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Chapter Text

Beneath his bare feet, the cold stone of the castle hallway made Arthur’s body increasingly chilled and he wondered why he hadn’t at least put on some socks before getting out of bed. The corridor was long and dark and though moonlight streamed in through the windows it did nothing to make the way ahead any lighter.

That was alright, he simply had to reach the end of the hall. One step forward, two, three, four. The way ahead was straight, the destination clear.

Another step forward, another, and then again.

Before him, the door was shrouded in darkness, but there was no reason to fear or contemplate. All Arthur needed to do was reach it.

One step, three steps, seven, twelve, and then just one more. King Arthur stood before the wooden door, heavy though the door itself was rather small. His fingers gripped the knob, warmer than anything else in the corridor, and soon turned it to step through the threshold.

Arthur blinked rapidly, as if startled from a daydream. He took stock of his surroundings for he was a trained warrior before a husband draped in comfort. He was in his chambers, sat on his bed, with Guinevere beside him.

“What the devil…?”

…Except he wasn’t.

Arthur stood slumped in the middle of a foreign room, surrounded by his knights in various states of disheveled undress, with no sign of Guinevere. He looked around, rubbing at his eyes — to rid himself of the bleariness of sleep or to check if this was really what he was seeing, he didn’t know — and took headcount.

Leon was on his right, along with Elyan and Lancelot, looking for all the world like the sky had become the earth. Elyan was similarly rubbing at his eyes, while Lancelot was sending suspicious glances to the dreadfully bare walls like they were moments away from jumping at him. All of them were in their sleepwear.

Less clothed, and on his left, were Gwaine and Percival, who apparently favored sleeping without shirts and and with their breeches slipping from their hips. Nevermind that they looked like they didn’t belong to this world with how hungover they probably were. Mordred was peeking out behind them, the only one who had duties tonight therefore the only one who was fully dressed. He even had managed to retain his sword.

“What the hell is going on?” Came Elyan’s frankly miserable groan. It was, apparently, much too loud for the two tavern dwellers.

“Be quiet for a moment, won’t you?” Gwaine barked at him, though it sounded much more like a miserable whine.

“Gwaine, look at where we are, we have much bigger problems than your headache.”

“If you’re so unperturbed then I suppose you’ll have no problem holding me.”

Elyan blinked at him incredulously. “Why would I be holding you?”

“I think I’m about to pass away…”

“Sire,” Leon, who’d finally regained his bearings, was the first to even acknowledge the King’s presence. He was quick to approach while Percival and Mordred hurried to sit their fellow knight somewhere before he passed out.

“Sir Leon,” Arthur nodded, vehemently ignoring whatever Gwaine was involved in as he’d learned well to do over the years. “What’s happened?”

The First Knight shook his head. “I’m afraid I do not know, Sire. We all sort of… woke up here as we are, all at once, from what I’ve been able to gather.”

Briefly, and as he was running a hand over his face, Arthur appreciated the fact he had a First Knight so decent he was able to be professional even while in socks and sleep clothes.

“Then we must investigate our surroundings, try to find a way out of here.”

Leon nodded and Arthur tore his gaze away from him in favor of looking at the room which seemed to be, for all intents and purposes, their newest prison.

A beyond thorough investigation was, unfortunately, easy to perform.

The room was relatively small, perhaps a tad smaller than one half of Arthur’s chambers. Stone walls enclosed them on all sides, decorated only by the unevenness in their build and the occasional brass candle holder. Bizarrely, there was no sign of any candles present in the room.

Similarly, stone made up the floor beneath their feet. The room was equally bare in terms of decoration — the closest things to it, and the only real furnishing, being two thin rows of tourney benches pushed to the wall with the door and a wooden table. Naturally, the door was locked.

They’d placed Gwaine atop the pews and, after making close acquaintance with the wood, the knight confirmed no engravings or mark existed atop the surface. The same conclusion was drawn for the table.

It was frustratingly little to work with and, in an unfortunate turn of events, their investigation seemed only to bring more questions than it answered.

The most obvious were, naturally: Why were they here? How did they come? Who took them? Where even were they? And, of course, there were plenty of supplementary queries.

With another sigh on his lips, Arthur took another headcount. Leon, Mordred, Elyan, and Lancelot were by the benches, looking down on the lying Gwaine and Percival sat beside him. Leon, Mordred, Elyan, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival and…

“Merlin’s missing,” Arthur said through his fingers, to which Lancelot nodded grimly and Gwaine pulled himself over to look under the benches. The King’s brows were furrowed as he looked to the side — he should probably feel relief that, for once, his clumsy manservant had evaded being dragged into trouble. Somehow, the fact he wasn’t with them still left a foul taste in his mouth.

A few more moments passed in silence, moments which Arthur used to steel himself. His knights were looking towards their King, expecting input if not his guidance. He’d remain strong in the face of this unnatural adversary today as well, as he had each time before.

“Tell me what you remember before waking up here,” he said, looking to Lancelot and Elyan.

Both men had heavy looks on their faces. It was Lancelot who spoke. “I’d retired for the night, Sire. When I awoke, I found myself here.” Elyan’s account was similar.

Gwaine and Percival spoke next, expressing the expected amount of knowledge, or lack thereof, about their predicament. In essence, what they managed to recount didn’t much differ from the other two knights’ words, safe for one exception.

“We’d gone for a few drinks,” Percival sheepishly spoke on their behalf, “And Merlin came to take us back. He took us to our chambers and next thing we knew, we were here.”

Leon himself could offer nothing in addition and unfortunately neither could Arthur. With a frustrated furrow to his brow, Arthur turned to Mordred. The youngest knight was clearly suppressing any nervous reactions to being addressed, which softened the King’s glare but slightly.

“I had guard duty at the southwest castle gate, Sire.” Mordred recounted, his right hand fidgeting with the handle of his sword. “I… don’t recall falling asleep at any point but…” he trailed off. “I’m not making excuses but I think I recall walking down some kind of corridor in between being at my post and finding myself here.”

Arthur raised a brow, blinking at the revelation. Something about those words hinted at a headache forming behind his eyes.

“Corridor?” Leon echoed to which the youngest knight nodded.

“My mind connects it with someplace in the castle,” Mordred continued, “But I cannot, for the life of me, recall why I would leave my post to go wander through the castle.”

“Maybe you wanted to take a break from being in Monty’s presence all night,” Gwaine suggested down from his place on the bench. His cheek was pressed to the wood, an undignified position which he cared not to correct after his attempt at looking under the benches for Merlin had left him sicker than before.

Predictably, Leon wasn’t impressed. “Unlike you, Sir Mordred wouldn’t leave his post due to any existing problem with Sir Montague.”

“Give him a couple more months of duties with him and he’ll be singing a different tune.”

Arthur, expertly ignoring the exchange, nodded his gratitude to the young knight. “Thank you, Mordred. We’ll take your report into account.”

Afterwards, Arthur guided the discussion back to the productive as they discussed the next question at hand: their location. For the time being, the questions of the why and the who were left behind due to the only possible answer. Sorcery. They’d gone through enough to know there was no use asking such questions when sorcery was involved; indeed, questioning the motives of danger was only an option when the danger had passed, and their side was holding the reigns once more.

“If what Mordred said was true,” Elyan hummed, arms crossed and gaze cast down deep in thought, “Then might we assume that this room could be somewhere in Camelot.”

“But then why the trickery?” Leon questioned. “If it’s a location so close to us, couldn’t the sorcerer have simply snatched us from our beds and brought us here at once?”

“Maybe he did,” Percival reasoned. “Mordred could have been a solitary case, since he was the only one awake at the time.”

“All of us woke up standing upright though, didn’t we?” Lancelot ran a hand over his mouth. “And there is nothing to suggest this place is actually within the bounds of Camelot.”

Arthur raised a brow, intrigued by this train of thought. “Even with the sparse decor, this room still undeniably possesses Camelot’s architectural style. Even the candle holders and the benches are in line with what we posses.” He prompted, wanting to hear where Lancelot’s thoughts would take them.

“That might be true…“ the knight trailed off, “But nothing stops a sorcerer from recreating a single room if they’re powerful enough. That could even explain why, as you said Sire, there’s no decor except for the necessary.” Why “the necessary” was what it was was a different story.

“Nothing stops a sorcerer from doing anything if they’re powerful enough,” Gwaine butted in before Arthur could have a say, though he had to begrudge him from stealing his words right out of his mouth. “That’s a… how do you say… moot point. For all we know, we might not even be in a room. We might all be sharing a dream.”

The rest of the knights blinked down at the hungover man sprawled out beneath them. That was… a half decent suggestion. Arthur furrowed his brow — who allowed Gwaine to make sound arguments?

Said knight furrowed his brows and stared forward into space. “Or maybe I’m the only one dreaming, and you lot aren’t here at all…”

Ah, there it was.

The focus shifted to trying to find a way to escape once more. Arthur and Leon had instructed Mordred in various attempts to bring down or poke through the door with his sword, but all efforts proved futile for the door seemed to be functionally indestructible.

Gwaine had tried to use this as proof of his dream space theory, though Mordred rebuked him by saying the fact his sword was here was proof of the exact opposite being true. The sound argument, and the fact Gwaine was sufficiently silenced, left Arthur with a deep sense of pride for his youngest knight.

Unfortunately, the progress seemed to end there. Every nook and cranny of the room had been thoroughly investigated two times over and every question had been sufficiently answered by that point, which left them with no way out and one last remaining mystery.

Why in hell was the wall opposite the door and the benches so perfectly smooth?

Mordred could feel the magic permeating through the space. Well, it wasn’t a difficult conclusion to reach — that there was magic here, given the way they could see in the semi-dark with no light source to speak of — but he could feel it present in the very walls of the room.

Or, more accurately, wall.

Despite his earlier arguments against them being in a sort of shared dream, Mordred didn’t feel completely confident it the opposite. All the magic in the room was so confusing, so contradictory, that he well and truly couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t.

And besides, some confusion on his part was not enough for him to out himself as a sorcerer.

Still, that far wall wouldn’t give him peace of mind.

Most of the other knights, the King included, had sat themselves down on account of there being nothing left to do… and the fact that they were all either barefoot or in socks certainly did something to push them in favor of getting their feet off the cold. Only Leon and Mordred were left standing, with Leon not having leftover space on the benches and vehemently refusing to sit on the table, and Mordred left feeling too awkward to sit down while being the only one wearing shoes.

He paced around absentmindedly while Elyan interrogated Percival and Gwaine on what they’d gotten up to in the tavern. Inevitably, he reached the impossibly smooth wall.

Magic was emanating from it like heat from a fire, reaching outwards with invisible tendrils of power. Mordred lamented, and not for the first time, Emrys’s absence. Even if he didn’t know what was going on or what stood before him — truly, no man could know everything — he would still have the power to reach out to the magic within and question it himself.

As it happened, Emrys was nowhere to be found despite numerous attempts to locate his magic on Mordred’s part. If this room was a real place within Camelot, it was well sealed off. There certainly seemed to be an illusionary aspect to it, given how it seemed to fit perfectly well with the architecture of the castle yet, whenever Mordred tried to send for Emrys’s magic, it seemed to come back to him only vaguely with no exact location to speak of.

He supposed he should be glad for at least having that faint reminder of the great warlock’s power. Despite their friendship’s rough start, his magic had always been strangely comforting.

…

Tentatively, Mordred reached out to touch the wall. It was no different in color and seemed no different in texture either, yet instead of meeting rough stone his fingertips felt a surface smooth as a mirror. The magic within swirled around his fingers, got under his nails. Mordred furrowed his brow and tried to reach out, just to get a feel for this foreign power without even thinking of casting any spells.

Yet, when he did, the strangest thing happened.

Mordred recoiled with a rather undignified yelp as, right there in the center of the wall, deep gashes began appearing. Lines and curves which soon intercepted each other to form letter, letters combining together to form words and, before he knew it, a full text was on display right there before him.

The knights had sprung to their feet as soon as the first few lines began to appear. Percival and Elyan had pulled him back, while Arthur and Leon stood in front. Lancelot and Gwaine were flanking them, the latter showing none of the alcohol sickness he had been prior.

But Mordred’s eyes were fixated on the wall and the text therein.

Beneath the riddle were two other lines. To the left stood, “Open your eyes?” While the right side harbored, “Continue dreaming.” The left option stood there, upon the wall, like a tantalizing invitation, a riddle within a mystery; the right option seemed like both a warning and a reprieve from the unknown.

Mordred suddenly found himself unable to breathe.

Chapter Text

“I wish Merlin were here…” Arthur heard Percival murmur from somewhere to his left. “He’s good with puzzles and riddles and the like.”

Yes but that was because he was the former and frequently spoke in the latter, Arthur thought as he tore his gaze away from the visibly spooked Mordred.

“Yeah.” Elyan hummed. The two seemed to be chattering more to soothe young knight, who’d frozen up as soon as the magical text began appearing, rather than to share anything of value. “Remember that time in that cave — with the riddle about whispers? That was a boatload of nonsense…”

While they were speaking Arthur called the rest of the knights to himself.

“What kind of sorcerer would create such a setup?” He murmured, eyes trailing over the cryptic words in the stone.

“Certainly a powerful one,” Leon replied. Gwaine was quick to interrupt him.

“Unless it’s not a sorcerer doing this but the room itself.”

Arthur couldn’t keep down his scoff. “Gwaine, why would a room want us to solve a riddle.”

“Well we have to be here for some reason, maybe it’s like…” he trailed off. “Like a test of some kind? A test of character?”

Though such things weren’t unheard of, especially to Arthur, he remained doubtful. Leon seemed about as convinced. “If it was a test of character, wouldn’t it at least specify who is supposed to answer?”

Lancelot cleared his throat to get their attention, “Nevertheless, we’re here and we’re clearly supposed to make a choice. Whether this is the plot of yet another sorcerer or some kind of conscious building, like the Dark Tower was, doesn’t really matter in the face of our problem. And, besides, it’s not like we have anything better to do. If the room itself is doing this, not doing anything might just lead us to rot away in here.”

The three blinked at him. Soon, Gwaine nodded. “And if it’s a dream world…”

Exasperated, Lancelot sighed. “If it’s a dream world we’ll still pass away in here. The only difference is that we’ll be dead in our rooms while our friends wonder what has befallen us.”
The thought of Guinevere waking up to his sleeping body, unable to wake him up… Arthur felt a foul taste on his tongue. It was a quiet agreement afterwards, to no longer discuss the nature of their location. Their eyes turned back to the writing on the wall — the faster they were able to return to their lives, the better.

“Alright, what can we be certain of?” Though Arthur prided himself on being more than capable in all manners of battle, tactics, statecraft, and culture as a whole, he could only begrudgingly admit that his ability in the more eclectic parts of literature were a bit… lacking. And, though it certainly ticked him off to acknowledge it, the only person in his inner circle who could really be called an expert on the matters was…

Gaius. By proxy, some of that understanding had passed over to Merlin as well.

As it was, all knights would have to put their heads together if they were to survive their surreal new imprisonment.

“I think we should start with the second part, because I can’t make head or tail of the first,” Elyan began tentatively, a statement which Gwaine echoed. “We’re clearly supposed to make a choice between those two—” he pointed at the text at the very bottom “—but I don’t understand what any Goddess has to do with it.”

“Maybe it’s all added to confuse us?” Leon suggested, waving his hand at the riddle. “Riddles are all about testing a person on their ability to glean the deeper meaning without getting lost in all the… fluff.”

“So what would the deeper meaning be?” Arthur scowled, as if intimidating the text would reveal the correct answer. “That we’re supposed to make a choice? Obviously, we’re supposed to make a choice.”

Indeed, without understanding the riddle in its entirety, all the knights could do was argue among themselves. Several theories were proposed, which only served to deeply gladden Arthur that none of them were scholars, until a sudden voice piped up.

“I think that, uhm…” Mordred seemed to pale when all attention landed on him. “I think that, instead of arguing about the riddle itself, since we clearly don’t have enough information, we ought to examine the answers themselves.”

The room quieted down even further, and Mordred subtly squirmed at being put on the spot.

“Go on…” Arthur prompted, leaving some space for Mordred to get closer to the wall. The proximity seemed to make him even more antsy, though Arthur found his bravery commendable.

“Since we have no other clues, we might take the way the two answers are worded into account instead,” he began pointing to the answer on the left. “This one is a question, which implies some kind of openness to the answer, I guess. The other one implies finality… I think. And, if we’re talking about deciding the future like the riddle suggests, I’d rather it to be open and uncertain rather than set in stone.”

Mordred shrugged, “It could also mean nothing, just the best I could think of.”

Despite his uncertainty with the proposition, the knights let out quiet murmurs of agreement among themselves. Arthur, strangely, couldn’t help but feel a sort of pride. It was a shame that Merlin wasn’t here to see it, he would have been, no doubt, proud as well.

“No need to be so abashed, young Mordred,” Arthur reached over to pat the young man on the shoulder, “It’s as good a guess as any. Certainly better than anything Gwaine has had to say.”

“Hey!”

For a brief moment, Arthur considered letting Mordred have the honor of making the choice himself, but the uncertainty of what could happen prevented him from doing so. He instructed his knights to step back and only after they were a good three feet behind him did he let his fingers brush against the text that said, “Open your eyes?”

Arthur found himself hoping that Gwaine’s dream theory was true, if only to truly do as the answer said, and wake up to his wife and kingdom once more.

Instead, the words beneath his fingers began glowing a soft golden light. The gold of magic. Arthur recoiled as his youngest knight had done as he saw the riddle disappear before his eyes, only for the words to be replaced with new ones.

The wooden pews gave them a perfect view to the smooth wall; it had gone blank a while ago with nothing new appearing on it ever since. Luckily, they all found themselves occupied with staring at the table.

…Arthur found himself lamenting his life not for the first time since he woke here.

On the bottom pew sat Arthur, in the middle, with Lancelot to his left and Gwaine to his right. On the top sat Leon and Elyan, on Arthur’s left, and Percival and Mordred to his right. The agreement had been reached after a long and arduous on who would be able to see best from where, whereupon they had placed the two tallest men firmly on the second row, and drawn straw to determined who ended up where afterwards.

The “straw” just so happened to be loose threads from Gwaine’s sleeping breeches. The reminder that they were still in their sleepwear washed over Arthur like cold water. In a way, he was glad no sorcerer was present to see them like this.

Back to the topic at hand, all seven men found themselves intensely staring at the table. More specifically, in the left corner of the wood was a small symbol, glowing a soft gold like their chosen answer had.

“It looks a bit like a sun,” Percival mumbled, trying to look at it more closely for he was the furthest away.

“Lancelot,” Gwaine said, rising a little in his seat to get a better view. “Touch it, maybe something will happen.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want to touch it,” replied he, who was closest to the little sun-shaped symbol and therefore the subject of the million curious requests to check out what it does. “If you’re so curious, why don’t you touch it.”

A wrong thing to say. Gwaine shrugged a little before leaning over to press his index finger to the symbol.

Before them, the table transformed, with new words appearing all over the left side of the surface in a neat little list.

The list itself was…

“Locked?” Murmured Leon from above.

…rather bemusing.

It was simply the word “locked” repeating a few times in a column, engraved into the wood and lacking the glow the little sun symbol did. The only exception was an entry near the top of the list, which simply said “normalize.”

“I don’t feel very normal right now…” Gwaine murmured, precariously stretched out over the table so he could reach the only glowing word.

“Gwaine, be careful,” Arthur warned, trying to pull back as much as he could. He knew he could never truly stop Gwaine from doing something if he put his mind to it but he preferred to be cautious when his newest whimsy was to play around with a magical, nonsensical table.

This time, when the knight touched the table, it was with gingerly caution. More text appeared, at the center of the wood.

“Is it just common for the positive option to be a question and for the negative one to be a statement?” Arthur wondered idly. “Anyway, why is it making it out to be our fault for not being fully dressed — it’s not like we had much say in the matter.”

Several hums of agreement rang out as the knights studied the wood.

“How can ‘six or seven’ of us be inappropriately dressed?” Percival said quietly. Leon gently cleared his throat as he told him that meant ‘six out of seven’ to which the big knight couldn’t help but blush.

“I thought Arthur made you learn sums?” Gwaine looked back, his voice surprisingly wasn’t teasing.

Percival nodded, the same was true for every knight not of common birth who couldn’t read or do sums. But… “Merlin hasn’t taught us anything like that yet…”

Reeling, Arthur looked to Leon and said, “You sent them to have lessons with Merlin?” to which the First Knight had no proper defense. All he could say for himself was he imagined they’d be more comfortable with someone they know. Unbelievable.

Lancelot cleared his throat once more. If Arthur didn’t know he was so deathly polite, he’d think he was coming down with something.

“Does anyone have any objections to getting dressed?” he asked with a surprisingly straight face. When none came, he pressed his index finger to the first option, all while wondering if he’d only dress “them” and not himself due to the peculiar wording of the statement.

Thankfully, this did not happen, and the knights — including Lancelot — found themselves suddenly and nigh instantaneously dressed in their typical knightly uniform, sans the capes.

Unfortunately, this applied to all of them and Mordred suddenly found himself without a cape… or a sword.

“It seems that, whatever magic is at play here, has brought us all to the exact same state of dress…” Arthur concluded after a lengthy search under the benches to make sure Mordred hadn’t accidentally dropped his sword instead. “And it might do so as well in the future, take care not to mess with the… table too much.”

Gwaine looked more or less unbothered by the admonition, while Lancelot looked near mortified. He quietly apologized to Mordred, who tried to wave him off in fear of being put on the spot any further.

That quickly ended when the wall began changing. It was made of light stone before, just like the walls in Camelot, but now it was quickly darkening, blackening until it was nigh unseperable from an abyss. Along the surrounding walls, the empty candle holders lit up with no candles to support the gently flickering flames.

And, right in the middle of the black stone wall, appeared a symbol of considerable size — a kind of mark that resembled two x symbols next to each other with a dot in the middle — and more instructions below it.

Chapter Text

The list, summoned into the surface of the wood by the sun symbol, disappeared. Now only three words adorned the smooth surface of the table.

All three symbols were glowing, which indicated each option was viable. But why give them instructions if they could proceed without even doing anything?

“Perhaps it’s allowing us to pick according to preference?” Lancelot suggested quietly. It was, indeed, an unexpected amount of leniency on the magic’s part but it was the only explanation for an otherwise completely arbitrary task.

Gingerly, Arthur pressed his finger to “Darker?”, which only darkened the symbol a little, so it fell upon him to preform the act a couple of times, until the peculiar symbol was barely visible. The act of pressing his finger to the glowing text left him with a strange feeling in his fingertips. When he took a look at his hand, he saw the faint outline of a few letters already fading from his skin. Huh…

The group stared at the wall a while longer before Gwaine spoke up.

“If it’s really up to our preference, must we still listen to the instructions of some wall?”

…

Good point. Arthur began pressing “Brighter?” until the mark had reached the perfect shade of gray, while the wall behind it remained fairly dark. Because, despite what Guinevere thought, Arthur did have some sense of colors, damn it.

“How’s this?”

Gwaine pressed “Brighter?” again, most likely just to be obtuse. When this whole mess was over, he’d have to ask Morgana to give the poor simpleton a full wooden board of shining words to press.

…or maybe not, since he’d no doubt rope Merlin and Percival into wasting their time with it. And if Merlin and Percival were there, Lancelot would most definitely be there with them, which would only be an incentive for Elyan to get curious, which will only make Leon join in to keep an eye on them—

Having determined the brightness of the wall adequate, Arthur graciously allowed for his fellow knight to press the word “Proceed.” Because he was closer to it. No other reason.

All words and symbols faded, both from the table and the wall before them. The only exception was the little sun symbol in the bottom left corner of the table, which seemed would forever stay by Lancelot’s side.

A deathly hush settled over them as the wall’s color began changing once again. No longer an inky black, the wall began changing to… a picture of nature? Green trees, blue cloudy sky, deep green grass and bushes; a wind blew, rustling the leaves and—

It was a bit humorous for a bunch of grown men, and one just stepped into adulthood, to jump so violently at the sound of the wind blowing. But that was just the problem, wasn’t it?

“Holy fu—” Elyan coughed into his hand, clearly having choked on his spit. “This thing can make sound?”

But the sputtering was soon silenced as the view panned to a forest path and the mouth of a very familiar cave.

Lush with lichen, the outside of the cave seemed infinitely more inviting than the black pit that was its mouth. Though the sun shone brightly and the wind carried birdsong as it passed through the trees, there was no sign of life outside the cave. Only the remainder of it — two packs, a sword, and a fire in the middle of the path, long put out.

“Sire, isn’t this…?” Mordred spoke with a slight tremble to his voice. Arthur couldn’t blame him, only nod.

“The cave of the Disir.”

The image on the wall showed the cave’s mouth widening as it came closer, traveling impossibly fast through the darkness, until it stopped on the sight of a man down on one knee, though only his boots and mail were visible.

Several gazes couldn’t help but land down to Arthur’s feet.

Arthur: I hereby solemnly swear…

Then everyone startled again. Arthur’s eyes widened as he recoiled from the sound of his own voice.

Even stranger was the uncomfortable familiarity he felt hearing and watching this moment. This wasn’t some kind of apparition or make believe because… Arthur remembered this.

Arthur: …to learn the ways of the Old Religion…

He had said those words. This was a very specific memory.

Arthur: …to revoke the laws made against its people…

The moment Arthur made his choice in order to save a brother in arms.

Arthur: …and accept magic back into the land.

This was the day Arthur had vowed to repeal the ban on sorcery.

But Arthur hadn’t gone back on his word. Progress was being made every day, small changes to ease the idea into the hearts of the masses. Thirty years, by this year, had passed since the Great Purge began, and Arthur was still working to undo it.

Why then were they being shown this? He couldn’t keep the righteous fury calm within his heart — if whoever sorcerer had done this wanted to claim he was being insufficient, they’d meet the end of his blade. Arthur had no qualms with killing people so clearly antagonistic.

The three figures of the Disir loomed over the kneeling man, still a shadow but so very clearly Arthur.

The Disir: Will you not accept the Goddess into your heart?

Arthur hesitated but spoke his heart and mind. Arthur: I cannot… but I will do good by her people.

The three ancient crones spoke no further for a minute, two, three…

The Disir: That will prove sufficient… You’ve acknowledged your sins, Arthur Pendragon, and you’ll find your future brighter than any man’s… should you keep your solemn vow…

No words were shared for the alternative.

The Disir: Go now… Leave this place… Upon your return to Camelot you’ll find your efforts sufficiently rewarded.

Arthur couldn’t help but cast his gaze to Mordred. The young knight had indeed been set on the path to recovery when Arthur returned from the Disir’s cave. Predictably, Arthur had denied his presence on many more quests to come, something even Mordred couldn’t protest on.

Mordred had a furrow to his brow now, a look which no doubt Arthur mirrored on his own face. Percival had subtly moved closer to the younger knight, an act which Arthur would have to commend in private, when the opportunity arose.

“Sire…” the youngest knight spoke up. “Why are we being shown this?”

Arthur shook his head. He never seemed to have the answers when they could soothe someone he cared for. “Would that I knew, Mordred.”

Arthur rose from his kneel, bidding silent goodbye to the ancient soothsayers. The wall followed his exit but only halfway, stopping dead in its tracks when it landed on Merlin.

Merlin’s face was a blank mask as he locked eyes with one of the witches. The wall followed her face closely as she tilted her head up, revealing one eye to the light.

Mordred tried to recoil as subtly as possible.

The young man had nothing to say in response, only a subtle clench of his jaw.

“What the hell are you doing…?” He heard Arthur whisper angrily to himself.

The Disir: For one who’s destiny is a hair’s breadth away… you look so morose…

Several of the knights moved forward in their seat but all Mordred wanted was to flee. “What is this?” He could hear Elyan murmur.

Merlin didn’t bother replying. The witches smiled at him and he turned his back to them no happier.

The Disir: You harbor much within you… Much that will prevent the coming of the Golden Age… Take a look… Take a look within… And bare your soul… before the Goddess decides to do so for you…

But Merlin never once looked back at them, deaf to their words of prophesy. The image on the wall followed his retreat and left the Disir behind in darkness. Soon, the wall was enclosed in shadows once more.

And then a little bell rang, startling them all as a little piece of parchment seemed to unfurl at the top of the wall. There was a symbol on the leftmost side in the shape of one of the many idols hanging in the Disir’s cave, surrounded by a square frame of golden sticks.

Beside it was text that read: “Achievement Unlocked! The End”

The little scroll quickly furled back into itself before disappearing right as Merlin exited the cave. Though the conversation between Arthur and Merlin from the past was very much audible, it didn’t seem to be what the wall wanted them to focus on.

Once the view left the shadows’ grasp, it traveled up and up into the blue sky, drowning off the half-hearted banter between King and manservant. It traveled and traveled, until it settled over the white mountains in the distance. There it stayed until the seasons changed from late spring to…

…winter?

Time seemed to flow backwards as the seasons kept changing — autumn, summer, spring, winter — again and again and again.

By the first couple of minutes the knights had grown tired of watching it and diverted their attention to discussing the matters at hand.

At Leon’s tense prompting, Arthur explained what he thought of their glimpse of the Disir. He confirmed that it was something that had happened, though…

“I knew nothing of what they told Merlin,” Arthur rubbed at his mouth, deep in though. “He hasn’t mentioned anything like that to me nor Guinevere, as far as I know.”

“You know how Merlin likes to keep to himself, Sire…” Lancelot calmly said from beside the King, though Mordred could tell by his body language that the scene had disturbed him more than it had the other knights. “If he really ignored the Disir as we saw, he might’ve wanted to dismiss this altogether.”

“Even so…” Leon interjected “—their interaction strikes me as odd… Like we’re missing something.”

“The only thing missing is Merlin’s brain,” Arthur gritted out, raising his hand to rub at his eyes. “If this is truly something that happened, then Merlin is more hopeless than I’d thought, turning his back on a powerful being actively talking to him…”

Awkward silence fell over them which Elyan was forced to break with his next question.

“What about the little thing that rolled down from the top while the wall was black? I couldn’t catch it.”

Mordred took a deep breath, trying to get his words to obey him so he could answer his fellow knight.

“It’s right here,” Gwaine said instead. He tilted his body to the side, showing off the bottom right corner of the table. There, upon the wood, was the little frame made of sticks containing one of the Disir’s symbols.

The sound of his voice had Mordred stiffening up again. He found himself cursing that he hadn’t fought to be on the bottom row besides the man. Stuck up here as he was, he had no way of gauging Gwaine’s reactions, and if Gwaine got suspicious…

…then again, it was probably for the best that Mordred was right behind the man instead, else he himself end up under his suspicion. It made no sense, why he was so afraid to expose himself when the magic ban was to be repealed soon, but— he didn’t want them to find out like this.

“It’s glowing…” Elyan said, scooting forward a little on the bench. “Does it do anything if you touch it?”

Gwaine did so wordlessly. Once more, a scroll unfurled from beneath the little square frame, though this time it was a little different.

They were meant to see this. If Arthur knew one thing about sorcerers, be they evil or benevolent, was that they couldn’t afford to pull stunts like this without a reason they deeply believed in. Magic cost them too much, so when they performed grandiose performances they truly made it count.

The little square — “achievement,” apparently, perhaps a token of the things they’d seen — was only more proof of that. It was so small in its little corner of the table, it practically screamed that there were going to be more joining its ranks.

But if that was so, then why in hell hadn’t the wall changed to something new already? The seasons kept on changing backwards with seemingly no end.

“Why do you reckon that is?” Gwaine smiled when Percival had made a comment on it. “Maybe it wants to make it abundantly clear to numskulls like us that time is flowing backwards, and we’re returning to many, many years in the past…” He said, voice trailing off wistfully. Percival smacked him on the back of the head with a snort.

And yet, the movement of the trees before the mountain, now thinner and lankier and younger, seemed to slow to a normal speed for trees to move. After so long looking at the leaves twitching erratically, seeing them move now felt dreadfully languid.

“Ah.” Gwaine made an undignified noise, lazy smile widening up at his brother in arms. “What’d I tell you?”

Percival smacked him again.

The view slowly lowered, revealing a little hill with gently swaying grass and a little dirt path passing through the middle.

“What season is it, again?” Leon wondered, trailing his fingers over his beard.

“I don’t know,” Lancelot confessed quietly, “I missed it. Though it might be summer, considering how dead the grass is…”

Gently, the wind ruffled the grass again, and a head of black hair began appearing over the hill. A head that was very soon revealed to be attached to a body wearing the very signature brown jacket and red neckerchief the whole of Camelot had grown to recognize, as well as a black shirt and an oversized backpack.

“No…” Gwaine gasped with utter glee and though Arthur wasn’t quite gleeful, per se, he was finding himself fondly echoing the word in his mind.

Instead of an undignified sound, he made a productive comment, which he was sure the more intelligent of his fellows, Leon and Lancelot, would appreciate.

“We’re being shown the world ten years in the past, it would seem…”

Unfortunately, his comment wasn’t as appreciated as he’d thought, with his only response coming from the ever diligent Leon.

“It would seem so, Sire…” He said absentmindedly as he did what everyone else was doing — gawking at the figure of a much, much younger Merlin traveling on foot through the countryside.

And though Arthur didn’t agree with their unreasonable curiosity, he could admit that seeing that stupid smile on his manservant’s face, the likes of which had been hard to come by of late, was… nice.

“I cannot believe it!” Gwaine was smiling like a fool, reaching back to shake Percival’s knee. “He was so… tiny!”

Chapter Text

Merlin was walking trough the bustling streets of Camelot, an excited smile plastered on his face and a pep in his step for all the world to see.

Though Lancelot was deeply endeared at the sight of him, a deep and unsettling worry was twisting deep in his stomach; it was as if his guts had been transformed into foul snakes by the power of a wicked enchantment, and were now eating away at him despite the seemingly carefree picture of his friend. He felt deep dread, and it wasn’t only because Merlin looked a lot skinnier than he remembered him.

Not even the occasional odd glance seemed to deter him as he moved ever deeper into the city. The throng of people got thicker and thicker past the inner gate, and was night impassable around the courtyard. Luckily, Merlin was just about tall enough to see what was going on.

The chopping block had been prepared, a man dragged to it.

Lancelot looked sideways at Arthur as discretely as he could. The fond smile on the King’s face faded as he beheld the executioner’s set up and his expression firmly steeled once the wall showed the late King before them.

Uther: Let this serve as a lesson to all. This man, Thomas James Collins, is adjudged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic. And, pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that such practices are banned on penalty of death.

The wall intertwined the King’s speech with sights of the anxious crowd and Merlin’s pensive face.

Lancelot hoped he looked as confused as his knight-brothers, not betraying how truly tense he felt.

“Bit of a rough welcoming,” Elyan murmured, earning himself a quiet wave of agreements.

Uther: I pride myself as a fair and just king, but for the crime of sorcery, there is but one sentence I can pass.

Their sights were briefly set on Morgana, watching the procession mournfully, before the King raised his arm…

…and quickly let it drop down. The executioner’s axe did the same at once. The crowd gasped in shock as the blow landed, several recoiling and averting their eyes, as did the Lady Morgana. Merlin only watched on, disturbed yet not looking away.

“I think, uh…” Gwaine cleared his throat. “Rough is a rather mild way to put it.”

“I don’t understand,” Arthur spoke from behind the veil of his hand while Uther spoke of anniversary and celebration on the wall. “I don’t understand what this has to do with anything. Why show us the Disir then send us ten years into the past to see this?”

The knights kept quiet at the harshness of his tone, though they knew no more than he did.

At lease, the rest of them didn’t. Lancelot knew more than them though devastatingly little was of help in answering the question. Merlin had never truly opened up to him, despite the fact he knew his secret; every sliver of knowledge Lancelot had ever been privy to had happened upon him by accident or brought about by the height of emotion.

Merlin could have well and truly gone and messed with a literal Goddess, for all he knew, and he was still hopeless in the face of their mysterious imprisonment. Hell, Lancelot didn’t even know a thing about this!

An old crone, haggard and gray from age wailed as she stepped forth to weep over her son.

Lancelot didn’t know what to do — what to think or what to say to the King — so he simply lowered his gaze and tipped his chin downwards, paying respects to the fallen young man and his grieving mother.

Mary Collins: There is only one evil in this land, and it is not magic! It is you! With your hatred and your ignorance! You took my son! And I promise you, before these celebrations are over, you will share my tears. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son.

Arthur clenched his jaw as the wall showed Merlin yet again, wide eyes staring at the sorceress with unbridled sympathy and confusion, then with fear as the old woman performed a spell to vanish herself and avoid arrest. A small voice somewhere in his head found good humor to wonder why Merlin had bothered to stay in Camelot with this kind of introduction, much less be his servant.

The Merlin on the wall seemed… almost a different person, in appearance at least. He didn’t remember him so small, so wide-eyed within the bounds of the city and its happenings. To Arthur’s memory, Merlin always seemed confident in his place and position, always assured of where to go and what to do.

Besides, a much heavier thought worried his mind. Why was the magic showing them his father’s tyranny from so many years ago? Was Arthur not taking just the steps to rectify it? Did this wall think him improper in his task?

Or was it simply rubbing salt in a wound it had yet to reveal by showing his late father, a Morgana yet unburdened by wild claims of High Priesthood and fate, and a still young and carefree Merlin?

Brought back to reality by the gruesome display, Merlin clenched his fists around the straps of his bag before wandering unsurely into the castle. After timidly asking a guard for the location of the Court Physician — and wasn’t that just a mind-numbing sight — and receiving a silent direction in turn, Merlin began making his way up the winding stairs.

As he walked, a little scroll unfurled from the top of the wall. “Achievement Unlocked! Welcome to Camelot.”

After a tentative knock, Merlin poked his head inside the chambers.

Merlin: Hello?

He said, inviting himself in though shyly.

Arthur could hear a faint snort from his right. Gwaine, for his part, seemed to simply be relishing in the sight of his friend years before they ever met. Trust in Gwaine to be simple.

Merlin: Hello? Gaius…?

Merlin looked up. Upon seeing the old physician sifting through a cabinet on the upper floor, he cleared his throat. Gaius turned slightly to look at him, though his turn proved too great for a railing so old. He began plummeting down…

All knights let out various shouts of alarm as they watched their trusted companion fall seemingly to certain death.

…then, in stark contrast to what had happened with the view of the trees and mountain, time almost slowed down to a dead stop. Merlin still stood with his back to them, though his head whipped about wildly, as if he was looking for something.

All the while, the old physician gently plummeted down to certain doom.

But if time had stopped, why was Merlin moving so fast?

The wall zeroed in on the bed, then on the boy’s face. He had a furrow to his brow, an intensity to his eyes; in an instant, they flashed gold, and the bed slid across the floor just fast enough to catch Gaius once time returned to normal.

“What…?” Arthur gaped, his legs trembling beneath him. When had he stood up?

His knights had risen to their feet as well. In various states of shock and alarm, their eyes were glued to the wall. Arthur saw none of it.

Gaius gasped as he hit the bed.

Gaius: How the… What did you just do?

Merlin began backing up slowly, stammering.

Merlin: I- I- I have no idea what happened…

What was this…?

Gaius: If anyone had seen that…

Merlin: Er, no! That- that was, that was nothing to do with me. That- that was…

No… No.

Gaius kept pressing and pressing, causing Merlin’s stammering to worsen and his feet to take more and more steps back.

Gaius: So how is it you know magic?

Merlin: I don’t.

No.

Gaius: Where did you study?… Answer me!

Merlin: I- I’ve never studied magic or, or been taught.

Stop. Just…

Gaius: Are you lying to me, boy?

Merlin: What do you want me to say?

Just stop.

Gaius: The truth!

Merlin: I was born like this!

“Stop!” Arthur shouted, to which Lancelot flinched beside him. He didn’t care for him now, all he wanted was… “Stop… For just a moment.”

Obediently, the wall stopped the past, leaving the image eerily unmoving. It showed Merlin’s face, his young, unburdened face, twisted in a desperate grimace as he admitted to having magic.

“This…” Arthur waved his hand around dismissively, though he couldn’t bare to look away. “This— This is false,” he declared with false certainty.

“Sire…”

“No!” He didn’t know who spoke but he snapped at him all the same. “No, I do not wish to hear of it…!”

“Sire.” Arthur slowly came to recognize the voice — Leon. Ever diligent, ever the mediator, Leon was calmly addressing him with respect even now. It was the only normal thing in this godforsaken place, so he whipped around to face him and took his chance to snap.

“Merlin. Cannot. Have. Magic.” He said slowly, looking around his men to reassure them of the fact, lest any of them were already fooled by the unknown magic’s outlandish claim. “Do you understand that?”

Leon wet his lips before speaking. “No claims have been made to the contrary, Sire, but—”

“Merlin cannot have magic!” Arthur shouted, face nearly as red as his tabard, his every point accented by his slamming of his ringed hand over the wood. “He is clumsy. He is idiotic. He’s calm and kind and easily excitable and he cries before skinning rabbits for fuck’s sake!”

Leon briefly closed his eyes, calmly nodding to all Arthur said. “Yes, Sire.”

“Is he not?”

He received another nod, though Leon did not back down. “He is, Sire.”

Almost insulted by the lack of reaction, Arthur leaned forward, breaching his First Knight’s space.

“If that’s so, then how can he be a sorcerer?” His jaw clenched as he humored the prospect but he simply couldn’t imagine it. Merlin was nothing like any sorcerer he’d ever met — not the malicious ones, not the rare and odd benevolent ones, and he was certainty nothing like Morgana.

Morgana, who discovered the power of magic and teetered on the edge of sanity ever since, who’d been beguiled by evil and returned to them strange and foreign, with powers and weird thoughts, unexpected disappearances and mood swings. No, no— Merlin was the exact opposite of her, he hadn’t a sorcerer’s bone in his body.

“Even…” Arthur continued, though some of the force from his voice had began to flicker out. “Even if… Merlin, out of all people, was a sorcerer… He wouldn’t think about lying to me.”

Nevermind that Merlin never seemed to talk about himself, never shared what he did in the rare times he and Arthur were apart, never spoke of family, friends, or literally anything to Arthur… He had always been truthful when it was a matter of great importance. And this? Nothing was not more important, if this falsehood was true.

Leon gently nodded once more and slowly, ever so slowly, Arthur began to feel calm again.

“He would have told me the truth…” he continued, voice a whisper compared to his previous outburst. He was already feeling ashamed of it, of raising his voice at one of his more trusted men because of something as stupid as a magical wall of unknown affiliations. “He has no reason to lie.”

A snort came from behind him and Arthur whirled around to look at Gwaine. The carefree knight had no trace of his award-winning smile on his face as he looked down to the table.

“I can think of a couple…” he said, voice a murmur yet nearly a shout as it echoed through the tense air of the room. His dark eyes were looking at the wood, where his index finger had pressed itself to a little square, the second in the innocuous collection.

This one bore the image of the headsman’s axe stuck bloody into the chopping block, surrounded by four brown, twisting little twigs.

Gwaine raised his eyes to meet his King’s, jaw working in a way that almost fooled the eye that he was acting casual. Arthur followed his hand as he removed it from the wood, the engravings disappearing with the touch.

“You’re…” Arthur too worked his jaw, though he looked decidedly less casual. “You’ve chosen to base your beliefs and opinion on a magic table.”

The knight shrugged, turning to look at Arthur head-on. “I don’t need a table to tell me Camelot was rather famous for executing sorcerers ‘back in the day’. Magic on pain of death, and all that.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened, though his look was incredulous and unamused. “You mean the laws we’re all currently working to overrule? Merlin has known my intentions to do so for a long time, if he was a sorcerer he would have already told me.”

“Maybe.” Gwaine shrugged, eyes straying to look at the wall, where Merlin’s face was still so young and frozen in a time of desperate panic at the face of someone asking him of his powers. “Maybe all that over there is a bunch of shit. Maybe.”

He looked back to Arthur, “Or maybe… These laws have been in place for thirty years, older than most of us. Maybe it’s not that easy for a sorcerer, Merlin or not, to reveal a secret after a lifetime of keeping it. Morgana certainly didn’t do much admitting.”

Defiant, ever defiant, he continued before Arthur could get a word in, spit at him for bringing his sister’s name into this ridiculous conversation.

“And it could not be true. I’m not making a stand until I am certain.” Which implied that when he was certain, in Merlin having lied to them for ten years or the opposite, he’d sink his teeth in and not let go; and if Merlin was indeed a liar, a deceiver, Gwaine would still take his side, Arthur knew. “All I’m saying is… there’s only so many bandits-killing branches I can take before having my suspicions.”

Chapter Text

Arthur flinched at the words, as if Gwaine had struck him. He almost wished he had; had he, Arthur would strike back with full force, and maybe all the knots twisting in his chest would unfurl.

Falling branches, he said, and a treasonous memory bubbled up to the surface of his mind. A woman from so long ago, with her father, and a single bandit fleeing into the trees.

“And let that be a lesson to you!” Merlin’s voice echoed in his memory.

Arthur so desperately didn’t want to picture Merlin as a liar. The closest to his heart always lied to him — father, sister, uncle, each for their own reasons — Merlin did not fit in with them. He wasn’t deceiving, he wasn’t.

The king whirled around to face the rest of his brothers in arms, to look at their faces contoured by worry and unease.

“And you?” He asked no one in particular. He was no longer shouting. “Have any of you ‘had suspicions’? …Does Merlin have magic?”

It was a question meant to be rhetoric, the way actors turned to audience to question something blatantly false; it sounded more like a plea, an urging to prove the opposite.

None of them found they could.

“I…” Percival’s soft voice sounded near deafening to his ears. Arthur’s eyes were pulled to Mordred beside him, his expression unreadable. “I’ve thought it might be a… possibility. That he does.”

Arthur’s mouth was dry. He swallowed. “Why?”

“It’s just that… he walks the halls at night often, Sire…” Percival, being on the top benches and tall besides, loomed over his king like the vastness of the open sky. He met his eyes yet, imposing as his figure was, his tone was timid and small, soothing to the temper. “I’ve seen him whenever I’m on duty — inside the castle, out in the lower town… exiting the city.”

“And he often mutters under his breath,” Elyan spoke up next. “I’ve never quite managed to understand what he’s saying.”

Finally, Arthur’s legs gave out. He sat heavily in the rickety wooden bench, hands already rising to rub at his eyes. Leon’s hands entered his vision before he covered it, their touch fell upon his shoulders soon after.

“Merlin, he… he’s been an enduring mystery.” The First Knight lowered himself down to the lower benches, taking a seat beside the king. “He’s never where he’s meant to be, appears where he has no place, is absent from his duties often. Then there are the matters Sirs Elyan and Percival spoke of.”

Arthur regretted ever asking his question, yet it was rising in his throat again. All the while, Leon continued speaking.

“But, for all of that, he’s never betrayed us.” Leon’s eyes fell respectfully and he inclined his head in a small bow — an apology for the liberty he was taking despite Arthur being unable to see it. “At least, I’ve had no reason to believe so. He’s been loyal until the very moment we found ourselves here.”

The picture of Merlin taking Percival and Gwaine back to their respective chambers popped into Arthur’s mind. He felt like he was choking.

“Which is why, I think… despite some behaviors, none of us have ever brought this to you, Sire.”

The king shook his head heavily. His hand fell away from his eyes, revealing them shiny as glass.

“Does Merlin have magic?” He asked again, looking at Leon, vying for the truth. Arthur’s eyes strayed behind his trusted First Knight, an met the resigned gaze of Lancelot. The other man tipped his chin down in shame.

He nodded.

Arthur’s fingers twitched against his forehead. His elbows braced on the table, he’d aligned himself perfectly so none of the magic on the wood slipped into his vision. He could almost pretend it was a normal table.

Lancelot knew. Of course he knew. Lancelot was made privy to everything. Lancelot knew Merlin had magic, Lancelot listened to Guinevere’s worries about marriage, Lancelot was one of their leading tacticians. One of Arthur’s best and closest knights.

He wanted to throttle him, wanted to shake him until he said everything he was ever told until Arthur finally felt what it would be like to be made privy to his friends’ secrets and troubles.

“Merlin told me nothing. I only knew after he performed a spell — it was what allowed the griffin to be felled.”

Liar. Arthur wanted to scream, to accuse.

The worst thing about Lancelot is that he could read him, always had been able to; his eyes said everything and it was only by fortune and the knight’s tendency to smile politely instead of answering that he ever managed to keep secrets.

He was telling the truth, which only made Arthur want to throttle him more. Him and Gwaine, for “having suspicions” and treating them so casually, like nothing had changed about Merlin now that his decade long lie was out in the open.

Wisely, the seating arrangements had been changed. Lancelot and Gwaine had gotten up at Leon’s employ, with Leon and Percival coming down to flank him. In a way, tunneling his vision while being surrounded by the grounding presence of the two men had Arthur feeling like a child. The unease was the same as back then too, so was the tense silence, even the bile creeping up his throat.

Like a mockery, the wood’s next engravings appeared right in the center of his vision.

Indeed, barely a moment later saw Merlin’s face move once more. Lancelot found it difficult to do more than stare vacantly at his youthful face, his hands fighting back the urge to fidget with his chainmail.

How come he felt like he’d betrayed both his dearest friend and his king?

Merlin: I was born like this!

Gaius: That’s impossible!

Gaius scoffed, looking away then back to Merlin. Gaius: Who are you?

With more stammering from Merlin, he provided the Court Physician with a letter. It, unfortunately, could not be read, leaving the young warlock to simply introduce himself instead.

The old man raised both of his eyebrows. Gaius: Hunith’s son?

Merlin nodded with a smile that seemed more humoring than simply polite. Merlin: I’m sorry for intruding — I’d just thought you’d know family better.

Gaius seemed wholly unimpressed. Gaius: Have you seen my foot set in Ealdor?

Merlin shook his head.

Gaius: Then we’re as good as strangers — banish the thought that you’ll get it easy just because you happen to be a nephew of mine.

Huh. Lancelot could hear a few quiet exhales from his fellows.

Gaius: And just what are you doing here — you’re not supposed to be here ‘till Wednesday!

Merlin: …it is Wednesday.

Gaius blinked. Gaius: Ah, right then. You better put your bag in there.

As Merlin walked towards the storage room that was to become his bedroom, he suddenly looked up to the broken railing Gaius had left behind after his fall.

Merlin: You- you won’t say anything about, erm…

The old physician shook his head. Gaius: Although, Merlin, I should say… thank you.

Merlin quietly settled into his new room setting his bag down by the bed. With all the latent curiosity of his age, he crept up to open his window. Precariously, he leaned over the ledge to look at the breathtakingly cozy silhouette of Camelot’s houses during nighttime.

As he did so, a gentle female voice began to speak, with no speaker to be seen nor any acknowledgment of her voice from Merlin on the wall.

Hunith: My dear Gaius, I turn to you for I feel lost and alone and don’t know who to trust. It is every mother’s fate to think her child is special, and yet I would give my life that Merlin were not so. Ours is a small village and he is so clearly at odds with people here that, if he were to remain, I fear what would become of him. He needs a hand to hold, a voice to guide, someone that might help him find a purpose for his gifts. I beg you, if you understand a mother’s love for her son, keep him safe, and may God save you both.

Looking at Merlin’s face, both serene as he looked over the nightscape and excited about what the new day might bring, Lancelot could feel his heart bursting. How frightening it must have been for someone like Merlin, settling down in a foreign place, where even his family was a stranger and any misstep could have sent him to his death.

He’d told Lancelot once, about why he came to Camelot. He’d found it touching then but hearing his mother’s voice, seeing him curled into himself in a yet new and strange place… he felt more frightened for him than ever. Would he be safe in the future — in a week’s time, hell, even a day’s?

Logically, he knew Merlin was alright now, in the present… at least, as alright as Merlin could be. Gwaine and Percival had both been in his presence just last night, and if this strange magic wanted to expose his secret to them then that surely meant he was safe, both from their unknown circumstances and from the reactions his exposure brought about.

Lancelot felt a sour taste on his tongue as he thought of their conversation, so many years ago now, in the hut of a dead man.

“Will you ever tell Arthur?”

…

“…there’s no point thinking about it. It’s never going to happen.”

Merlin should have gotten the chance to share his magic himself or, at the very least, be present for this. But he was safe, surely, and that’s all that mattered. Lancelot knew to be grateful for small mercies.

The wall showed them a scene in the deep dark of the night next, amidst the trees in the forest. Gwaine cared little for it, even as the old sorceress from before killed and stole the face of some singer lady. Perhaps it was a bit callous on his part, but Gwaine had simply seen enough death by magical means, and there was nothing he could do for women a decade into the past.

He overheard Leon murmuring to Arthur from the benches below, only caught some of it. Something about the witch and the banquet and “certain to die if not for…”

Gwaine tuned it out, already familiar with the story. Both Merlin and the king had shared it before. Instead, he returned to the previous task — staring at the table.

A new scroll had unfurled from the top of the wall before the forest appeared, with some kind of rune surrounded by a square of silver branches. The little square had joined its brethren down on the table, where Percy was now filling up Gwaine’s spot. He’d ask him to touch it, see what it said, for these little “achievements” seemed important, but he kept quiet.

Couldn’t risk the glass king getting twitchy at everyone again. For now, Gwaine reluctantly surmised that he’d be left only with the little thing’s title — “The Court Physician.”

When it got too dark for him to properly look down at the table, he supposed they were switching scenes again, and looked up. While the wall was still black, a whispery voice rang out in the room, causing most men to at least startle.

Mordred beside him looked pale as a sheet, the poor thing.

The Great Dragon: Merlin…

Gwaine shifted in his seat, moving closer. Who the hell was that and what in hell were they doing whispering in Merlin’s ear while he was sleeping?

Merlin’s eyes twitched open as sunlight streamed atop them. The voice called out his name once more before fading away, leaving the young warlock bleary eyed and confused as he looked around his room. He sat up and into the light, his breath coming out in wispy puffs.

Still sleepy, Merlin descended the stairs into the main chamber. He looked like he was only half listening to what Gaius was telling him as he sat down to eat his breakfast gruel. Gaius observed him with a keen eye before suddenly pushing the bucked of water he’d gotten for him off the table.

Startled, Merlin jumped up, his eyes flashing gold before the bucket and the water immediately froze mid-fall.

Gwaine could hear several tense exhales ringing out. Pussies, he wanted to say, scared of a little time manipulation… but his own shoulders were tense. Not because it was Merlin’s doing but because it was… well, magic, and rather peculiar too. Just how powerful was he, to do things like that? Didn’t sorcerers need spells, or something?

Gaius gasped and the two shared a tense look before the bucket dropped by itself, sending water splashing all over the floor as it was meant to be.

Gaius: How did you do that? Did you incant a spell in your mind?

Merlin: I don’t know any spells.

Gaius: So what did you do? There must be something.

Merlin shrugged. Merlin: It just happens.

The young warlock got up, grabbing a mop to clean up the water that’d spilled on the floor. All the while, Gaius was looking at him keenly. Gaius: Well, we better keep you out of trouble. You can help me until I find some paid work for you. Here.

Somehow, Gwaine doubted such a thing as “keeping Merlin out of trouble” was possible, even a decade ago. If anything, it might’ve been even harder.

He placed a small sac and a little glass bottle upon the table. Gaius: Hollyhock and Feverfew for Lady Percival—

Gwaine simply couldn’t resist poking the back of Sir Percival’s head. The giant man batted him away but didn’t turn or say anything. A little, nigh inaudible bell jingled with the name.

—and this is for Sir Olwin. He’s as blind as a weevil, so warn him not to take it all at once.

Merlin nodded at the instructions and, after acquiring the remedies and a sandwich, he was being sent off. Gaius: Off you go. And Merlin, I need hardly tell you that the practice of any form of enchantments will get you killed.

Gwaine couldn’t help but snort, though there was little humor behind it. What a way to live, he could scarcely imagine it. Good morning, one misstep will get you killed! These were directions for the battlefield, not a light conversation to be had over breakfast gruel.

If this is how Merlin had been living for nearly three decades… Gwaine found it hard to begrudge his secrecy.

They watched Merlin stumble around the castle, breakfast in one hand and the remedies in the other. So far, he was proving to be a terribly incompetent delivery boy, so far as getting his patients to follow instructions was concerned.

And then, as Merlin crossed the sunny courtyard, a terribly pratish and condescending laugh rang out, accompanied by its very own Greek chorus, before they were treated to the sight of their king, then prince. He heard Arthur make a noise from below, quiet yet disgruntled as he gazed upon himself a decade in the past.

Gwaine supposed it really was rather strange, to see yourself when your acne had not yet disappeared. He was somewhat glad for not having met Merlin ten years ago then, he could go without his comrades seeing him with unhealed acne scars.

As the young prince was engrossed in terrorizing his servant, another mildly offputting sight though Gwaine supposed it was not surprising, Merlin slowed down to watch the display, visibly disgruntled. The servant dropped the shield after being used as moving target practice; it rolled along the stone, eventually stopping before Merlin’s feet. Merlin stepped on it, preventing the man from picking it up.

A defiant glint in his eye, Merlin met the Prince’s gaze. Merlin: Hey, come on, that’s enough. You’ve had your fun, my friend.

Chapter Text

Merlin: You’ve had your fun, my friend.

Gods, Arthur couldn’t look at him. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, cover his ears with his hands as he did when he was a child during a lightning storm. But he couldn’t — he was the King.

Arthur approached, a cocky sway to his step. Arthur: Do I know you?

Merlin blinked, looking at the servant still grasping at the shield, before holding out his hand for a handshake. Merlin: Er— I’m Merlin.

Arthur: So I don’t know you.

How could one simple conversation change the trajectory of his life like this? The Merlin in his memory of a decade ago seemed nothing more than a simpleminded yet well-meaning fool. Could he have so easily misjudged him? Was the whole of him nothing but a farce?

Merlin: No.

Arthur: And yet you called me… “friend”.

Merlin nodded slowly, a small half awkward, half mocking smile twisting his lips.

A small, treacherous part of his mind whispered to him. A smile well-fitting on the face of a liar. Arthur gritted his teeth.

Merlin: That was my mistake.

Arthur agreed eagerly, to which Merlin’s smile twitched a little. Merlin: Yeah…. I’d never have a friend who could be such an ass.

With that, the young warlock turned to leave. Arthur’s following words caused him to halt however. Arthur: Or I one who could be so stupid.

Arthur: Tell me, Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?

He heard Gwaine snort behind him. Someone hit him before Arthur could bark at him to be quiet.

Merlin tried to stand a little taller as the prince got in his face. Were those the mannerisms of someone lying through his teeth for a decade? Apparently…

Merlin: No.

Arthur: Would you like me to help you?

Gwaine chuckled behind his hand, earning him several disapproving reprimands.

Merlin: I wouldn’t if I were you.

Arthur chuckled, a delighted smile upon his face.

Gods, he remembered how surprised he was, even now. It was a thrill, finding someone to stand before him and not be immediately cowed by his status — infuriating yet infinitely curious. He’d thought it a one time thing, that soon as he revealed himself as the Prince of Camelot, this display of utter insolence would cease, so he tried to draw it out.

Fool… Gods, Arthur had always been a fool.

Arthur: Why? What are you going to do to me?

Merlin looked infinitely more serious than the goading prince. There was a look in his eyes, similarly curious. Merlin: You have no idea.

Arthur: Be my guest! Come on! Come on! Come oooooon.

Fool, fool, fool. What was he thinking, goading a sorcerer to fight him head on? He hadn’t known, of course — the prince on the wall was just beginning his tale of blissful ignorance.

Merlin looked around — quickly determining he couldn’t get away with using magic — before he swung, a weak and sloppy punch that Arthur easily caught. He twisted his arm behind his back, leaning in to punctuate his words. Up in the castle, leaning out of the window, a young Guinevere cringed at the display.

She’d seen that?

Arthur: I’ll have you thrown in jail for that.

Merlin tried in vain to twist out of his grip. Merlin: What, who do you think you are? The King?

Arthur: No. I’m his son, Arthur.

With that, the prince kicked at the back of Merlin’s knees, bringing him to the ground.

They watched as two guards manhandled their prisoner down the stairs before they threw Merlin into a cell, his body crumpling against the straw. He sat up, palm against his temple as he looked around the walls of the prison. Thinking of ways to escape or wondering how he got himself there?

Once, a mere day into the past, Arthur would’ve been confident with reading Merlin. Now all he could do was stare blankly at his image and wonder.

…Camelot was rather famous for executing sorcerers back in the day… Magic on pain of death, and all that… Gwaine’s words bounced around in his head, like echo in a cavern.

Treacherous, treacherous mind, contradictory at every turn. It screamed at him, kicked and thrashed like an animal, the word liar never fleeing its lips, yet… a smaller, gentler voice spoke when he beheld Merlin in the cell.

One day, he could be in there, awaiting his execution.

Arthur closed his eyes — gods, what was he going to do with him once they got out of this place? He couldn’t execute him, else he sully his oath to the Disir, but he didn’t know if he could stand to look at him. Banishment, maybe? For treason? His stomach churned with bile.

And what of Sir Lancelot, who’d been his accomplice in keeping this secret? And Gwaine? Was his knight’s vow enough to keep him in Arthur’s court should he order Merlin to take his leave? Gods, what of Gaius?

How selfishly he wished Guinevere were here, to lend him her shoulder, her ear. She’d know what to do, she always seemed to know.

Another show of the witch in disguise later and the wall was fading to black once more. From the top, a little scroll unrolled in its general fashion: “Achievement Unlocked! The Once and Future King.”

Unable to help himself, he reached over to press his finger to the little frame of golden sticks, the golden dragon that was the Pendragon crest in the middle, as soon as it appeared on the table. Percival leaned back to give him the space to do so.

“Achievement: The Once and Future King

A meeting spoken of throughout the ages past

[Meet Prince Arthur Pendragon]”

Was it? Was it truly? He’d heard the title, heard of some prophesy, but knew nothing more — did it have something to do with Merlin? Or was this the true purpose of the magic wall, to speak of the prophesy?

Arthur was tired. He removed his finger from the Pendragon crest.

Gingerly, Percival raised his hand to touch the other forgotten square.

“Achievement: The Court Physician

Surely, everyone has a peculiar Uncle?

[Meet Gaius]”

…or maybe it had nothing to do with the mysterious prophesy, and some sorcerer was laughing at them somewhere. Arthur thought it more and more likely.

Morning crept in through the bars of the window, illuminating Merlin’s pale face as he slept on the straw. His only blanket being his rather flimsy jacket, which he lay curled beneath.

The faint, echoing voice crept up again.

The Great Dragon: Merlin… Merlin…

Merlin woke up with a flinch. He looked around, bleary eyes giving him no information as to what was happening or where the voice was coming from.

The Great Dragon: Merlin…

Feeling that the voice was coming from below, the young warlock flinched again and got to his feet with a start. He backed away, afraid, eyes fixated on the straw.

This was… worrying. Who had the power to creep around the castle and whisper so eerily? It had to be some kind of magic, for there was no possible source for the voice either in the cell or before, in Merlin’s room.

Arthur didn’t know what to think. On the one hand, it was most definitely a problem that there was some kind of mysterious sorcerer speaking to people incorporeally. On the other, he couldn’t help but feel a strained relief that no man was physically lurking over Merlin as he slept.

And yet, besides the fear, there was a glint of curiosity in Merlin’s eyes as he crept back to where he’d been lying.

Idiot, Arthur couldn’t help but think. Ten years ago or now, sorcerer or not, Merlin was always an idiot.

He sobered up from his fondness right quick. No, he was still a liar. Arthur couldn’t afford to have sympathy for him, couldn’t afford to fool himself that he knew him.

Merlin gingerly pressed his ear to the straw — earning a night inaudible yet unmistakably fond huff from a few of the knights — waiting to see if the voice would call again.

Gaius: Merlin!

The young warlock shot up at once, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip as he noticed it was the old physician calling him.

Gaius stepped into the cell with a deep sigh. Gaius: You never cease to amaze me! The one thing that someone like you should do is keep your head down, and what do you do? You behave like an idiot.

Sufficiently reprimanded, Merlin lowered his head. Merlin: I’m sorry.

Gaius: You’re lucky. I managed to pull a few strings to get you released.

An overly bright smile spread over Merlin’s face, like he’d received a wondrous present for Yuletide; he was nearly vibrating on the spot from excitement. Merlin: Oh, thank you! Thank you!

Gaius seemed more bewildered at the display than anything.

The face of a liar, Arthur reminded himself.

Merlin: I won’t forget this!

Gaius: Well, there is a small price to pay.

Suddenly, the wall showed a different picture — Merlin bound in the stocks, getting pelted by fruit by thoroughly entertained citizens. The change was so sudden that it drew out several startled laughs from the knights, while Arthur had to lower his head down.

“By the Gods—” Elyan coughed “—What the hell, Gaius?”

Maybe this was something Arthur could do when they got out, have Merlin in the stocks for however long it took him to decide the proper punishment for a decade long treason.

Gaius passed, looking Merlin in the eye as he snickered at his plight. Merlin, for his part, seemed torn between feeling disgruntled and having fun.

Perhaps only someone like Merlin could be anything short of miserable in such a predicament.

As the gangly children of Camelot turned on their heels, eager to procure more overripe fruits or rotten vegetables for ammunition, a red cloak crept into sight. Slowly, Merlin raised his eyes and Guinevere became center of the wall’s attention. She straightened up, giving the unfortunate young man a crooked yet polite smile.

Guinevere: I’m Guinevere, but most people call me Gwen.

Elyan, of course, had heard of this particular story. He hadn’t expected his sister to be quite so awkward during it however. Gwen had been the ultimate example of grace and poise of late, he’d started to forget what she was like before becoming Queen.

Upon seeing Merlin’s bewildered expression, she clarified. Guinevere: I’m the Lady Morgana’s maid.

Merlin: Right. I’m Merlin.

With much effort, Merlin readjusted his manacled arm in order to offer her a handshake. As he did so, he gave her a lopsided, vegetable-coloured smile. Merlin: Although, most people just call me idiot.

Elyan snorted, so did Gwaine. They shared a glance behind Mordred’s head.

Guinevere: No, no, no. I saw what you did. It was so brave.

Merlin: It was stupid.

Guinevere: Well, I’m glad you walked away. You weren’t going to beat him.

Never mincing her words, that sister of his.

He snorted. Merlin: Oh, I- I can beat him.

Though Merlin appeared quite sure of himself, the young lady before him remained unconvinced. Guinevere’s eyes skimmed over the skinny young man’s bound and thoroughly pelted form. Guinevere: You think? Because you don’t look like one of these big, muscle-y kind of fellows.

Merlin furrowed his brows, dejected by the lack of faith. Merlin: Thanks.

Gods, Elyan still couldn’t wrap his head around it all. Gwen looked so young, acted so young, and Merlin did too. This, all of this, these events were years before he ever saw his sister after he left or met one of his dearest friends. One of his dearest friends who so happened to have a decade long secret…

It was then he felt the weight of those images on the wall — the years of his sister’s life he’d missed while off doing whatever his fancy told him at the time. Guinevere had never been secretive about her days in Camelot, quite the opposite, but actually seeing it — even so distantly like this, looking on from the future — it almost felt real. Like he was there, as he should've been

He dreaded to think what would happen to him if this wall, this secret sorcerer or magical room or what have you, showed his father.

Guinevere: No! No, I’m sure you’re stronger than you look. It’s just, erm… Arthur’s one of these real rough, tough, save the world kind of men, and… well…

Merlin: What?

After a pause. Guinevere: You don’t look like that.

To give Merlin credit, he had grown in build over the past few years. Elyan forced himself to ruminate on the difference between then and now, rather than think of his father.

Merlin looked from side to side before beckoning Gwen closer with his head. Curious, she leaned over, only for him to whisper. Merlin: I’m in disguise.

Beside him, Mordred let out a very slow, nigh inaudibly shaky exhale.

Though it took a moment for her to understand the jest, they both laughed.

Guinevere: Well, it’s great you stood up to him.

Merlin: What? You think so?

Guinevere: Arthur’s a bully, and everyone thought you were a real hero.

Elyan chanced a glance down at the man himself. He had his hand on his temple, his back unusually slumped. He made no motion though he knew the words must’ve stung.

Merlin: Oh, yeah?

She nodded. Guinevere: Mhm.

As the children returned, enough ammunition procured for a second round of pelting the imprisoned, Merlin was quick to send her on her way. Merlin: Oh, excuse me, Guinevere. My fans are waiting.

He could hardly raise his hand goodbye before the first tomato hit him on the side of the head, hardly indenting from the blow.

Were those even rotten, Elyan couldn’t help but wonder, mildly disturbed.

A little scroll rolled out from the very top of the wall, as it was apparently wont to do. Elyan leaned over Percival’s shoulder as a small bundle of lilac flowers, surrounded by silver branches appeared alongside all the rest. The big man had no need of instruction.

“Achievement: Gwen

The first friend you make in any new place is bound to stick awhile.

[Meet Guinevere]”

Gaius: Do you want some vegetables with that?

Merling gave a wide smile at the jest, amused despite its mild deliverance. Merlin: I know you’re still angry with me.

The old physician took his seat before his ward. Gaius: Your mother asked me to look after you.

Merlin: Yes.

Gaius: What did your mother say to you about your gifts?

Gifts, Mordred thought. Gifts. Not powers, not inner strength, potential — gifts. It had a nice ring to it, he supposed, but was it appropriate to use for someone of Emrys’s capabilities? Did Gaius — that Gaius on the wall — even know who he was speaking to, at this point?

And what would happen to the old Court Physician once they escaped back into their lives? He couldn’t go unpunished, surely. Referring to magic so mildly was sure to be a punishable offense, or if not, sheltering the most powerful warlock alive or dead. What would happen to Merlin? To himself? To—

“Breathe, Mordred,” said a voice to his left. He startled, all his breath promptly leaving him. Elyan patted his back, more for reassurance than anything. “I get it,” he said, “It’s… a lot to handle.”

Merlin made a face, not believing the words about to leave his mouth. Merlin: That I was special.

But he was special.

Gaius: You are special. The likes of which I have never seen before.

Merlin: What do you mean?

Gaius: Well, magic requires incantations, spells. It was almost earth-shattering to think about, that Emrys didn’t know what a spell was. Mordred had always thought, being magic incarnate, he started already having figured it out. It takes years to study. What I saw you do was… elemental, instinctive.

Exactly.

Merlin: What’s the point if it can’t be used?

Gaius: That I do not know. You are a question that has never been posed before, Merlin.

The young warlock ruminated on the words as his fork idly scraped his dinner from here to there within the confines of his bowl. After a bit of pause, Merlin raised his eyes from his meal to pose a tentative question. Merlin: Did you ever study magic?

Gaius shook his head. Gaius: Uther banned all such work twenty years ago.

To Mordred’s right, Gwaine groaned into his hand. The words were too muffled to hear, but he could swear under a rock was in there somewhere.

Merlin: Why?

Gaius: People used magic for the wrong end at that time. It threw the natural order into chaos. Uther made it his mission to destroy everything from back then, even the dragons.

Mordred’s brows furrowed despite his best attempts to keep his face as impassive as appropriate. Somehow, he couldn’t quite grasp what he heard. But… he thought.

Merlin: What? All of them?

But that was false.

Gaius: There was one dragon he chose not to kill, kept it as an example. He imprisoned it in a cave deep beneath the castle where no one can free it. Now, eat up. When you’ve finished, I need you to take a preparation to Lady Helen. She needs it for her voice.

Merlin made his way up a torch-lit spiral staircase before crossing a balcony. With the creek of the old wood and the rather aged iron hinge welcoming him in, he took a few wary steps into Lady Helen’s private chambers. He put the small amber potion on the vanity with little ceremony.

Leon thought the caution warranted. Though Merlin had no way of knowing what they knew of the identity of the royal singer, the empty chambers seemed to emanate a sort of malignant aura. In the privacy of his own thoughts, he wondered if being a sorcerer allowed someone like Merlin to actually sense such things.

Though he turned to leave, the sight of something stopped him in place. He reached out.

The subsequent sight of Merlin’s hand grasping a crude straw effigy drew sharp inhales from all gathered men. That, Leon could say with absolute certainty, was not it any way warranted or advised.

Merlin set the effigy back where he found it — the knights of Camelot exhaled — only to pick up a thick, aged, leather bound tome. It was a book so intricatelly decoraded, the aged pages poking out from each and every direction, that it could be nothing other than a grimoire. Some of the men choked on their bemusement.

“What is he doing…?” Arthur sighed as calloused fingers massaged his temple, his exasperation loud enough only for Leon to perceive. “What does he think he’s doing, Leon?”

Leon grasped for an answer.

“Investigating?”

The sound of heels clicking on stone heralded the coming of the witch; Lady Helen strolled undisturbed down the balcony just outside her chambers. Merlin remained oblivious to her fast approach until the door creaked once more.

Everyone held their breath, despite the outcome of the apparent danger being clear. Somehow, Leon found it difficult to find refuge in their position as onlookers from the future. Merlin was fine now, as far as they were aware, but for this young version of their friend within the confines of past events... being asured in his safety felt much more the challenge.

Merlin scrambled to return everything to its previous order, only to turn right as Lady Helen stepped through the open doorway. In lieu of an explanation, he offered her his best smile.

Not a very confident one but it was difficult to blame him. Though a sorcerer, Merlin exuded this strange amount of vulnerability... perhaps even helplessness in certain cituations, though his bravery was never to be doubted. Without the amount of damning evidence that had stacked in favor of his practicing of witchcraft, Leon thought, he would have never seriously concidered the posibility.

It didn't sit right with him still — both his apparent inability to discern a sorcerer in their midst and the fact Merlin was one.

Lady Helen: What are you doing in here?

Merlin: Ah… I- I was asked to deliver this.

As Merlin stammered through his explanation, the disguised witch struggled to keep her eyes on him, too tempted by gazing at the vanity whereupon stood her damning possessions of sorcery. Suddenly, on the walled appeared the mirror and within — the true image of the old enchantress.

The knights let out disgruntled sounds at the suddenness of the image. On the wall, Merlin remained oblivious of his interlocutor’s identity.

Both sorcerers exchanged tense smiles before Merlin took his leave. He lingered outside on the balcony, affected by the strange presences in the room. He wrung his hands together, gazing back on the now closed door.

Vulnerability and helplessness... It couldn't be an act, if no one was there to observe it...

They watched as Merlin made his way into the sunny courtyard outside, hurrying down some steps before walking out into the lower town’s market. Leon wondered if the importance in this moment stood in the errand Merlin was probably running or if, perhaps, they would see their young friend do the sensible thing and seek out his uncle’s advice on what had transpired.

If his deductions were correct, each and every thing they saw on that wall was of some significance, no matter how small. So perhaps—

As Merlin weaved about the people going about their business in the market, a certain head of blond hair stood out amid the lower town scene. Prince Arthur, accompanied by his two friends as well as an armed guard, spun around on his heel, regarding the retreating peasant with casual confidence and an air of superiority that came almost naturally.

The sigh that left Arthur’s lips alone was enough to hint as to what memory they were currently viewing. Doubtlessly, their King required at least a smidge more  comfort. But all Leon could say was…

Arthur: How’s your knee-walking coming along?

“Ah.”

Chapter Text

Merlin didn’t turn his back to address the mocking prince. Arms spread out, Arthur, flanked by his noble comrades, chose to pursue goading the young warlock.

Truly, not one of Arthur’s proudest moments. Even as he ruminated on how best to punish his lying, deceiving, sorcerer of a servant, he could recognize the error of his ways — the faulty arrogance that fueled them. It was only by virtue of luck that his folly in the market proved to serve more as a test of courage than an unearthing of magic.

Arthur remembered the bewildered respect with which they’d parted then. Now, certain other aspects of that day were beginning to flock to the forefront of his mind. Perfectly recalling a day a decade in the past seemed more an impossibility than anything else, yet the vague and foggy strangeness of the encounter wasn’t lost on him now.

He squinted, observing Merlin’s face as it twitched with an eagerness to respond — the eagerness for confrontation in his own youth, Arthur remembered well. In Merlin… he remembered it more as innocent insolence.

Before him though, the king could almost see a mirror of that same spark to fight back that ran through his own blood. It was frightening. He knew not why.

Arthur: Aww, don’t run away!

With a twitch of his lips Merlin halted. Merlin: From you?

He looked like any cocky sorcerer. Arthur had seen dozens of them. Doubtless, were they having their foolish standoff somewhere outside the city gates, Merlin wouldn’t have hesitated to use magic against him.

How was it that he’d let a sorcerer in his life only by simple chance? Was he helpless? Blind? So utterly naive, as his father so often lamented?

Who was this stranger there, on the smooth surface of the wall? Who was he and why, why did he resemble the Merlin he knew so completely when the Merlin he thought knew just the day before was a fabrication?

Arthur: Thank God. I thought you were deaf as well as dumb.

How come his smile, mischievous and self-confident from the retort he’d no doubt just come up with, felt more real, more genuine than anything he’d seen from Merlin in their present?

Merlin: Look, I’ve told you you’re an ass.

Slowly, he turned to face the challenging prince head on. Merlin: I just didn’t realize you were a royal one.

His eyes raked over the royal heir, the noble companions, and the armed guard with an easy confidence that matched the haughty prince.

Arthur almost shuddered. Gods, he looked just like all his overconfident sorcerer foes over the years. He’d defeated them, he had to remind himself, he’d defeated every single one.

…there’s only so many bandits-killing branches I can take before having my suspicions…

His head was spinning.

Merlin: Oh, what are you going to do? Get your daddy’s men to protect you? He said, taking care to goad the same way the noble thought himself a master of.

Arthur scoffed, disbelieving, as his companions chuckled behind him. Arthur: I could take you apart with one blow.

Merlin: I could take you apart with less than that.

Could he? Could he truly? If there was one thing Arthur knew — thought he knew — about his manservant was that he was weak. Brave but weak. That was the source of his bravery — an unshakable faith that drove him into danger again and again and again despite how powerless he was.

Even as a… a sorcerer that did magic without spells, he couldn’t be anything less than weak. He didn’t even know what a spell was, Gaius had to explain it to him! He couldn’t be…

That was why they protected him, as a group. Changed their formations to keep him out of harm’s way time and time again.

And Arthur could defeat him, if it ever came down to it.

Arthur: Are you sure?

Behind him, his knightly companions snickered and urged on a fight. A fight with an obvious winner. Merlin, young as he was, was not impervious to the jeering. Sufficiently goaded and eager to prove himself as well as teach Arthur a lesson, he scrambled to remove his faded leather jacket.

Around Arthur, the knights of the Round Table made various grimaces, which ranged from disapproving to confused. The reigning question seemed to be: How did Merlin hope to better his chances at victory by removing his outermost layer of protection?

One of the noble youths carelessly tossed a mace at the young sorcerer — earning various disapproving noises from the gathered knights — which Merlin failed to catch. It didn’t remain discarded on the dirt for long before Arthur equipped himself with his own mace and Merlin rushed to arm himself as well.

Arthur swung the mace with practiced effortlessness. Arthur: Come on, then. I warn you, I’ve been trained to kill since birth.

Behind him, he heard Gwaine’s raspy disapproval. “What were you going to do, kill him in the middle of the street?”

Arthur didn’t bother looking up or turning around. “I just wanted to frighten him a little…”

“Hmm…”

The king refrained from addressing the issue further. Even Gwaine, eternal skeptic of nobility though he was, was sure to glean that much from the exchange on the wall. With a decade more to his name, Arthur too could share the distaste towards his reckless endangerment of one of his own subjects. Besides, he hadn’t hurt Merlin at all, which was infinitely more merciful than doing what the law willed towards sorcerers.

He hadn’t known of this then, of course, and he was unsure of if he would have done his macabre duty. Arthur hoped not. As for the present… what the law currently said was much too harsh for the crime committed.

Still, he struggled to imagine something fitting.

Merlin: Wow… and how long have you been training to be a prat?

Arthur snorted, disbelieving smile still on his face. Arthur: You can’t address me like that.

Merlin: I’m sorry. He said as he looked down, seemingly ashamed.

Merlin: H-How long have you been training to be a prat, My Lord?

He gave a little bow, the theatrical nature of which perturbed and amused the young prince Arthur, his entourage, and even the morbidly intrigued onlookers. Merlin was smiling too, as if this was a elaborate jest shared and executed by friends. Then Arthur started swinging.

Arthur pursued his opponent expertly, pushing him back into a desperate retreat. The mace, deadly and intimidating in the prince’s hand, was less than useless in the young warlock’s. It tangled within the marketplace clutter — a hanging straw nest for displaying chicken eggs the perfect net in which to accidentally entrap it. After a fruitless series of tugs, Merlin gave up on retrieving his weapon, too preoccupied with retreating.

He could almost feel the disapproving gazes from his comrades though, logically, he knew they were more focused on watching. Irate, his fingers drummed on the wooden table, too quiet to hear. Leon bumped his elbow with his own, a show of support Arthur greatly appreciated during the ensuring scrutiny.

The commotion was loud enough to catch the attention of the Court Physician. Still holding his tome, reading glasses perched on his nose, Gaius leaned over to gaze out the window into the market below. The sight of his ward’s flailing retreat did nothing to endear him to the happenings outside.

Pursued over fruit stands and around onlookers, Merlin was eventually backed into a corner.

Arthur: Haha. You’re in trouble now.

Merlin was on the ground, back pressed to a slumped sack of flower. The way he looked up at the mace-swinging prince betrayed how intimidated he truly was. Merlin: Oh God.

Arthur frowned. Yes, this pursuit was relentless and harsh, perhaps too intense for a village boy, but was such a reaction truly warranted? Even then, Merlin must’ve known he wouldn’t have done him any true harm, right?

He chanced a glance to the left. Leon’s expression bore thin lips and furrowed brows. Dismay, perhaps, or outright disapproval.

Gut churning, Arthur let his gaze wander to the right though he didn’t turn his head. Percival’s brows were similarly furrowed, his eyes slightly squinted. He almost seemed to be studying the scene; perhaps that is simply how disapproval appeared on his face.

He’d never been so scrutinized by his own brothers in arms, not so openly at least. Enraptured by the sight of the past, they couldn’t control their expressions.

Arthur looked forward once more. Tense. Tired. He didn’t know what to think.

Frantically did the warlock’s eyes wander through his surroundings until they stilled, fixed on a pair of sickles hanging nearby. His eyes flashed gold for but a single blink before they returned to their normal blue hue. Following the silent magical instruction, the sickles turned to cross one another and the chain of Arthur’s mace perilously wrapped around their blades.

He stared, mouth agape. “So that’s how he did it…“

Beside him, Leon seemed to choke on his air.

Though mildly distracted by his success, smiling, Merlin took the opportunity to get back on his feet. Emboldened, he no longer flailed but controlled the space between himself and the ever approaching Arthur.

He looked about before spotting an empty crate, which he promptly used his magic on to make it stand proud before the prince’s foot. Naturally, Arthur failed to spot this new obstacle.

“His eyes didn’t change color that time…” Percival murmured, confused.

Gwaine, who was sitting behind him, leaned over his head. “They did.”

“No, they didn’t,” he said as he looked back. The sentiment was echoed by Elyan and Lancelot.

The only person on Gwaine’s side appeared to be Mordred. Leon sat silently while, in the privacy of his own thoughts, Arthur could admit he also hadn’t seen a turn to gold.

“Bah,” the rouge knight leaned back, “At least now I know how he could get away with using magic right in Arthur’s face.”

To that Arthur turned around, giving a questioning — perhaps challenging — gaze. Predictably, Gwaine took the challenge in stride, raising his brow in defiance. The standoff would have, no doubt, lasted longer if not for the ever changing images on the wall.

Now that the fight had shifted in his favor, Merlin turned to offense — figuratively, at least. Using a few strategic instances of his magic to bring Arthur stumbling to the ground, Merlin called for his surrender.

Arthur found it difficult to be intimidated by the way he held the mace upside down. How could he even manage to swing it in such a fashion? It looked painfully uncomfortable on the wrist.

Though there was a different matter of greater importance at hand… How could Merlin use magic so openly? In the middle of the day, unnoticed? Evidently, there was something that hid his golden eyes from sight. It didn’t seem to be a spell… but a trick of the light felt too… easy. Too simple to see him through ten years of secrecy.

At the very least, though the king liked it little, this revelation lifted some of the weight off his chest. Not the whole or even half of it, not by a stretch, but definitely some part of him felt lighter that it wasn’t gross incompetence on his part that led to Merlin’s foul secret being undiscovered for so long.

On the verge of victory, Merlin stood over Arthur, mace held upside-down in his hand.

Traitorously, his heart began to race. What would he have done, were it not for—

But the sight of Gaius’ disapproving look amidst the crowd wiped the victorious smile from his features, letting an empty, almost dejected look take its place. It didn’t last long, for the prince rose and, wooden broom in hand, brought the young warlock down to the ground with three well-aimed strikes: to the back, the stomach, and over the head.

Merlin lay on the ground, palm rubbing over the sore spot on his head, groaning in pain as the victorious Arthur turned the broom in his hand and began sweeping. Two armed guards, pikes in one hand, manhandled the peasant until he stood, the prince before him.

After looking over his defeated opponent’s disheveled form, Arthur raised his hand. Arthur: Wait. Let him go. He may be an idiot, but he’s a brave one.

One long pause later, he added: There’s something about you, Merlin. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

He couldn’t help the bitter snort that escaped him. They knew what it was now, each and every one of them. Would it have been better if he knew then? If he hadn’t let a deceiver into his household, his confidence?

Bitterly, Arthur hoped the blows from the broom stung. He knew they couldn’t hurt, he kept a careful check on his strength, but he hoped those spots were at least sore. It would be little compared to the headache this whole mess brought upon him.

The memories gave them little reprieve, little chance to think on what they saw. Gaius had already halfway closed the door. The lecture was only in its middle, having surely begun on the way back to the physician’s chambers.

Gaius: How could you be so foolish?!

Merlin: He needed to be taught a lesson.

The thought tightened his throat. How dare Merlin, Merlin of all people, speak about lessons when he wielded his illegal, dangerous, corruptive magic about the lower town as he pleased!

Gaius: Magic must be studied, mastered, and used for good! Not for idiotic pranks!

Merlin turned to face him, insulted by the insinuation. Merlin: What is there to master? I could move objects like that before I could talk!

That… Arthur found it hard, nigh impossible, to picture such a thing. Magic used for good or a— Gods, a toddler performing object manipulation, though he supposed the former was slightly more likely than the latter.

Gaius: Then, by now, you should know how to control yourself!

Merlin: I don’t want to! If I can’t use magic, what have I got?!

He paused, empty eyes looking through the old physician. Merlin: …I’m just a nobody, and I always will be.

Those words sent a collective sigh of sympathy through the magical room.

Merlin: If I can’t use magic, I might as well die.

The protests were quiet and somber.

“No, Merlin…”

“Come on, man…”

“Buddy…”

“That’s not true…”

Arthur grit his teeth. He was so torn, his head felt like it would split in two. He could almost hear what his late father would say, his words and tone and the way he articulated each criticism engraved in his memory. A young man always has his gaze fixed right before him… you haven’t a clue of the world, dramatizing every little thing…

Yet… And yet… he couldn’t hold back his empathy, the one thing his royal father said made him weak. The one thing Guinevere said she loved most about him.

How could I think such callous thoughts? He wondered as, slowly, Gaius made his way up the stairs and into Merlin’s room, his leather bound physician’s bag under his arm.

Gaius: Merlin…? Sit up. Take your shirt off.

The young warlock did so slowly, groaning. He dragged the rough red fabric of his shirt over his head, revealing a flushed red scrape on his right shoulder and about the size of.

For a brief moment, Arthur covered his field of vision, his hand blocking the past like the visor on a helmet. This is what he’d wished for now, oh so briefly. Not then, not in the past. Now.

At the same time, his head felt submerged in cold water. Where did he even get that? I never misjudge my strikes… Perhaps when he fell?

…

Gwaine was right, wasn’t he? That Merlin was afraid to share his secret even now, even to Arthur. They were to write the laws against magic anew and yet he’d wished harm on his friend in the past — a pain that could not bring any calm to him even if justified.

Was it even justified? Was the pain of this horrid, harrowing deceit enough to…

Arthur removed his hand from his face, determined to look, look though it made his skin crawl and the soft skin beneath his nails itch. Merlin deserved Arthur to be able to look at him, at wounds he’d inflicted with his own hands.

And Arthur… Arthur had to look in order to remind himself that, no matter how long he’d lied for, evading the very law and authority Arthur represented… he didn’t want to see him hurt.

His father would have called him a softhearted fool for even thinking about such leniency but… His father would have much and more to say on many things Arthur had done in his reign, Guinevere especially. And Gwen? She’d find a way to be both lenient and just.

Merlin was her friend too.

Merlin: You don’t know why I was born like this, do you?

Gaius hesitated only for a moment as he moved to dab a small roll of gauze to the scrape. Gaius: No.

Merlin: I’m not a monster, am I?

The reprimands were more vocal this time around, Gwaine and Elyan’s chief among the voices. Arthur’s was quieter but he made himself speak.

The old man leaned forward to catch his ward’s eye. Gaius: Don’t ever think that.

Merlin: Then why am I like this? Please, I need to know why.

Gaius shook his head before returning the gauze to Merlin’s shoulder. Gaius: Maybe there’s someone with more knowledge than me.

It wasn’t a comforting answer for the young warlock. Merlin: If you can’t tell me, no one can.

The old physician said nothing more on the matter, though he reached out to pour potion into a small cup on Merlin’s nightstand. He handed it to him gingerly, breaking the young man’s dejected staring at the wall. Gaius: Take this. It will help with the pain.

The moon shone bright, illuminating the tiny wooden bed that occupied the center of Merlin's little room. Merlin himself lay curled atop it, sleeping undisturbed.

Percival dreaded to think what would end up disturbing him. So far, nothing exactly… peaceful had come in these moments of apparent peace. And besides, Merlin’s sleep had so far been disturbed by—

The Great Dragon: Merlin…

…by that. Merlin, naturally, startled awake, aware almost immediately.

It reminded him of long, dark winter nights with his siblings. The youngest would always wake up with a start by midnight, frightened by whatever nonsense the rest of them had spouted as eerie tales before bed. They’d always ask Percival to help raid the pantry after, though he knew it was just an excuse to lift them up.

…

The Great Dragon: Merlin…

Merlin sat up sharply.

…

Percival wanted nothing more than to do the same with Merlin.

Beside him, their king struggled greatly with the revelation of magic, he knew, but Percival couldn’t bring himself to even be conflicted. Merlin was their friend; he helped not once, twice, or whenever he felt like it. His presence was a constant.

Even tonight… it was him who brought himself and Gwaine back to the castle after hours in the tavern.

“Percival! Ow, quit leaning on me, would you? I’m not as strong as you lot.”

“Heh… Merls, mate… He’s just… leaning in for a hug, you know…?”

“How about we get to the castle before we, uh, start showing appreciation for the manservant?”

“Come onnn… It’s hardly a matter… a matter than can wait. Matter of fact, I’ll hug you too. Come here!”

“Wh— Hey!”

…

His siblings often teased him for being naive.

The room almost seemed to spin as Merlin hurried to put on his shoes. He crept down the stairs to the main chamber, listlessly putting on his jacket as he did so. Gaius’s snoring stopped him in his tracks.

With no great amount of sneakiness in his step, he rounded the old physician’s wooden bed, proceeding straight ahead towards his destination. Of course, this only served to have him knock over and shatter a nearby glass.

Miraculously, though the noise was great — and several of the men twitched — the old man did not wake from his slumber.

Merlin stood motionless… when Gaius showed no signs of stirring, he finished putting on his jacket though paused when he made a move to leave. In the silence, he inclined his head, and the blanket that had slipped off of the sleeping physician’s form tucked itself around him in one fluid motion.

Percival fought to keep his expression neutral. He felt the time to be open with his expressions hadn’t yet arrived… though he had an urge to smile — as Merlin was doing on the wall — almost stronger than himself.

Crickets chirped outside as Merlin crossed the courtyard. The light from within the castle illuminating his back. The mysterious voice whispered as if the wind itself carried its eerie drone.

The Great Dragon: Merlin…

Merlin made his way down a flight of stairs. The echo of dice rolling sounded out beneath him as he leaned over the railing to observe the guards on shift.

Percival frowned as he watched the ease with which Merlin's eyes flashed and the dice hurried away to the ends of the corridor, the languid guards following after them. Elyan had once joked with him, about the unfortunate state of the dungeon's security. Said even he, in youth, had snuck down to the gaol because it was empty more often than not.

Still, if someone so powerful was held beneath the castle, someone that could beguile people to come down there, like he was doing with Merlin, he thought, perhaps, security ought to be less of a joke.

Lighting a torch on the nearby brazier, Merlin proceeded even further down into the depths of the Camelot dungeons. The frightening voice that called out to him made itself known again as the young warlock's willowy shape stood over the precipice of a steep flight of stairs; each step was chipped and old, as if engraved into the stone floor rather than made out of it's neat masonry.

Merlin's steps echoed as he went lower, lower, lower still into the belly of the castle.

The Great Dragon: Merlin…

Gwaine was shifting behind him, fidgeting. Percival leaned back — best offer of companionship he could make without speaking up or turning around. He knew how much the other man detested seeing their friend, younger than all of them thought they often forgot it, in potential danger.

Like ants under his skin, he'd said once, deep in his cups. Percival could almost feel it now, that anxious buzz.

At the bottom of the stairs, Merlin took a left turn down a corridor so dark, its inside was a curtain of infinite darkness, impregnable even by the flickering torchlight. The fire swayed and crackled as if trembling in fear.

Blood was rushing through his ears. He hated the inaction, hated having to sit still and simply watch as Merlin kept descending and descending into a place that felt so terribly wrong. Behind him, Gwaine's leg was shaking almost audibly.

Percival chanced a look to the left and up, at the furthest place away from him on the benches. Lancelot, hand over his mouth, looked like he was struggling to keep his meals at bay.

From within the darkness poked out shapes of ruin, too old and broken to be recognizable.

The voice was loudest as Merlin stepped through a rusty iron gate, wide open and cravenly sticking to the wall, hanging off of one hinge.

The Great Dragon: Merlin…

Slowly the darkness seemed to melt away, showing roughly chipped stone walls that soon gave way to a sprawling underground cavern. It glowed an eerie blue, the light somehow making its way from the outside yet impossibly bright so far beneath the earth.

"…the fuck…" he heard Elyan murmur.

Laughter rose out from the very air. Merlin frantically looked this way and that, sending torchlight sprawling over the small ledge he occupied.

The knights shifted back in their seats.

Merlin: Where are you?

Not anywhere near you, Percival found himself thinking. And you should be glad for it. Run.

The darkness rippled and shifted, until a shape stirred it all away. It was massive, though it flew through the air with ease; snakelike and long, gold glittered from it where the fire met its scales, and colossal wings beat and tore through the air.

Merlin rushed back as it landed before him, towering over him though it was far. The last dragon alive stood tall and golden on its perch, looking down on the young warlock with wise, ancient eyes and a head so enormous it could surely swallow him whole if it so wished.

"What the fuck," Arthur whispered to Percival's left. Further left, Leon was breathing heavily.

Gwaine, in his anxious stewing, was more vocal. "Merlin, get the fuck out of there!" Percival nodded along, his jaw too tense to speak up as well.

The Great Dragon: I'm here!

He appraised the lanky young man before him with a critical eye, though his voice sounded more amused than anything. Merlin himself was awestruck and more than a little frightened by the sight of the olden beast. The Great Dragon: How small you are for such a great destiny.

Those words almost seemed to pull the sorcerer in. He stepped closer, brows furrowed yet eyes keenly looking at his ancient interlocutor. Merlin: Why? What do you mean?

"Nothing!" Gwaine yelled out, his leg shaking enough to move the benches. "Get out of there!"

Merlin: What destiny?

"Merlin!"

Lancelot buried his face into his hands, shielding himself from the past on the wall. "Oh, Merlin…" Percival could hear him sigh; there was something in his voice, something that said he understood.

But Percival understood nothing. His heart pounded in his chest as if the dragon was really before them, as if a fight was imminent. He almost wished he was about to fight — it would be better than this.

The Great Dragon: Your gift, Merlin, was given to you for a reason.

Anything would be better than this.

Merlin's eyes widened but a fraction, the awe that froze his body audible in his voice. Merlin: So there is a reason.

Gwaine covered his mouth, muffling his desperate groan of protest. Percival reached back to take his other hand. He held it tightly, as tight as he'd hold Merlin's when they returned, when they could tell him it'd be alright. Gwaine returned his grip with a hold that was almost punishing.

The Great Dragon: Arthur is the Once and Future King who will unite the land of Albion.

Some of the spark seemed to vanish from Merlin's eyes.

Perhaps overwhelmed by it all, Arthur snorted. His expression betrayed no humor. In fact, he almost looked a little ill.

The Great Dragon: But he faces many threats from friend and foe alike.

Merlin shook his head. Merlin: I don't see what this has to do with me.

The Great Dragon: Everything. The ancient beast of magic rebuked sharply.

The Great Dragon: Without you, Arthur will never succeed. Without you, there will be no Albion.

Merlin shook his head again. Merlin: No.

Arthur giggled. Percival snapped his head towards him. It was a single, sharp burst of air through his teeth but it was unmistakable — a mirthless laugh. His eyes seemed almost unseesing as he stared ahead.

Merlin: No, you've got this wrong.

The Great Dragon: There is no right or wrong, only what is and what isn't.

Merlin: But I'm serious! If anyone wants to go and kill him, they can go ahead. In fact, I'll give them a hand.

Once the laughter had escaped him once, Arthur found it difficult to stop. Muffled by his hand, it still rang out clear in the tiny, empty room.

Concerned, Percival let go of Gwaine's hand to place it on his king's shoulder. Arthur twitched, dare he say trembled, until his breathless, nigh hysterical laughter forced his eyes down and away from the wall.

Almost mockingly, almost as if by premonition, the great terrible dragon from the past chuckled as well. That got Arthur to slam his hand down and wheel around.

Lancelot found himself seared under his gaze by the ill virtue of being the one that knew too much.

"Is this it, then?" There was no trace of the laughter in Arthur's voice, though his words he said with a smile as if a broken man. There was no tension or anger either, not as before. Not outwardly, at least.

There was only the voice of a heartbroken man. Percival stayed silent and forced his grip on his shoulder to be only comforting, not threatening though he hated seeing the man whose cause he fought for place all burden on his closest friend.

He wished to will every reassurance he had into that grip — that it would be alright, that surely, surely there was more to Merlin they were still missing, all of it explaining all his secrets and his lying and the good, openhearted man they knew to be their friend — just like he'd done with Gwaine. Arthur didn't seem to feel it.

"Is this all it is?" He gestured to the wall, now frozen on Merlin's confused and insultingly ticked off expression. "Is this the only reason he's been here? To—" a desperate, dry chuckle left his throat "—To fulfill a prophesy? To fulfill a prophesy he doesn't even fucking believe in because a dragon told him to?"

The silence stretched on as wide-eyed Lancelot could only stare.

"Answer me!" He said and everyone pretended his voice didn't crack.

Bemused more than frightened, Lancelot shook his head. His eyes were moist yet he hadn't blinked at all. "No, Sire—"

"Do not lie to me, Lancelot," Arthur spat through gritted teeth. The harshness did little to deter the knight, only harden his eyes. His resolve as well, Percival hoped.

"No, Sire." He insisted. "I cannot speak in regards to…" his watery eyes wandered to the wall, "But I can tell you this with absolute certainty, whether you wish to believe me or not.

"In all of my time knowing Merlin… years, much like yourself, I've never had a doubt in my mind about what he thinks of you. He…

"He thinks you strong, capable, and trustworthy. A friend. Much like everyone in this room. And despite every minor complaint I've heard about you, which he doesn't refrain from voicing in any setting I should add, I've never, not once, thought he doesn't believe in you."

Arthur was silent a while.

"Then what is it?" He asked much later. "What are you hiding?"

Lancelot hung his head. He was nothing, Percival lamented, if not a man full of shame. "Many things."

"Then tell me," the king leaned towards him. Leon put his hand on his chest but Arthur batted it away like an annoying fly, leaving Percival the only one to hold him back. He hoped he wouldn't have to. "Tell me, damn it all. Why are you still hiding?"

"What sense is there in telling you now?" Lancelot snapped. The king leaned back as if physically struck.

"When—" once more, he gestured towards the far wall "—When that's exactly what we're here for? There is something very wrong here, can't you tell? Sire. Spilling every thing I've been sworn to keep secret won't help us get out of here or accomplish whatever it is this blasted place wants of us. Look!"

On the table before them a familiar message was displayed. Though beneath it was something unfamiliar.

"The past will resume shortly, please prepare."

"30…"

"29…"

"28…"

Lancelot's breath was shallow and uneven as he continued. No longer were his eyes shining and wet but the red around them stuck out like a sore thumb.

"How am I expected to keep both the honor of my word, the oath I've sworn to you, and Merlin safe?"

Arthur's throat was dry. "You should have never given your word on secrets like these," he said, "There… There are so many different ways you could've protected him if you'd told me."

"Perhaps," was all he could reply with. "But its done now and… Forgive me if it please you, Sire, but I rather I not lose Merlin's trust because…"

His voice wavered though his courage to speak did not. "How am I meant to keep him out of doing things like that," his hand listlessly gestured forward, "If I'm not made privy to his mind?"

The king of Camelot said nothing.

"13…"

"12…"

"11…"

"That bad, huh…?" It was Gwaine who spoke next. Percival didn't need to turn around to know the hurt in his voice — not being their mysterious friend's confidant had always stung, scraped his heart in ways that left him in his cups and complaining his pains away to Percival.

Lancelot only nodded.

"Well…" the smile on his face was so forced Percival could hear it, "Not a bad plan. But since we're here anyway… secrets getting spilled left and right without much of a choice in the matter, you might want to change it up a bit, hm?"

He conceded with a nod.

The smile vanished from Gwaine's voice. "What's with the dragon?"

"…" Lancelot looked away.

"Arthur killed it," Leon replied for him, but his usually even voice was quiet and unsure. He looked back. "…Did he not?"

"3…"

"2…"

"1…"

"No."

The dragon's mocking laugh sounded out from the wall once more. Gwaine whipped his head back to watch, though his vision was a little blurry. He pushed his fist into his face and tried to focus on its stupid draconic snout rather than everything else swirling in his mind now.

Like how he wanted a drink, or three, or several. Or perhaps several nights of utter blankness of the mind, the kinds where he woke up beneath piles of trash in a town he'd never been in, not remembering how to talk or what his name was but knowing damn well the headache would actually be the end of him this time. Or how he wanted to punch Lancelot in the face because of what he knew was jealousy so petty it could have him mistaken for half his bloody age.

That was the worst part of feeling it — knowing how idiotic it was to wish to punch your own mates for both arguing and keeping secrets.

He wouldn't punch Merlin though, he'd thrash him. With something soft like a pillow but he'd thrash him nonetheless. And after he did that, he'd make him spill everything no matter if the accursed wall before them already showed it. He wanted Merlin to be the one to tell him all of it.

But he tried to focus on the dragon.

The Great Dragon: None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin… and none of us can escape it.

With each word past his lips, Merlin shook his head. His eyes never left those of the golden dragon. Merlin: No. No way. No. No. There must be another Arthur because this one's an idiot.

He was, Gwaine agreed silently. Because he believed things like Merlin's very vocal opinions, which he bravely stood behind each time they were questioned, not being his own. Ridiculous. If he himself wasn't as embarrassingly affected by this room and these visions, he'd seriously reconsider his knight's vows.

The Great Dragon: Perhaps it's your destiny to change that.

The great and ancient beast spread his wings; its chain, long and heavy, dangled and jingled as it flew away, overwhelming Merlin's shouts with its noise.

Merlin: Wait! Wait! Wait, stop! No, I- I need to know more!

No, no he didn't. The less he knew, the better.

His leg was shaking again. Truthfully, he was too preoccupied to notice or temper it down. Percival leaned back again, for which he was grateful.

Gwaine leaned forward, resting his elbows on his broad-shouldered giant of a friend and his chin on his head. Then, briefly, he leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in his ear and willfully ignored how affected his voice still was.

"When we get out of here, you're helping me thrash Merlin," he said while the noise was still great enough to cover his words.

Percival made a questioning and perhaps a little disturbed noise. Rude.

"Not for real," he kicked at his lower back, "We'll thrash him with pillows or the like."

"Let's get out of here first."

"See—" Gwaine leaned back again "—I knew you'd be on board."

The following morning, Gaius walked into Merlin's room with a creak of the door. That wasn't enough to wake the deeply slumbering warlock however.

A sweeping view of the floor showed the utter mess of Merlin's room. Gaius clicked his tongue as he bent to pick something up.

He wondered how it had gotten so messy in the first place. There hadn't been nearly as many things strewn about when Merlin was sneaking out during the night. Had he been rummaging through his things? Searching for something or rushing to pack? Gwaine knew the feeling well.

Gaius called out sharply, waking Merlin with a start. He blinked rapidly, trying to wake his conscious as well as his body while Gaius was busy lecturing him.

Gaius: Have you seen the state of this room?!

Merlin shrugged sleepily. Merlin: It just happens.

Gaius: By magic?

Merlin: Yeah.

Gaius: Yes. Well, you can clear it up without magic.

The old physician threw a pair of breeches directly onto his ward's face before he could retort. Gaius: And then I want you to get me some herbs: henbane, wormwood, and sorrel. And deliver this to Morgana. Poor girl's suffering from nightmares.

He threw some more clothes in Merlin's direction before making his way out of the room. Merlin looked down as they fell into his limp arms before murmuring. Merlin: I know the feeling.

What followed was a frankly embarrassing display. Gwaine couldn't claim that watching this young version of Merlin flounder and try not to get caught as he, quite indecently, walked into a Lady's room without knocking and later being saved by Gwen wasn't a bit endearing. Even if that Lady was Morgana.

Though he certainly hoped his friend had grown out of the habit. He'd hate for his thrashing to include a lecture too — he preferred to be fun.

"My sister told me about this," he could hear Elyan whisper to Mordred beside him, perhaps to try and take some of the lingering tension away, "She said…"

Distracted from the wall, which was now showing guests gathering in the banquet hall, Gwaine looked down from atop Percival's head. There was a new frame of sticks down on the table — silver twigs wrapping around the image of a very long manacle and chain.

Must've missed it during our little talk. He frowned before nudging at Percival's back with his foot.

"Hm?"

"Press the new thing," he whispered, pointing to the new achievement.

"Stop digging your chin into my skull and I'll consider it," he whispered back though moved to press his finger to the little image of the chain nevertheless. Gwaine lifted his chin from his head, leaning forward to see what the table would say.

And wasn't that a thought?

“Achievement: The Great Dragon

"No young man, no matter how great, can know his destiny…"

[Meet ???]”

Unlike the previous achievements, this one put a foul taste in his mouth.

The words of the dragon were grand and promising… and dangerous. Especially to someone young and lost, hungry for purpose like Merlin apparently had been. It was so easy for someone to fall off a slippery slope and Gwaine knew that better than anyone.

He'd known men — good and honest but also desperate and confused — fall into traps set only by a few honeyed words. And they died. Outwardly or from within, or sometimes by a single well-aimed strike; they changed and they died.

And Gwaine was afraid. He wanted to trust Merlin with all his heart because he knew, magic or dragon or what have you, he knew Merlin was a good person with a heart more noble than his own. But recently… Merlin was changing.

Perhaps he'd already slipped and they'd been too busy having their heads up their own asses to notice.

He looked up just as Merlin entered the hall, right behind Gaius, his eyes wide and curious at what was most definitely his first time experiencing a royal banquet.

Gods, Gwaine hoped he was alright. He needed to be alright. He wouldn't know what to do with himself if he wasn't.

Gaius cleared his throat, snapping Merlin from following the very fashionably dressed Morgana with his gaze.

Gaius: Merlin. Remember, you're here to work.

Merlin: Oh, yeah.

Said he, though his eyes kept wandering in Morgana's direction. He almost didn't notice Guinevere as she took up a spot next to him.

He would tease him mercilessly when they got out of this place. Maybe after the thrashing.

Guinevere: She looks great, doesn't she?

Merlin: Yeah.

Guinevere: Some people are just born to be queen.

Several lips curled in distaste. He'd tease Arthur too, soon as he got some sense in him.

Merlin whirled around, scandalized for a different reason. Merlin: No!

Gwen nodded, an easy smile on her face. Guinevere: I hope so. One day. Not that I'd want to be her.

She rolled her eyes. Guinevere: Who'd want to marry Arthur?

Gwaine snorted audibly.

When the young Gwen began fumbling with her words and expressively denying and subsequent compliment she'd made towards Merlin, Gwaine decided he ought to keep a list of all the teasing he would have to do.

He looked to Elyan, the only person in his vicinity he actually could tease about the awkward mess they were viewing, but he determinedly avoided his eye. Damn. Next time.

Mordred he'd avoid teasing for now, until the tension dissipated a little at least. The poor kid looked like he was switching between being pale with discomfort and red from embarrassment faster than a flipping coin switched heads and tails.

Soon enough, horns blew to announce the King's entrance. Uther Pendragon began his speech as soon as he took his place before the dais, where the royal table stood. Merlin himself, like all servants, stood with his back to the wall behind the other tables. It was this speech that marked the introduction of the royal singer.

Applause filled the hall before the witch began her performance. It was a haunting ballad, sad and wailing though the language was unfamiliar.

Though for the knights, such a song seemed impossible to sleep to, they watched as drowsy couriers began dropping like flies, instantly asleep. Everyone succumbed to the singing spell, even the royals.

Everyone except Merlin.

They watched as Merlin — Merlin who was no doubt confused and frightened by the haunting display and fuck, Gwaine wanted to break something — covered his ears and watched with wide eyes as the spell took hold and cobwebs began to spread atop the slumbering guests. Gwaine wanted nothing more than to just step in front of him, have him behind his back where he knew he'd be safe from whatever that witch had done.

But that thinking belonged to before, when he didn't know that Merlin wasn't entirely powerless. He'd still prefer him behind his back, even though he could effortlessly knock and sway objects around, but still.

If Gwaine had been there, he'd be sleeping, no better than any other person in that room. And Merlin had handled himself — each of the knights knew how this story ended. Perhaps… he ought to give his friend a little more credit.

The vengeful witch advanced slowly forward, her hateful eyes trained on the slumbering prince of Camelot. She reached into her sleeve, from which she drew a gleaming dagger into the dark moonlight.

Merlin's own panicked gaze tore from her, looking around the room. His search seemed in vain until he focused on the chandelier.

His eyes were shining with the brilliant gold of magic before he could even think about his next deed.

The chandelier fell atop her with a crash, slamming her into the ground before she could loose the dagger at the prince. Pensive and still tense, within the reigning silence, Merlin lowered his hands from his ears.

Slowly, the banquet guests came back to consciousness. Disoriented, the king gazed before himself to where the witch lay beneath the spiked iron of the chandelier, unmasked from her disguise. With her final breath, she sent the dagger hurling towards Arthur.

Merlin's eyes widened, glowed, and time slowed to a dreadful crawl.

Gwaine could hear Arthur's shaky exhale, perhaps he even let out one of his own. He'd forgotten about this particular ability of Merlin's.

Quite frankly, he didn't know what to think about it. Useful? Definitely. Frightening?

Unshackled from compliance with the flow of time, Merlin ran towards Arthur. He grabbed the prince's shoulders, fingers digging into his cape, and bodily pulled them both to the side.

They landed on the floor as time resumed its ordained by nature pace and the dagger slammed itself into the chair with such force, the blade smoked and sparked and embedded itself halfway into the wood.

…More than a little.

As the old witch drew her last breath, the king turned to the hero of the day.

Uther: You saved my boy's life. A debt must be repaid.

Merlin looked more abashed than honored. Merlin: Oh, well...

Uther: Don't be so modest. You shall be rewarded.

Merlin: No, honestly, you don't have to, Your Highness.

Uther: No, absolutely. This merits something quite special.

Seemingly thinking over all the merits of a royal reward, Merlin leaned into the idea. Merlin: Well...

Uther: You shall be rewarded a position in the royal household.

Merlin smiled with disbelief.

Uther: You shall be Prince Arthur's manservant.

The smile dropped, though the court was applauding. The prince was about as happy with the changes as his newly appointed servant though the king paid him little mind.

The two shared a look before turning away, each with his own reservations about the other, then it all faded to black. Except for…

"Achievement Unlocked! The Dragon's Call"

Before the knights, the table bore new glowing writing.

"Congratulations on viewing Chapter One!

You have unlocked: Characters!

View Chapter Two?

view"

Chapter Text

"Is it imminent?" Mordred asked Leon as he stared down at the engravings in the wood.

The First Knight's tired eyes wandered to where he was staring. "Is what imminent, Mordred?"

"Watching." He took a breath, swallowed, then jutted his chin out towards the ember-like glow of the words. "Viewing."

"Nothing else seems to be an option," Leon said with a sigh, taking the opportunity to stretch and lean back while the others were up. "We either do so or remain in the dark, quite literally."

Without the glow of the far wall, the little room that made their prison was an almost pitch black. Safe for the words and the little pictures on the table, of course, though as a light source they were quite limited.

"And if we so choose, to remain in our ignorance," Leon continued, "I suppose our only option after that would be to sit and wait until something happens. Nothing too pleasant, I would surmise."

Mordred wondered if withering away in darkness would be preferable to what would happen if… when…

"I… I see."

He wished he was wherever Emrys was. Or Morgana or the Queen. It was craven but how could he remain brave when so much was being brought into the light and he himself was among the people with most to hide?

Perhaps this could be one of the few occasions where Emrys wouldn't disapprove. Merlin was content on expressing his discontent with any matter but this… he'd be quiet on this.

Sir Leon considered him with a keen eye.

"You have…" He began gently enough not to be overheard though his voice was firm. "You have been quite affected by this matter. It is understandable, of course. You wouldn't be the only one."

Mordred replied to him with silence.

A heavy sigh left the senior knight then. He idly considered the callouses on his hands. "You've something to hide." There was hardly a note of doubt in his voice.

Truly, Merlin would find him pathetic. Mordred wasn't like him, couldn't come up with a defense for someone so sure. His lip trembled, as if he was small again, and his wide eyes could only look up at the exhausted man beside him. A verbal admission would have been less damning.

Leon only nodded. "You needn't be so frightened, though…" he looked towards the far corner, where the king, Sirs Lancelot, Percival, and Elyan were talking amongst themselves; Gwaine paced nervously beside them. "I suppose it's not without reason."

"I only need to tell the truth, don't I?" Mordred looked back down to his lap. It was something he'd heard all his life, in one form or another, that confession would lessen the punishment for your crimes. But, Goddess help him, he was so afraid.

"Eventually." Leon was still looking at his brothers in arms. "But, I should think, a smart man also knows to bide his time."

His head snapped up. "You suggest I keep my secrets longer?"

"As long as is necessary." Leon's blue eyes observed him though he didn't fully turn his head. "You're hardly the only man here to be keeping secrets, Mordred. Mine aren't nearly as interesting as I'm sure many of the others' are. I suppose each of us have to air out our own dirty laundry, sooner or later."

"Perhaps…" Arthur began, the way each man began when they fought to break a standstill. Brave and honorable and noble though Lancelot was, he proved surprisingly stubborn on this one matter. "We could come to an agreement that would appease both of us."

The only thing more infuriating than Lancelot's stubbornness was his almost humorous earnestness.

"I would like nothing more, Sire."

Arthur nodded, jaw stiff with the urge to just demand the answers and make his knight spill everything so he could also, for once, be in the loop. He didn't do that, wish though he might.

"You know you'll have to talk eventually," he said, to confirm. He received a nod.

"And… you don't wish to because…?"

Even Lancelot was getting frustrated by the discussion. Elyan and Percival had long departed to keep the pacing Gwaine company, though Arthur could see Percival's gaze on him every now and again.

"Because they aren't my secrets to tell," he said wish a shake of his head. "And… I'd hoped Merlin would be ready, one day, to tell them on his own."

He hated him. He hated him so very much because, curse him and his honor, his words made so much sense.

"That isn't much of an option now," Lancelot continued with a sigh, "But I still hope he himself can share whatever this magic doesn't."

Arthur nodded, slowly. "You'll still give your input when the wall does show things, will you not?"

On this at least, they could agree. "To the best of my ability. I don't… Sire, you must understand, I don't know everything. Only a few select things."

Were it anyone else, Arthur wouldn't believe those words for anything but a lie.

"At this point," he rubbed at his eyes, prickling at how dry they were, "I'll take whatever I can. Never before have I thought I'd be reduced to begging for scraps on a matter such as—" he cut himself off with a sharp sigh.

"Tell me this, Lancelot, and tell me true," he searched for his gaze amidst the near total darkness, "And… I'll leave you be."

"Sire." The knight met his gaze head on.

"Was he ever going to tell me?" Arthur took a slow breath to keep his voice steady. "About the magic or the dragon or about anything, really?"

It took him some time to find his answer. They listened to Elyan and Gwaine arguing about something in quiet whispers while he did.

"…I'd hoped he would," he said eventually. "With all my heart, if you're so inclined to believe me. There was nothing more I would've liked, but…"

"That means no."

"That means, at first, I was sure he would. Soon. Then—" Lancelot looked away "—Then I asked him, a long while after, and he… evaded the topic altogether."

Somehow, that brought a wry smile to Arthur's face. "Lucky you, I thought he only did that with me."

"You'd be surprised."

He looked back up at his king. There was something in his eyes, too expressive to conceal it yet too mysterious for Arthur to unravel. "Arthur. I'm sure that he would've told you all about it… if you happened to ask."

He could only snort. Trust Lancelot to try to make him feel better with futile hypotheticals.

"Scoot aside," said Elyan as he moved to sit on the lowest bench beside Mordred and Leon. "I would like to see this magic table before we have to get to our seats again."

"No one is enforcing seating arrangements." Leon raised a brow though he and Mordred made way for the three knights anyhow. Seeing the futility in trying to fit five grown men on a single bench's breath, Percival resigned himself to take a seat on the upper one.

"I think what we have right now is pretty decent, actually. Else someone might send fists flying because he can't control himself."

Gwaine hummed as he settled beside the shorter knight. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"And I'm sure you aren't subtly confessing with that statement."

Percival kicked both of them before they could start arguing once more.

Gwaine cleared his throat, his hand rubbing at the offended spot on his lower back. "We wanted to take a look at the table before we started."

The words still sat bright and eerie against the wooden surface, silently prompting them to continue. Thankfully, the rest of the writing was present as well — the achievements in the bottom right corner, the list mostly made up of "???" on the left side.

New and glowing brighter than the rest of the cryptic engravings was "Characters" — one of the top entries in the list.

"What do you reckon it is?" Elyan murmured as he leaned forward. "Like… Characters as in…?"

"A story?"

"I was thinking something along the lines of," Mordred mumbled under his breath, "Character as in personality."

"Could be." Leon crossed his arms over his chest, regarding the glowing text with a furrowed brow. "My guess was as in testimonial."

The youngest knight turned to the eldest. "Character can mean testimonial?"

Leon looked away, a slight hint of red along his cheekbones. "Granted, I haven't heard it used like that by anyone younger than my father."

"And you," Gwaine snickered. Leon was hindered by Mordred and Elyan's presence between them, so he refrained from kicking him as well.

They looked up at Percival who merely shrugged. "I was going to guess character in a story too."

"Only one way to find out." Gwaine's hand stretched out, finger eagerly pressing against the glowing incisions in the wood…

"View a chapter in order to access the menu."

The men either groaned or clicked their tongues in displeasure.

"We already viewed a chapter though," Elyan complained, perhaps petulantly, eyes reading the message that appeared above the previous one. It added to the prompting without replacing it.

"Maybe," Mordred took a guess, "We have to be actively viewing a chapter."

"That hardly makes any sense," he protested, "Does our time not get restricted when we stop watching whatever's on the wall?"

A shrug. "Could be the proper way to stop the wall? The, uh… the intended way." Mordred's hand twitched as he listed to Gwaine's high strung whispering in Percival's direction. He heard something about this not being a tavern so why is it even called a menu, before Elyan shoved at the other man's arm in order to shut him up.

It was a futile effort. Leon sighed and Percival shuffled off the top bench, ready to break them up again though by all accounts their "fight" was barely a proper one.

Mordred found himself turning to them before he could remind himself of his fear.

"Merlin would have called all of us idiots a hundred times over by now with the way you're acting!" He whispered. He swore he did. The sound of it deafened any other words in the small room.

Gwaine's mouth hung open mid-word; he closed it slowly, the light from the table reflecting in his dark eyes, golden glow wandering across the inky depths as he tilted his head in consideration. Mordred bowed his head and looked away, the look too similar to the cold way in which Merlin tended to regard him.

"S-Sorry, Sir."

The man snorted humorlessly, rising from his seat to return to his previous one. "Don't give me that. You're right."

"Indeed he is."

Mordred's head snapped back up to meet the king's eyes. As he rushed to abandon his seat on the lower table, Arthur regarded him with blue eyes, tired and kind, and patted his arm while the rest of them wordlessly shuffled into their seats.

Lancelot's hand settled atop his shoulder before they both got to the upper bench. Mordred wondered if he ought to take his previous seat by Gwaine or take the available safe space between Elyan and Lancelot.

"I know you miss Merlin," he said in a low whisper.

Mordred swallowed, looked down, then remembered what Merlin would think of him for doing so and looked back up. "I do," he said, voice whispered and earnest.

There was something in his eyes, kind much like Arthur's, wearier than his. He squeezed his shoulder. "We all do. It's why things are like this now."

"Tense and horrible?"

The knight smiled. "I would've said agitating but that works too. Just don't let it get to you, especially if it's from…"

Both men's eyes flicked towards the king — hunched over the table, illuminated by the low amber glow — then to Gwaine, whose hands trembled as Percival spoke something to him, low and calming.

He nodded.

"Thank you."

Lancelot merely gave his shoulder another light squeeze before letting him go. Frightened though he was, he took up his previous seat, on Elyan's right.

When no man remained standing, Arthur reached out towards the table with a sigh. The words changed before his fingers could make contact but he stopped himself just in time.

"No decision has been made for a long while now.

Before moving on to Chapter 2, would you like to view

a Vignette first?

View Chapter 2 View Vignette (The Magic Tome)"

Arthur pondered for just a second before making his decision.

"I suppose it's all the same anyway…"

His finger lifted from the Magic Tome. The center of the table cleared the remaining words, leaving only blank wood. Before them, the wall was alight once more.

Chapter Text

Fire lit up with a spark, blinding white for a single blink before taking on a flickering mantle of oranges and yellows. It took to a wick, small at first before growing to life.

Merlin was bent over the candle on his desk, flint in one hand and steel in the other. His shadow loomed dark and ominous against the wall.

His brows furrowed at the light, lips drawn to a line. He watched the candle for a moment before putting his fire starters down; taking the wick between thumb and forefinger, he extinguished the dancing little flame into a smoking swirl.

The progression from this to touching hot pots and pans with his palms to check if they were hot enough was only natural, Lancelot supposed as he watched the little room plunge into darkness once more. At least the magic showing them the past was lenient enough to somehow tint the darkness blue, so the unwilling audience could see better.

Bracing himself against the edge of his bedside table, Merlin's brows furrowed further, his forehead creasing harshly in concentration.

Intense blue eyes stared down the thin wax candle. A long while of silent staring later and blue shifted to gold, the shade an eye sore in the darkness.

Fire lit up once more.

The flames began to eat away the corner of Merlin's newly gifted servant schedule. It held no great place in his heart yet the young warlock rushed to put it out anyway.

Such a strange thing, to see Merlin so out of touch with his own abilities. Did he have any idea of the achievements he'd grow into having? That the dragon that spoke to him of destiny and duty would be at his beck and call one day?

He doubted that. At most, when he lost himself in a fancy of going back in time and speaking such to that wide-eyed boy on the wall, he imagined him… scared.

Once more, the room was dark. Merlin stared at his candle a moment more before slumping and reaching for the flint and steel.

By the times Gaius knocked and let himself in, the candle was lit once more, though it had been moved to the desk beneath the window. The young man was still staring at it intently though, as if engraving the picture into memory would help him next time he tried to light it with his magic.

Merlin looked up at the sight of Gaius, frown and furrowed brows fading as the old man spoke.

Gaius: Seems you're a hero.

A smile spread on the young warlock's face. He shrugged a little. Merlin: Hard to believe, isn't it?

Gaius: No. He refuted with absolute certainty.

Lancelot couldn't agree more.

Gaius: I knew it from the moment I met you. When you saved my life, remember?

Slowly, Merlin's smile faded, confusion overtaking his expression. Merlin: But...that was magic.

The old physician nodded slowly. Gaius: And now, it seems, we finally found a use for it.

Merlin: What do you mean?

Gaius: I saw how you saved Arthur's life.

Merlin vehemently refused, shaking his head before the physician could continue. Merlin: Oh, no—

Gaius ignored him, as was the tendency of old people. Gaius: Perhaps that's its purpose.

If nothing else, Lancelot wished to tell Merlin it would be alright. Whether the young and slightly irritated Merlin on the wall, or his own weary-eyed Merlin in the present.

He wished to grab him by the shoulders and tell him, no matter what would happen in the future, it would be alright. He used to do that often, a mere year ago perhaps. Though after that terrible Samhain… Lancelot had begun to fall flat.

The young warlock slumped forward with a sigh. Merlin: My "destiny"…

Gaius nodded in agreement before adjusting the bundled up tome in his arms. Gaius: This book was given to me when I was your age, but I have a feeling it will be of more use to you than it was to me.

Merlin stood to receive his gift, looking at the old man a while to gauge whether he was jesting or not, before eagerly unraveling the thick and heavy tome. Despite his next words, his eyes lit up with wonder.

Selfishly, he wondered if he could not just try and take in the view. Could he not, in the privacy of his own thought, for just a moment, enjoy the sight of his friend so unburdened? The years had weighed down on them all, it was true — the young faces of his king, of Gwen, even the princess, were round and soft with youth yet — but…

Merlin's smile was wide as only a boy's could be. Merlin: But… this is a book of magic.

Gaius: Which is why you must keep it hidden.

He seemed more intent on rifling through the pages than listening to the physician though. When he looked up, even his eyes were smiling. Merlin: I will study every word.

…Gods, when had Merlin slipped away? Was it that Samhain on the Isle of the Blessed? Before that? What else could he do now but watch carefully and try to understand?

Gaius: Now…

He cleared his throat to get his young ward's attention. Gaius: I'd recommend you leave some of that book for tomorrow. The hour grows late and you're likely to be up by sunrise.

Merlin frowned slightly, hands stilling in their rifling.

And if, in his attempt to unearth the hidden aspects of the past, he grasped at these fleeting moments of joy and locked them away in his heart… Was he truly to blame?

Merlin: Surely dawn is a bit too early for the first day?

The old man shrugged as he turned away. Gaius: It is, you start serving the prince at noon. But I shall need you to gather about two baskets of herbs before then.

Merlin sputtered in outrage. Merlin: Gaius!

He was already out the door, though the smile was evident in his voice. Gaius: I told you not to expect any special treatment from me, boy.

Dawn peeked above the houses in the lower town, painting whatever wasn't hidden in blue shadows with golden light. Only a select few were out and about, either by ill luck or by choice.

Merlin and Guinevere walked down the street side by side, one holding two woven baskets, the other two empty pails.

Frankly, Elyan was surprised Merlin had managed to listen to Gaius for once.

The young warlock yawned, barely remembering to hide it behind his hand.

Gwen looked at him with a curious smile. Guinevere: Not used to waking up this early, I take it?

Merlin shook his head, eyes half-closed. Merlin: I'd be clinging onto my last hours of sleep on any other day.

She giggled, looking forward once more. Guinevere: Did you try and go to sleep earlier? I find that helps.

Merlin: No, I, uh… I may have, in fact, stayed up reading.

He heard several quiet snorts, one of which being his own. Of course he did.

The girl perked up, her smile widening in surprise. Guinevere: You can read?

Elyan found it hard to keep his own smile off his face. Perhaps he'd never get used to seeing his sister from this lens, the future looking into the past.

It'd been so long since he and Gwen walked down those streets, joking and laughing, making fun of each other. Try though he might to ignore the feeling, he always felt this weariness in his older sister, even back then.

They'd punch each other's shoulders, call each other names with smiles on their faces, and Gwen's would be alight with the youth of her age. Then she'd blink, and her smile would fall ever so slightly though the warmth never left it. Elyan had remembered the feeling, kept thinking on it and many others the night he left, bitter and disillusioned.

He could hardly blame her now — only the Gods knew the burden of having to raise him. Well, the Gods and…

Guinevere immediately began stammering upon realizing the crass nature of her words. Guinevere: I— I mean, not that, uh— Not that I doubt that, that you can read. In fact, you look exactly like the type who would. Not in a bad way!

The young warlock could only laugh goodheartedly. His eyes crinkled with amusement, Gwen's awkward manner doing more to wake him up than rubbing at his eyes had.

Merlin: It's alright. No, really! My mother taught me — I kind of forget that not everyone can.

Gwen looked away, her lips still pulled up in an awkward half-grin. Guinevere: My father taught me and my brother, mostly because it's useful for the trade. It's one of the things that helped me get my job— Oh, we're here.

The two of them stopped suddenly. Merlin blinked, looking to find himself by the well in the lower town; he deflated a little, adjusting his grip on the two baskets.

Merlin: I'll just, uh… leave you to your work, then?

Elyan covered his mouth with his hand, if only just to smirk. He recalled when Leon mentioned the time those two had been thought of as a couple and his smirk widened. He'd never let Gwen live it down.

No offense to Merlin, of course, he just had a hard time imagining the two of them together.

Guinevere nodded as she set the pails down on the stone. Guinevere: Yeah… We should totally talk more on break! When I get done with helping the kitchen refill and you get back from…

She looked at his baskets.

Guinevere: From… What are you doing, exactly? Uhm, I might be wrong of course, but aren't you actually supposed to start serving at noon today?

Merlin stared at his hands clutching the woven handles. He grumbled, none too enthused about the upcoming work. Merlin: Gaius decided he needed his herb stocks refilled. He even gave me this little…

He fished out a tiny booklet from one of the baskets and handed it to her.

Merlin: …guide thing?

The wall showed the contents of the tiny little booklet over Gwen's shoulder. Small illustrations of herbs adorned each page, as well as names and the properties of the plants' various parts, though Elyan highly suspected that the pictures were most important in this case.

Seeing Merlin not know his herbs was almost as strange as seeing him do magic. He rubbed his neck, where his friend had viciously slapped him a few years ago in order to prevent him accidentally eating poison leaves. Elyan had sworn up and down that it was a one-time misjudgment but something told him he wasn't believed.

Guinevere: Oh…

The young warlock shrugged, abashed. Merlin: I haven't had the most luck with remembering them all.

Guinevere: I can imagine… She cleared her throat and closed the booklet, handing it back to Merlin.

Guinevere: Tell you what. I have my morning off today — why don't I go with you for herbs and then you can return the favor and help me with the water? I mean, not that you wouldn't be able to get it done by yourself, nothing like that at all, I just meant—

Merlin interrupted her with a chuckle he desperately tried holding back on. He raised his hands. Merlin: No need to apologize. I, uh, I'd love that!

Elyan looked away. Gwaine snickered at him.

As it happened, when they tried touching the "Characters" item on the list, the wall didn't stop. At all. Leon frowned — Mordred's idea had seemed rather wise.

Given the fact that nothing much of note was happening — Merlin and Gwen were picking herbs and conversing about their families all the while — the knights leaned over to see what the deal with these "Characters" were.

The table was engulfed with a single image that tinted the middle of it black. In the center were two words — "Sword" on the left, glowing red, and "Sorcery" on the right, glowing blue. Wordlessly, Arthur picked "Sorcery" and the black tint turned to blue as the options disappeared.

On the left, where the blue-tinted wood reached the original list, another list appeared: "The Emrys, The Witch, The High Priestess, The Traitor, The Fugitive, The Lady of The Lake, The Shadow, The Cat's Paw, Return?"

"The Emrys?" Arthur's brow raised. He turned to Lancelot. "I thought Emrys was his name?"

The other knight shrugged. Mordred's voice sounded out and Leon let his eyes stray from the table.

"Emrys is a druidic word," he said carefully, keeping his voice as even as possible while everyone's attention was on him. "The, uhm, the prophesy also comes from the druids, from magical people in general. So maybe Emrys is his title? Or a… a monicker, like the rest of the items on the list?"

Leon joined the proceeding hums of thoughtful approval. He would've commended his bravery on speaking on the topic despite being a druid, if he could. If what he was doing was laying out the foundation for his confession, he was being quite astute about it.

Whether druid or aligned with, no hasty reveal would do him any good in the present tension. Leon's gaze strayed to Percival for a moment, though theirs didn't meet. He ought to speak with him when the next opportunity presented itself, to discuss his plan of action on the topic.

"Can you tell me what it means?" Arthur asked, eyeing the words with weary suspicion. "Emrys."

"Uh," the young knight stammered, "In the druidic tongue it stands for immortal, I believe? It could be a spiritual title to help him along with his destiny? Like how parents name their children lucky names to wish them good things in life. Or how they call you The Once and Future King."

Arthur hummed, pressing his finger to the first item in the list.

It glowed a brighter blue and, in the middle of the indigo wood, there appeared the image of Merlin. Like a painting, a moment captured in time, he was standing in a field, the bright blue sky behind and short green grass beneath him. He was looking away, his eyes half-lidded and content, almost sleepy; a gentle wind was tussling his hair and clothes. Nothing moved on the table, unlike on the wall, so the picture was frozen mid-motion.

None of them could place the scene in any specific moment in time.

"Looks nice out there," Gwaine commented, "Wherever it is."

"Mhm…" Elyan shifted to look better. "I'd kill for a breeze right about now."

Two golden arrowheads appeared beneath the frozen scene — one pointed to the left, the other to the right. Above them was Merlin's apparent title in a flowing, ornate script.

Arthur touched the right-pointing arrowhead and the picture changed. All colors faded, leaving the scene painted in only blacks and grays. "The Witch" was carved into the wood beneath the shadow of a woman — pure black, standing amidst a dark gray forest. Only the faint light of her wide-open eyes deviated from the macabre colors, pure gold.

Leon squinted his eyes, tried to get a better look at her face, her dress, anything, but her form was too dark to discern.

"Who do you think it is?" He whispered to his king. "The Lady Morgana?"

"Wouldn't Morgana be The High Priestess?" Arthur looked hard at the image. "Though I suppose that could also be Morgause…"

He leaned back, mindful not to slam into Elyan's legs. "I don't understand the implication of this." Arthur's voice was more thoughtful than defensive or upset. Leon was thankful for the small mercy. "Are these just notable sorcerers or something else?"

Lancelot's eyes widened. "You think he's in leagues with them?"

"Is he?" The king turned to look back though his knight only shook his head.

"I know he has…" he trailed off, searching for the right words, "Uh… Acquaintances, I suppose, that he sometimes sees but if I've ever met them, I wouldn't know."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Lancelot looked away. "I cannot confidently say they aren't sorcerers. But to say he was plotting something with the likes of Morgause is the incorrect interpretation, I believe."

"I'll take your word for it," Arthur nodded slowly, "Until I have enough information to make my own judgment."

They returned to observing the table. Each sorcerer after Merlin had the same dull colors, fully black silouette, and wide-open golden eyes. The High Priestess stood tall and imposing in the middle of a circular stone room. The Traitor was, at first, an indiscernible shape, until Gwaine managed to point out the distinct outlines of two people standing very close, each having only one eye open instead of both.

Leon thought hard, tried to remember a time where two people had turned traitor, but failed to recall anything specific. His mouth twitched as he realized just how many people had betrayed Camelot over the years. By the hard look in Arthur's eyes, he could tell the man was thinking the same.

At least this means Merlin's loyalties aren't questionable, Leon thought as they continued looking through the list.

The Fugitive appeared to be a tall woman with her hair tied neatly, standing amidst a gray and empty street. Several of the knights shifted uncomfortably as they began to recognize the buildings behind her as ones in the lower town. Once more, Leon was thankful for small mercies, as the silhouette didn't appear to be that of Gwen.

The Lady of The Lake was not as graceful as they remembered her. She was standing in waist-deep, her hair messy and loose, her posture tense.

"Maybe she cleaned up for your wedding?" Gwaine wondered, looking at Arthur.

His nose scrunched up. "Do you expect me to say I'm flattered?"

The Shadow was a thin and lanky man, walking alone through a looming forest with a sword at his hip. On his hand shone a ring of gold.

"He looks young," Elyan noted, "Or is that just me?"

"My gut says the same—" Gwaine tilted his head as he considered the image "—Though I suppose it's hard to tell when you're just looking at a silhouette."

The Cat's Paw appeared to be another thin and lanky man in a forest. Unlike The Shadow, he wore a long cloak over his shoulders instead of seemingly simple garb, and he was hiding behind a tree instead of traveling the open road. Unlike all the other Sorcerers, this one's eyes weren't visible at all.

Pressing the right arrowhead led them to Merlin once more.

On the "Sword" side, the list was much more recognizable. "Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Return?"

Arthur blinked, almost surprised by the lack of flowery language or mystical titles. In fact, there seemed to be a general lack of titles as a whole, for both his own royal titles and everyone's knightly Sirs were absent. Then again…

"Gwen doesn't wield a sword." Arthur, Gwaine, and Elyan said at once with varying levels of confusion.

The rogue knight put his chin in his palm. "Are we certain that this categorization is more than arbitrary?"

"We can't be sure it's not," Leon replied with a shake of his head. "It could be…" he looked remorseful of what he was about to say yet Arthur urged him on to spit it out anyway. "It could be based on the prophesy?"

Arthur considered him carefully. "How so? Are you suggesting there are two factions in this matter — mine and Merlin's?"

"Perhaps, although such a thing would be strange, considering Merlin is very clearly supposed to be on your side even if we assume he only acts based on the prophesy."

"Couldn't the split be based off of the use of sorcery?" Percival piped up tentatively.

Arthur shook his head. "It's never that simple with these matters."

"Maybe the pictures will help?"

The king cautiously pressed his forefinger to his own name. Just like Merlin's, his image was full of color and he was looking away. Unlike Merlin's image…

"This is me a decade ago," he raised a brow. "I think I remember this—" he pointed behind his fully-armored self, at Camelot's curtain wall adorned with banners "—This was the tourney right after Merlin got hired. I can see Sir Valiant's heraldry."

Guinevere wasn't any different — a full palette of color, her eyes half-lidded and looking away, and her a decade younger. Arthur briefly looked back up at the wall, where she and Merlin were still gathering their herbs and chatting away.

Elyan pointed to the image of Gwen on the table, particularly her dress and the woven basket in her hand. "This is from when she and Merlin were gathering herbs."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "Mine and Guinevere's look like they took place in the span of a few days."

"Do you think it might be the same for all of these?" Leon asked, looking from the Gwen on the wall to the Gwen on the table.

"Maybe," Arthur let his hand trail down his face in exhaustion, "Although I don't think it's the case for Merlin and the sorcerers, there's clearly some other common factor there, besides the lack of colors."

The rest of them retained their colors and, unlike most of the sorcerers who stared ahead with bulging eyes, the not-yet knights of the round table were all keeping their gazes to the side or to the ground.

Lancelot was walking through a field — a sword at his hip and a bag on his shoulder. Several chuckles rang out, making the knight avert his eyes as an embarrassed flush painted his face.

Gwaine tried to contain himself but a few snorts managed to escape confinement. "You should grow out your hair again."

"I think I'm alright."

"No, no, it suits you."

Leon was sitting around a fire, sharpening his sword. Percival quirked his head as he examined him. Catching sight of this, Leon cleared his throat.

"I was stationed at the border at the time," he explained while pretending to ignore the fascination with which his comrades observed his younger self, "Which is why I'm not present for all of…" he gestured at the wall.

Gwaine was in a tavern, a tankard of ale covering some of his face. Unfortunately for him, it didn't cover all of his face, which led to the next bout of snickering.

The man himself shut up at once. Lancelot bit on his lip to refrain from commenting on his appearance.

Arthur however couldn't help himself from smirking. "Well, well… I didn't know you had pimples too, Gwaine."

"Lay off, would you?" He mumbled. "You yourself had a fair share."

Elyan was hammering at a sword in a run-down blacksmith's forge.

He looked away, a slight frown on his face.

"Where was this?" Gwaine questioned, eager to shift the topic away from himself.

"I don't know, actually," he said, "Don't remember."

Percival was sitting beneath the shade of a tree, looking for all the world like he'd fall asleep any minute.

The giant man looked down at his lap. "I was taking a break."

Elyan leaned forward. "From?"

"Transporting wood." He pointed to the corner of the picture, where a rickety hand-pulled cart was barely peeking out. "The bulls were busy tilling the fields, so I had to move the cart by myself."

"No wonder you're built like you are," Elyan laughed as he patted his shoulder.

Arthur couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at his lips at the sigh of his brothers in arms. The pressure of the past had lifted for the moment, just enough to allow him to breathe again.

He couldn't help but imagine a different reality, just for a moment. One where they gathered to watch good memories, where the past was something they could all look back on fondly and not a mystery to be solved.

Guinevere: This turned out great!

Arthur startled at the sound of Guinevere's voice. His gaze raised and he watched his most dearest friend and his beloved wife a decade past fawning over a bouquet of colorful flowers. And, he thought, why shouldn't he let these little moments warm his heart?

Surely, there was a reason for all this secrecy — a reason beyond a prophesy or talking dragon. Fear was enough to keep a man's walls tall and strong. Perhaps it was as Lancelot claimed, that Merlin was waiting for the right moment all along.

Could he have thought that the right moment would come after they fully repealed all persecution against magic? It was a stupid, foolish thing to think… and yet Arthur thought it felt very much like a Merlin idea.

He watched as Merlin and Guinevere walked back to the castle still enamored in talking about mundane things they were just discovering about each other, watched as Gwen invited him to dinner in the evening, watched as they remembered their duties to the kitchen and rushed to deliver the herbs to Gaius, watched as Gwen dropped their little bouquet and watched as it was trampled by the crowd.

And, as he watched Merlin return to pick up the discarded flowers as the sun began to set, when he was supposed to be getting ready for dinner, he couldn't help but feel like this was right. This memory, at least, sat easy in his chest. He hoped the others wouldn't sour it.

There was a knock on the door. Gwen stopped mid-motion, a bit of stew sloshing out of her ladle and back into the pot. Her father smiled and urged her to open the door.

She was greeted by a very heavily panting, rose-cheeked Merlin, who startled to see her come to the door so quickly. He straightened up, opened his mouth to speak, and wheezed.

Gwen smiled. Guinevere: Maybe catch your breath first?

Merlin nodded, finding the idea quite reasonable.

Guinevere: Did you run here? I wouldn't have minded if you were late.

Merlin: I was already late but I can promise you… I have a good reason.

She raised a brow, her smile widening as Merlin reached for something to the side. Guinevere gasped as the young warlock presented her with the bouquet of flowers she'd dropped, looking new as if freshly picked from the forest.

Guinevere: Merlin…! She gingerly took the flowers into her hands.

Guinevere: Did you go back to pick me a new one? You seriously didn't have to.

Merlin looked away. For a moment, the wall flashed to reveal the magic tome on his desk, opened to an unreadable page with drawings of various flowers going from wither to bloom. Merlin smiled.

Merlin: Ah, you know, I couldn't come empty-handed.

Gwen quickly stepped away from the doorway, ushering her friend in with quick motions of her hand.

Guinevere: Don't just stand outside! Come in, come in. My father's waiting for us at the table.