thinking. 

“Red,” he said at last. 

Gwen paused in her sewing. “Why red?”

Merlin finally looked away from the flames, running his hand along the red rug he sat on. He seemed a little embarrassed, his cheeks flushing, and instead of answering, he simply glanced at Arthur's cloak, which was draped across the changing screen. 

“Oh,” said Gwen softly, and Merlin smiled a little, his eyes far away. “I'll make you a red shirt,” Gwen said, going back to her embroidery. 

Merlin sighed, a bit of a smile still on his face. He returned to staring at the fire, and whispered, “Thanks.”

Chapter Text

Arthur knocked softly on the nursery door, then pushed it open. He was alone; since the birth, Gwen still tired easily and the feast had exhausted her, so he'd escorted her back to their chambers and came here himself.

As he expected, the nurse was absent and Merlin was still tending to Leo. He stood on the balcony, one door half open, with a bundle in his arms. For the most part, he preferred avoiding crowds, and had elected to watch Leo instead of attending the feast with the rest of them.

Arthur approached, speaking softly in the hopes he wouldn't startle either Merlin or Leo. “Is he asleep?”

Merlin's head had been tilted down, watching Leo, but he lifted it and turned halfway, allowing Arthur to see the baby's sleeping face, peeping out of several layers of blankets. The night was chilly, and Merlin was just as careful as the nurse when it came to keeping Leo warm. 

Arthur smiled softly, looking at his son, and then again when he glanced up to see Merlin with a small smile too. Behind him, Camelot glimmered with celebratory torches and bonfires. It was the fourth anniversary of Arthur's coronation, and people inside and outside of the castle would be celebrating long into the night. 

“Sire,” Merlin said quietly, tipping his head in respect. He hadn't referenced the meaning of the day earlier—he still didn't speak very much—but he was clearly doing so now. The warm loyalty in his eyes made Arthur want to do something silly, like laugh, cry, or hug him. Instead, he stepped forward and put his hand on Merlin's shoulder, squeezing gently. 

“Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin smiled, then turned to face the city again. Arthur came to stand beside him, placing his hands on the railing. Feeling the movement, Leo stirred, his face scrunching up comically, and Merlin made a soft shushing sound, bouncing a little. Leo went back to sleep, and Merlin raised his head, looking past the city to the star-spotted sky beyond. 

He still seemed calm, even happy, but there was a far-off look to his gaze that made Arthur ask gently, “Are you all right, Merlin?”

Merlin kept staring at the sky. “Yes,” he said at last, serious. “But... I've been remembering.”

“Remembering what?” Arthur asked. 

“The pit.” Just two words, but he didn't need to say anything more. 

Arthur felt his expression change, reflecting his concern, and he turned sideways so he could see Merlin better. He waited, and then said what came to him without stopping to second-guess it. “Do you want to tell me?”

Merlin didn't answer right away, although his mouth moved, as if he'd almost responded instantly and then stopped himself. He seemed to struggle for a moment, maybe wrestling with whether he could say yes. Arthur suspected that as he continued to recover, he'd begun to feel guilty over the care and attention he'd received, embarrassed over the enormous traumas within him that had changed him forever. But Merlin still hadn't admitted it aloud, still tending to brush Arthur off if he pressed too hard. 

That, Arthur had reflected many times over the last several months, was certainly something the old Merlin and new Merlin had in common. 

He watched silently, letting the battle play out in Merlin's head, and when Merlin finally glanced at him with a question in his eyes, Arthur smiled, willing his encouragement to show on his face. 

Merlin's lips trembled and he swallowed. “Yes,” he said shakily. “I do.”

Arthur leaned closer and gripped his shoulder again, turning Merlin toward the door. “Put Leo down then,” he said gently. “And we'll talk.”