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Chapter Text

Five

The sun cast golden hues over the land as it began to set, dipping slightly below the enormous parapets and spires of the King’s towering castle, which stood grandly in the centre of the sprawling city of Camelot. As the day’s activities began to wind to a close, merchants returned home with their unsold products, chambermaids and servants chatted aimlessly as they drifted out of the castle for their quarters, and a young, dark-haired boy played on the grounds just within the castle walls.

The boy, whose name was Louis, wasn’t using much more than a few crudely-designed sticks and twigs for his play, and he was alone; but his enthusiasm and imagination made up for those shortcomings. A flat, broad piece of wood served as his shield and a few cleverly fashioned twigs made up his sword as he slashed and parried the air, letting out small cries of victory every time he defeated an imaginary opponent.

“Take that, take that!” he muttered, his eyes glimmering in the orange light cast by the setting sun. He was no older than five or six years old, gangly and short, his head a little too big for the rest of his body. Though he was inside the castle walls, his clothes looked no better than the average commoner’s; they were made of rough material, well-worn and slightly dirty, and only collected more dust as he rolled on the ground, wrestling with the air.

“For Camelot!” Louis roared bravely before charging forward and immediately tripping over a clod of earth.

He hit the ground with an oof and his sword flew out of his hands. Groaning, Louis pulled himself up and started scanning the ground for his prized possession, rubbing his shoulder where it had made contact with the earth.

“Looking for this?” came an unexpected voice from his left.

Louis jumped and whirled around, where he saw another boy, his age, standing a few paces away and inspecting his toy sword with amusement. The newcomer had curly hair and hazelly green eyes, and his clothes were much nicer, colored with expensive dyes and obviously made with much finer materials. Unlike Louis, this was a child that seemed to belong within the walls of the castle.

Louis felt a jolt of nervousness at being caught on the castle grounds, but after quickly looking around and seeing no adults nearby to shoo him away, that emotion was quickly overtaken by the urge to retrieve his favorite sword. “That’s mine,” he said, stepping forward and holding his hand out. “Give it back, please?”

The newcomer sort of laughed, though not meanly, turning the twigs over in his hand. “Did you make this?”

“Yes,” Louis said, shifting nervously. He knew it wasn’t very good, but he was proud of it; it had taken him ages to figure out the knots that tied the twigs together in the vague form of a sword.

“I like it,” the other boy said, and Louis blinked in surprise. “What’s your name?”

Louis felt nervous, thinking he probably shouldn’t give his real name in case he was getting in trouble, and scrambled for the first different name he could think of. “Uh…. um…. it’s Liam,” he stumbled, his face immediately burning in embarrassment.

The other boy threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “No, it’s not,” he giggled. “You are a really bad liar.”

“Okay, fine, it’s Louis,” said the dark-haired boy, rubbing the back of his head. “Now can I please have that back?”

“Hmmm,” the boy said, thinking about it. “That depends. You think you can take it from me?” He held the handle of the sword with two hands, his eyes glinting mischievously.

Louis stood awkwardly for a second. He wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to do this, to be talking to – to a royal’s son, or whoever this boy was. But on the other hand, he was being really annoying.

“I don’t know,” Louis said slowly, waiting for the other boy to relax a little, looking disappointed. “Maybe… I will,” and then he lunged for the sword.

The curly-haired boy pulled back just in time, peeling with delighted laughter, and took off across the lawn. Louis took chase and they raced around the castle grounds, wrestling over the sword and pushing each other around playfully. As fast as Louis could run, the other boy always seemed just a tiny bit faster, and he clearly knew the castle grounds like the back of his hand.

Finally, Louis managed to tackle him to the ground and pinned him there, practically sitting on top of him as he wrenched the sword from his hands.

“There,” he panted, sticky with the summer humidity, and pointing his makeshift sword directly at the other boy’s chest. “I win. HA.”

For a second, the other boy actually looked surprised, or maybe angry? and Louis felt his blood run a little cold, wondering if he had just made a big mistake. If he should have let the other boy win.

But then his face split into a big smile, and he pushed Louis off of him cheerily, pulling himself up and then extending a hand. “Good one, Louis,” he said. “That was fun.”

Louis relaxed and took his hand, letting him pull him up. With his target in hand and the sun almost totally set by now, he started shuffling to the side. “…um, well, I should probably go home now, it’s getting sort of late…”

“Yeah, me too… but hey, Louis?”

“What?” Louis asked, turning back towards the curly-haired boy.

Before he could even think to react, the boy had lunged in and snatched the sword from his grip. He ran a few paces away, holding it in the air triumphantly and grinning.

“I win!” the other boy smirked, jogging backwards towards the castle.

“Hey, not fair!” Louis protested, starting after him again.

“Sorry, gotta go inside now. You have to come back tomorrow if you want it,” the other boy said in a sing-song voice.

“Ugh, fine, you’re so annoying,” Louis groaned, causing the other kid to laugh. He watched him nearly reach the castle before thinking to call, “wait, how will I find you? What’s your name?”

Right as the boy reached one of the castle’s side doors, he turned and flashed that enormous grin once again. “It’s Harry,” he said before disappearing from sight.

Louis walked home in stunned silence, his face permanently red so that even by the time he reached the small cottage where he lived with his grandmother, she could see the color and asked him if something was wrong. He shook his head mutely, unable to explain that he was torn between wondering if his new friend had merely played a trick on him, or if he had really spent the afternoon tackling the Crown Prince of Camelot to the ground.

Eight

Harry’s hands gripped tightly onto a branch of the willow tree where he was crouched in a fork amongst its branches. He peered out from his favorite hiding place through the shifting leaves, looking for a sign of his pursuers.

“Oh, Harryyy…” came a familiar sing-song, making him snicker and crouch lower in the branches. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

Through the leaves, he could see two figures passing by: one dark-haired, thin and devious-looking, the other tall and built, with gangly brown hair. They were his castle friends, Zayn and Liam, prowling the grounds in search of him.

Even at eight years old, Harry knew the grounds better than most adults, and could often stay hidden for hours before being caught by his friends. But as he hunched lower in the tree, watching Zayn and Liam pass him by unwittingly, something made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, as though –

“GOT YOU!” came a high-pitched scream from right behind him, and Harry just barely turned around in time to see Louis pouncing at him through the branches.

“AH!” Harry shouted as Louis tackled him, and they tumbled out of the tree together, laughing hysterically.

“How did you know I was there?!” Harry asked incredulously, picking himself up and dusting off his clothes.

“You always hide in that stupid tree,” Louis grinned as Zayn and Liam came running up to them.

“Nice work, Louis,” Zayn said triumphantly while Liam jumped up and down in excitement, saying “our plan worked perfectly!!”

“Okay, you guys are getting better at this, I admit it,” Harry said sheepishly, shaking his head. “I’ll just have to find better places to hide next time…”

“Nah, I like beating you,” Zayn said as the four boys started to walk across the castle grounds. It was the middle of the day, and the castle was alive with activity. Servants rushed in and out with their chores, the chimneys from the kitchen poured out smoke as the cooks prepared the evening meal, and just coming over the horizon…

“The knights!” Liam shouted in excitement as the boys caught sight of the King’s guard going through their training paces. Zayn and Liam raced off to watch, while Harry and Louis followed at a walk.

“Do those two ever run out of energy?” Louis asked as they watched the other two boys sprint towards the training grounds.

“You should see them during school,” Harry responded dryly, and Louis giggled.

“Prince Harry?” came a sudden exclamation, and Harry winced as he stopped, turning to see Miriam, his… ‘guardian,’ rushing towards him. Miriam was an older woman, tall and severe in her black dress, her graying hair tied back perfectly in a bun, and her face was pinched and displeased as she rushed towards him.

“Prince Harry,” she said again in shock and disapproval, “whatever happened to your clothes?”

Harry looked down and saw that his day clothes had been dirtied and scratched by his romp through the branches and sighed, his stomach sinking. “I’m sorry, Miriam. I was just playing.”

“I’m sure you were,” Miriam said, shooting a piercing look over Harry’s head and towards Louis, who Harry could practically feel shrinking away. Harry scowled and stepped further in front of Louis, making Miriam return her focus to him. “And your lessons, Prince Harry? Did you bother with any of those today?”

“I finished them all earlier, Miriam,” Harry said in annoyance, biting back harsher words. “Now, I’m going to watch my father’s knights.”

Miriam sighed. “I suppose their training would be good for you to observe…. fine. But you’re washing up before dinner. No Crown Prince should be seen in society wearing clothes like that,” she said pointedly, casting one last withering look at Louis before swishing away in her long robes.

Harry let out an enormous groan as she vanished, pressing his small hands into his face. “Oh my god she is so annoying.”

“She’s your guardian,” Louis said hesitantly, his voice much smaller than usual. “Isn't she sort of supposed to annoy you…?”

“She’s not my guardian, that’s such a stupid word,” Harry insisted as they resumed their walk towards the training ground. “She’s a babysitter, and I hate it.”

Louis stuffed his hands in his pockets before admitting, “her voice is pretty horrible.”

“Prince Harry,” Harry mocked, using a high, nasally voice, and Louis snorted. “How dare you place your royal feet upon such disgusting grass?!”

“Prince Harry,” Louis joined in, “dost thou knowest that the air you breathe contains DUST?!! What shall the royal lungs think?!”

Harry burst into laughter as they finally reached the training grounds, but once they were close enough to see the crowd of nobles gathered to watch the knights, Louis pulled to a halt.

“I think I’ll probably leave,” Louis said, shifting from side to side.

“Why?” Harry asked curiously.

“Um…” Louis shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Just don’t want to watch the knights.”

Harry furrowed his brow as he looked back at the training grounds, then shrugged and walked back towards Louis. “Okay. I’ve seen it at least a million times. I’ll go with you.”

Louis looked surprised, but grinned, and the two boys walked away from the crowd, taking a random, meandering path back through the castle grounds. The two of them often did this after playing their games with Zayn and Liam; as close as the four of them were, Harry and Louis seemed to stick together a little tighter. For one thing, Harry always felt like the other two kids would let him win sometimes, like everyone else in the castle always did. Being Crown Prince sometimes felt like everyone treated him with gloves, afraid to break him as though he were made of glass. Louis never made him feel like that, even if it involved getting his nose rubbed in the dirt every now and then. When they talked, as they did often, Harry felt like he could tell Louis anything, especially things that Zayn and Liam, as the sons of nobles, might not have liked to hear.

“What do you even learn about in those stupid lessons, anyway?” Louis asked when their conversation returned back to Miriam’s appearance.

“Mostly boring stuff, like history and math and things,” Harry said, kicking a rock as they passed it. They walked past a fallen log, which Harry jumped onto and walked on while balancing.

“Ah, so Prince Harry can someday run the kingdom?” Louis asked with a crooked grin, clearly not knowing the way Harry’s stomach always flipped when someone said something like that.

“I hate that name,” he said, choosing to ignore the rest of the sentence.

“What? Prince Harry?” Louis asked, affecting the same high-pitched tone as earlier. Harry shot him a look as he jumped off the log.

“Yes,” he responded honestly. “It’s all I hear, day in, day out. Prince Harry, your presence is requested. Prince Harry, stop eating tarts before dinner, Prince Harry, get inside so we can lock you back up in your tower like a lonely princess…”

Louis giggled and asked, “well, what would you like to be called instead?”

“Probably… Louis,” Harry responded, then laughed as Louis shoved him with his shoulder. “Just kidding.”

They walked in companionable silence for a little while, listening to the bugs whir in the grass and the trees, before Harry spoke again. “I just wish that I could be Harry. Just Harry. Like when my mother was here, she just wanted me to be Harry”

“Oh yeah?” Louis asked.

“Yeah,” and Harry suddenly felt embarrassed, like the whole thing was silly. He looked at Louis, though, and the other boy didn’t look like he was mocking or making fun. He just had that earnest, interested look he usually had on his face, the one that made Harry feel like Louis actually listened to him.

“Well, you know you'll always be just Harry to me too.” Louis smiled softly, as they sat down on the highest rock, sitting cross-legged across from each other, and Harry glanced at him in relief. The dark-haired boy’s face was serious and contemplative. Of course, Harry thought. Louis had never treated him awkwardly when Harry talked about his mother. Louis had lost his mother, too, and his father as well, to the same war that had taken Harry’s.

“If I had magic wish I could bring her back sometimes, and use it for good," The curly-haired boy began, "I remember this thing she used to say... that dreams were this powerful weapon,” Harry started rushing, the words just pouring out of him, the ones he had thought over a hundred times before. “That they were the closest thing you could get to good magic, and probably more powerful. And I’ve just – I’ve always really liked that. I like the idea of taking something away from the sorcerers, and using it against them.” At this point he hit his fist against his knee with enthusiasm, getting angry, as he always did, at the thought of magic.

Louis had gone even quieter, and more still, than he had before, looking down at his hands and away from Harry. Harry glanced away as well and felt bad. He knew magic was a sore spot for Louis, too. When the sorcerers had attacked Camelot years ago, dozens of villagers and nobles alike had died under the onslaught. There were no sorcerers in Camelot anymore, thanks to Harry’s father, but even saying the word ‘magic’ could be enough to scare and anger those who had been burned by it.

Thirteen

"Look at him! Look!! He’s blushing," Zayn cackled as Louis jogged to join the trio of teenagers waiting at the edge of the forest.

"Hey guys, sorry I’m late," Louis said, panting slightly for breath. "What’s going on?"

"Harry’s got a girlfriend," Liam teased from the rock he was sitting on.

"I do not," Harry snapped shortly from the tree he leaned against, crossing his arms petulantly. At thirteen, Harry had grown at least a head over his friends, rivaled only by Liam; he had already started to grow into himself, having begun to lose the gangly awkwardness inherent to being a young adult. Kingly genes, Louis often teased him, usually earning him a punch in the arm.

"He so does," Zayn snickered as Louis tried to catch up with their conversation. Unlike Zayn and Liam, dressed comfortably in their well-made clothes of leather and linen, Louis was dressed somewhat warmly for the hot summer day in his woolen tunic and trousers. He also wore the nice leather boots Harry had given him during the new year’s celebration, already nearly worn through from daily use.

"Something to tell the class?" Louis jabbed when Harry made eye contact with him. The prince just rolled his eyes away, obviously annoyed, and Louis smirked.

"This girl won’t leave me alone and these two jesters seem to think it’s meant to be," Harry muttered, pushing away from the tree to walk towards Louis. "I’m really ready to drop it. You know the way or what?" he asked Louis as he passed by, brushing against his shoulder.

"Yes, your Kingliness, sir, anything you wish," Louis quipped, mock-bowing to Harry’s back as Zayn and Liam snickered. They fell into step behind him as Louis started to direct them through the thick forest that spread for miles behind the King’s castle.

"It is the perfect day for this," Liam piped up from the end of the line, prompting nods from the other boys.

"If I'm honest, I’m surprised you all got out of your lessons for the day," Louis said, resulting in an uncharacteristic silence from the other boys. "...guys?"

"About that," Zayn said, and the three dissolved into chuckles.

"We’re skipping!" Liam cried joyfully.

"What?!" Louis asked in outrage, pulling up short.

"Louis, it’s no big deal," Harry said, pausing to shoot him a look.

"Won’t you get in trouble? I don’t know if you remember the last time the three of you were castle-locked, but I didn’t get to see any of you for a month," Louis grumbled.

Harry just rolled his eyes and grabbed Louis’s arm, pulling him along. "Louis, that was like four years ago. I can do whatever I want now. The only person who can ground me is my dad and he doesn’t care what I do. Now show us where this stupid lake is. I want to go swimming."

Louis groaned and shoved Harry back. "Fine, then let me lead for once, you big dunce."

Louis led capably through the thick woods that his friends rarely had reason to venture into except for royal hunts (a wholly graceless affair which usually led to more destruction than plunder). He spent most of his time here, actually, either hunting small game using his own contraptions or searching for various herbs and ingredients that his grandmother, a healer, needed for her practice. He felt a small rush of pride as he directed his friends around a particularly nasty wasp’s nest, pointed out a small sinkhole in the path, and finally guided them through a thicket of thorns unscathed before they finally emerged to find a small, crystal-clear lake, fed by a branch of the river that cleaved Camelot’s forest nearly in two. Small sandy beaches and rocks surrounded the water, and the tall trees of the forest on all sides provided a beautiful backdrop.

"Here we are, boys," Louis said, but his words were practically drowned out by Zayn's excited holler, who immediately stripped off his outer garments to leap into the water with only his shorts. Louis chuckled and shook his head as Liam ran after him, taking the entry into the water a little more cautiously, and then turned to see Harry looking around the small grove with a wondrous expression.

"This is amazing, Louis," Harry said genuinely. When he looked Louis’s way, the sunlight caught his eyes and made them practically shine. "How did you find this place?"

"Stumbled on it while looking for hemlock for my gran," Louis responded, suddenly feeling awkward. "You like it?"

"I love it," Harry said, and Louis felt a rush of warmth. "Come on!"

Soon, the two of them were jumping into the water as well, laughing uproariously. The water was perfect, cool and clear, and the four boys took turns diving in, swimming laps and dunking each other under water. The sun warmed their skin every time they came up for air. They were perfectly content.

After a few hours, Louis and Harry sat in comfortable silence, sunning themselves on a large, flat stone near the water, while Zayn and Liam continued tormenting each other in the lake.

"You’ve really never seen anybody else out here?" Harry asked, closing his eyes and tilting his face towards the sun contentedly. He couldn’t believe this hidden spot wasn’t more popular with the nearby villagers. It was almost too perfect to be real.

"No," Louis responded sleepily from his side, stretching out on the stone. "And I come out here all the time, it’s…"

Louis suddenly stopped, sitting up ramrod-straight. His eyes were wide and his whole body went tense at once, as though he had just been shocked.

"What’s wrong?" Harry asked immediately, sitting up as well and looking at him with concern.

"There’s something –,"

"Harry, look out!" Zayn suddenly shouted, and Harry immediately grabbed Louis’s arm and pull them both to the side.

The place they had been sitting only a second earlier was suddenly showered with arrows. They clattered and smashed onto the rocks as Louis yelped in surprise, and Harry yanked him behind a tall vertical rock where they cowered, panting for breath.

"So it was the Crown Prince we just saw," came a voice from the woods that made Harry’s blood run cold. He peeked over the top of the rock and saw a group of men emerge from the tree line, wielding bows and swords, and he cursed under his breath.

"Bandits?" Louis whispered and Harry nodded.

"Hey, assholes," Zayn roared bravely from the water, where he swam quickly to reach the edge of the lake, "what’s your problem? You really think trying to murder the Prince in cold blood is a good move, motherfuckers?"

"Prince Harry," said a man with a dark beard and a bow in his hand, "we have no quarrel with your friends. Come out and face us and we will let them escape unharmed."

Harry’s pulse picked up in his ears as he saw several bandits take aim at Zayn and Liam, who were momentarily suspended, defenseless, in the water. He looked desperately for something to defend himself with, but they had brought nothing, no weapons of any kind – even his clothes were lying in a heap on the other side of the lake…

"Shit," Harry said, "okay," and then turned to Louis, whose face was pale and nervous. "It’ll be okay," he said, trying to force his voice to sound calm, the way his father always sounded in moments of crisis. "They won’t kill me, they’ll just… use me for ransom, or something. Just stay here, okay?"

"Harry," he heard Louis whisper harshly, but Harry was already standing, putting his hands in the air and walking slowly towards the bandits.

"Fine," he called out, "just… leave them alone," and approached the line of marauders, feeling exposed in nothing but the shorts he had used to swim.

His heart beat loudly in his ears as the bandits, tall, strong men with scars on their faces and arms, turned to focus on him, grinning viciously. Their leader walked out to meet him, his face full of scorn.

"You are your father’s child," the bandit proclaimed, and Harry grit his teeth. "You see yourself as heroic, but you are really just a fool."

I’m sure my father will think so, too, once he has to pay to retrieve me, Harry thought bitterly, but that thought dissolved into sudden panic as the bandit strung his bow with an arrow.

"And now you will answer for your father’s crimes," the bandit said as he pulled the string back, aimed directly at Harry’s heart.

He had no time to react, no idea what to do, heard Zayn and Liam shout in unison, and then –

And then, a great wind came rushing into the clearing, a wind that buffeted against the side of Harry’s head and practically threw him off his feet, a wind that knocked the bandit’s arrow away and sent it flying harmlessly into the forest.

The wind died down immediately, leaving the clearing in a second of stunned silence –

It was all Harry needed.

He launched himself at the bandit and wrenched the bow from his startled grasp, hitting him soundly over the head with the handle and wrenching a handful of arrows from his quiver. Rolling over, he fired three shots in quick succession, two of which hit their marks and sent bandits yelping and fleeing into the woods. An arrow whizzed narrowly over his head and he ducked, turned to see Zayn and Liam finally out of the water and disarming the nearest bandits, handily sending them packing into the woods. He fired one more shot at the bandit’s last remaining archer, and then they were all fleeing, the whole lot of them.

"Don’t come back!" he shouted giddily into the woods as he watched their retreating backs, and Zayn screamed "YES! YES!" while Liam just ran up to Harry babbling: "are you okay, Harry?! – we did it, we really did it, we won our first battle! – that wind was so lucky - I took that guy’s sword –,"

Harry held out an arm to stop Liam as he saw the leader of the bandits stir at his feet, sitting up to see three teenagers in their shorts holding bows and swords pointed directly at him.

The bandit glared up at Harry with hateful eyes. "Well then, Crown Prince," he said through gritted teeth, "do it. As I would have done to you."

Harry contemplated him with curiosity. "I don’t know what my father did to you to make you hate him like this," he finally said, dropping his bow. "But that is not the kind of person I am."

Somehow this only enraged the man more – he drew himself up, snarling: "if you don’t know what your father did to magic users in this country then you are an idiot as well as a tyrant –,"

It was the wrong thing to say. Harry suddenly felt his blood rush hot and loud in his ears, and he grabbed the bandit by the front of his shirt and wrenched him up, hissing, "So you’re a friend of sorcery, is that it? I was about to let you walk away, but perhaps you’ve managed to change my mind."

"Do it," the man breathed back with a wild gleam in his eyes, not defending himself, barely resisting. "It would be an honor to die in the same way as my parents, as my family, so do it. Just –,"

And Harry almost did.

But he felt a hand fall on his shoulder, a warm, familiar hand that pulled him back until he was looking at Louis. Louis, with his serious, dark eyes, his face lined with concern.

"Harry," Louis said quietly. "You’ve won. Let him go."

The words pierced through the red haze of anger that had taken over his vision, and Harry took a breath, lowered his head in a short nod. He turned back to the bandit, still in his grasp, who looked back and forth from Louis to Harry in confusion and anger.

Harry dropped him in a heap, watching him cough and struggle to rise. "You will leave Camelot and never return if you know what’s good for you," he said harshly, "because if I find you again, I will chase you out myself."

The bandit rose finally and began limping to the tree line, but took one look back at the group of four, and, inexplicably, began laughing. He cackled all the way into the forest, until his voice dropped out of range.

"Fucking weirdo," mumbled Zayn while Liam just shook his head.

"Are you okay?" Louis asked Harry, and Harry nodded.

"He was a sorcerer," Harry said, and saw Louis’s face go pale. "Or a friend of sorcerers."

"And we beat him," Liam said from his side, clasping his shoulder.

"Hell yes, we did," Zayn said, grabbing Harry's other shoulder. "We beat him in our underwear."

The four of them laughed in utter relief, standing on the edge of the lake for another long moment before Liam finally said, "okay, I’m officially done with this. Let’s go home already."

As they got dressed and started to pack up for the walk home, Harry noticed that Louis still seemed off, was still quiet and reserved compared to his normal self. As Zayn and Liam continued to dry off and grab their things, Harry pulled Louis to the side.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked quietly.

Louis’s eyes went wide. "Y-yes," he said quickly, "yes, I’m fine."

"You just seem… weird, I don’t know."

"Well, it’s, yes, I mean, it’s…" Louis gestured broadly to the lake, as though gesturing at the entire afternoon. "It's been a… a weird day."

"I think I get it," Harry said, inspecting Louis’s expressions carefully.

"You do?" Louis asked nervously.

"Louis," Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder, "just because you couldn’t fight today, doesn’t mean you weren’t helping us. I know that was probably pretty scary, but Zayn and Liam I… we’ve been training for this. And you don’t have to be a knight to be our friend, okay? I don’t want you to feel bad about that, or anything.”

Louis had a strange expression on his face, and he sighed deeply, nodding. “Okay. Thanks, Harry,” he finally said, crossing his arms. “It’s just… yeah. I guess I don’t like feeling helpless when you’re in danger.”

“Awww, Lou cares about us after all,” Harry teased, messing up Louis’ hair just to hear him splutter angrily, like normal. “Anyway, you helped. You were like… moral support,” he grinned as Louis went red in embarrassment.

“Yeah, Louis is like our cheerleader,” joked Zayn as the group finally started retracing their steps towards Camelot. Harry laughed while Liam hit Zayn, telling him to ‘be nice,’ and they trudged towards the forest.

They didn’t see Louis stop for a moment longer on the beach. They didn’t see the long moment of silence in which Louis watched the bandit's leader emerge quietly from the opposite tree line, pulling back a newly retrieved bow. They didn’t see the arrow whistle through the air, cutting a dangerous arc directly towards Harry’s back.

They didn’t see the arrow freeze, mid-air, and break in half, as Louis held up his arm steadily, making direct eye contact with the bandit himself. Louis dropped his arm, and the arrow dropped into the lake.

The bandit’s eyes were wide and dumbstruck as Louis stared him down, his face cold and determined. The trio disappeared into the forest.

And then Louis was gone, as well.

Chapter Text

Fourteen

Harry paced back and forth in his enormous room, nervously fidgeting every now and then with his hair, his tunic, and the crown that rested on his head. His room was large enough for him to pace, luckily; well, really, it was large enough for him to do almost anything he wanted. It was four times the size of a normal bedroom, with large windows on the eastern wall, a giant four-poster bed, a large table and desk, and enough room for him to sleep, eat, bathe, study, and nervously pace in all he liked.

There was to be an event tonight, an event that Harry had spent weeks preparing for. Camelot was hosting the kings and councils of every one of the Five Kingdoms. They were to be here, eating, talking, and strategizing, all in the Grand Hall.

Harry had paid enough attention in his history lessons to know that alliances were made and broken in the spaces of hours. And as his father had drilled into his head, he was to be absolutely perfect that night. So it had been etiquette classes, clothes fittings, and civics refreshers for days. He could probably recite the names and stations of every guest who would arrive that evening in his sleep.

Harry didn't care all that much about pomp and performance, or about his social status in the world of nobles. As the Prince, he didn't feel the strong need to jostle for friends who probably only cared about him because of his status. And he found those who enjoyed politics merely for the sake of politics somewhat disturbing. But he did care deeply about his kingdom’s wellbeing, and the social politics that happened at these events had a direct impact on Camelot’s ability to trade, to feed its citizens, and to defend itself.

For that reason, he felt a nervous apprehension as the dinner grew closer with every passing second. He was to be an ambassador for Camelot tonight, and one wrong word or action could throw his kingdom into jeopardy. He was no longer a child and would be taken seriously in his father’s court; an actor, not a bystander.

Harry felt anxiety start to swirl in his chest as he continued to pace, running his cues in his head over and over. His crown, which he rarely wore, seemed to grow heavier and heavier on his head.

A sudden tap at the window startled him and pulled him out of his anxious spiral. He looked at the short window closest to his bedside until the tap replicated. It was a pebble being thrown against the glass.

Failing to stifle a relieved grin, Harry rushed to open the window only to have another pebble strike him directly in the middle of his forehead.

“OH,” Louis cried below, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, Harry!”

“You idiot,” Harry laughed, rubbing his forehead and feeling a swell of relief to see his friend. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“More like trying to make sure you’re not already dead,” Louis shout-whispered, shuffling awkwardly on the ground. He was standing in the middle of the small garden that Harry’s north-facing window opened up into, looking just as out-of-place as ever. “Where have you been?”

Thinking back, Harry realized guiltily that he had probably dropped off the face of the Earth in Louis’s eyes, having been consumed by preparation for the dinner for the past week and a half, at least. Considering he and Louis saw each other nearly every day, he didn’t blame the other boy for being worried.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you,” Harry said, leaning on his elbows in the windowsill. “My father is hosting this enormous dinner tonight, and it’s very important. I’ve been totally consumed with getting ready for it.”

“Ah,” Louis said, nodding stiffly. “Explains the crown.”

“Oh,” Harry said, reaching up to touch it self-consciously. “Yeah.”

“Is that what happened to Zayn and Liam, too?”

“Yeah, everyone in the castle has been busy,” Harry winced.

A moment of awkward silence passed before Louis said, “well, okay, good then. I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’m sorry again for disappearing,” Harry said, feeling genuinely guilty for how lonely Louis looked by himself in the garden.

“Don’t apologize,” Louis said firmly, and Harry felt a rush of affection for how good of a sport his friend was being. “This is what a commoner like me gets for making friends with ye olde Crown Prince, eh?”

“I don’t remember saying we were friends,” Harry said with a smirk, and then ducked as another pebble flew into his window.

“Keep going and it’ll be a boulder,” Louis warned, his smile undermining the threat.

“Louis,” Harry called just as the other boy started to walk away, “how about tonight. After I’m done with everything – it’ll be late. We can meet by the stone pile?”

Louis turned around, brightening up, and nodded. “Okay! I’ll see you there.”

Harry closed the window just as Miriam opened up the double doors to his room.

“Prince Harry,” she said as she entered, only to shriek with alarm as he straightened and turned towards her. “By the – what happened to your forehead?!”

Thanks, Louis, Harry groaned internally as he was pulled towards a mirror until the little red spot left by the pebble was successfully rubbed into oblivion.

-----------------

The Grand Hall had never looked grander, Harry thought, as he entered it alongside his father. The engraved wood and stone of the Hall was polished to sparkling, and enormous oak tables spanned the length of the Hall so as to accommodate their dozens of guests. Through the vaulted windows, the evening sun cast bright, colorful hues over the entire assembly, the kings and nobles seated at their places as well as the servants who hurried back and forth with trays of food and goblets of ale.

The activity paused as a trumpeter announced the arrival of Harry and his father, and every guest rose in a great flurry of cloth as the King of Camelot approached his seat at the head of the great table.

“Honored guests,” the King spoke, his voice carrying to the furthest corners of the hall. Harry glanced at him nervously, feeling fortified just by his father’s presence. As terrifying as it was to be on his father’s Liam side, it was equally relieving to feel protected by him. His father was formidable, severe-looking yet fair, his light hair and eyes matching Harry’s. His body was lined and hardened, evidence of the many wars he had fought and won. The respect he commanded reverberated throughout the silent hall as the kings and council members of the other kingdoms attended closely to his words.

“We are honored to host you in Camelot tonight,” King Daniel said. “Our kingdom has been blessed with abundance, which we hope to share with you, our friends and allies. Please, eat, drink, and be well. I hope to speak to each of you in turn tonight.”

With that, he took his seat, and everyone sat down alongside him, the hall erupting into a low murmur of conversation.

Harry sat to the left of his father and was immediately provided with a plate full of food and a goblet of wine. He picked up his fork hesitantly, suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that every eye in the room was trained on him.

“You are old enough now to speak to these men as equals, Harry,” his father said, and Harry turned to the King quickly. His father looked at him seriously, and Harry shivered with the weight of his gaze. “You should do so, even if they attempt to treat you as a child.”

Harry nodded and drew himself up where he sat.

Throughout the night, several men approached the head of the table, taking their turns to speak to the King and make their various reports, offers and requests. Harry watched carefully as his father discussed and dispatched each conversation in turn, noting with interest how he never let a man leave feeling spurned, but made clear his intentions to those he was truly interested in dealing with. Harry’s father was a master of social politics, and Harry sat enraptured, soaking up everything he could learn.

At one point, Harry was introduced to Prince Andrew, an arrogant, self-aggrandizing fellow about his age who talked his ear off at length about the various shortcomings of Camelot’s castle.

“The mutton here is really quite nice, we don’t get it half as nice in Essetir… but I have to say I’m disappointed with the wine, I thought it’d be a bit sweeter? You should really try the wine from Essetir, our winemakers really know how to get a man drunk… I had to fire my useless manservant the other day for drinking too much of it on the job! You understand how that goes, I’m sure, it’s hard to find a decent manservant these days…”

“I don’t keep a manservant,” Harry managed to jump in during Andrew’s brief pause for breath, smiling politely and attempting the kind of patient diplomacy his father was displaying to his right.

Andrew gawked at him and then shrugged. “I suppose you are a bit young,” he said loftily. “You’ll get one soon, I’m sure, it’s only customary, and heavens, the time you save, on chores and cleaning armor and what not…. actually, if your Highness would allow me to offer some advice?”

Harry dipped his head, taking a sip of wine to hide the way his lips had thinned in annoyance.

“Make sure your servants know you can use the stick as well as the carrot, eh?” Andrew said, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially. “Nothing like a bit of roughing up to get something through a thick skull, you know what I mean?” he chuckled, downing the last of his goblet.

The suggestion was so abrasive to Harry that he had to struggle for a moment not to raise his voice. “That is not how we treat our servants in Camelot,” he finally managed, unable to keep the disgust out of his tone.

Andrew looked taken aback, but tried to shrug it off. Soon, though, he finally picked up on Harry’s unhappy expression and took his leave.

There was no quicker way to lose Harry’s respect than to say such a thing, he thought as he picked angrily at his food. As though it weren’t enough to order your servants around day and night, lording your superior wealth and power over them at every turn; but to also find it necessary to abuse them? Nothing could go more against the purpose of royalty, in Harry’s view, which was to serve and protect the people of Camelot, and especially those within the castle walls. He tried to stop himself from stewing over the conversation for the rest of the night, but Prince Andrew had firmly embedded himself as the worst kind of nobility in his mind.

Near the end of the night, as well-fed and slightly drunk guests began to slowly filter out for their various chambers, King Daniel and Prince Harry were approached by a tall, broad-shouldered man with a dark beard and hair which fell past his shoulders. Harry identified him as King William of Mercia, one of the five major kingdoms in Albion, and perhaps the most powerful next to Camelot.

William spoke quickly and fluidly, with a style that put Harry off nearly immediately. It felt as though William was constantly trying to pass something by without their noticing, a suspicion which immediately felt true as William said:

“… and we’ve been mightily successful with our crops this year, and would be happy to strike a trade agreement, King Daniel, if you find yourself short this winter. Our newly operational magic guild has ensured that our crops stay free from blight and locusts, and we feel confident…”

The background noise seemed to grind to a halt, and Harry narrowed in on the words William had just spoken, wondering if he had perhaps misheard. He felt his father doing the same thing as Daniel leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the table.

“Excuse me, William,” Daniel said, and the timbre of his voice would be enough to send many lesser men running. “Did you just speak of sorcerers in your kingdom?”

William hesitated as some of his council members glanced at him nervously. “Daniel,” he said in a saccharine, placating tone. “I know of your… distrust of sorcery, but you should know that magic can be used for any number of things, as a tool, for good or for—”

“And you’ve brought them into your government?” Daniel interrupted, his voice as cold as ice.

William faltered again, but drew himself up. “Yes, Daniel,” he said, “and I don’t regret it either. Like I said, our crops have—”

“I certainly hope, William,” Daniel said, and Harry felt certain that the same wave of anger he was starting to feel in his own chest was rising in his father’s, too, “that you have not actually brought one of these sorcerers into my kingdom today.”

At this, William’s advisors truly started to devolve into nervous chatter, backing away from the table and trying to whisper in William’s ear while he stayed still, narrowing his eyes at Daniel.

That was answer enough. Harry felt himself standing only to realize that his father was standing as well, booming, “Leave this castle immediately. As long as sorcerers hold power in your government, William, Camelot will never be open to you, not for trade or for protection. The choice is yours.”

William tried once more to hold up his hands, venturing, “Come now, Daniel—”

“He said leave,” Harry shouted this time, and he drew his sword. With pleasant surprise, he heard his father’s knights, who sat on all sides of them, follow his lead as they drew their weapons alongside him.

The motion shocked William, who stared at Harry in astonishment, but it worked. Narrowing his gaze, William turned with a billowing of his cloak, followed by his council of advisors as he took his leave of the Great Hall.

Harry’s heart pounded in his ears as he sheathed his sword and sat again at the table. His father’s hand rested briefly on his shoulder, and he glanced at Daniel, his heart leaping to see a hint of pride in his eyes.

“You did well, Harry,” the King said solemnly as he waved for the rest of the festivities to continue. “There is no room whatsoever for sorcery in any honest government. You give them an inch, and they will take root before you have a chance at stopping them. That includes forging alliances with them.”

“I know, Father,” Harry responded, meeting his gaze. “I will never let that happen to Camelot.”

-----------------

Harry was practically falling over his own feet in exhaustion by the time he was permitted to return to his chambers, but he remembered his promise to Louis, and after changing and grabbing a few items from the kitchens, he made his way across the castle grounds, illuminated by moonlight and the dying torches flickering in the castle windows.

The pile of flat stones in the quiet grove of trees was lit up by the moon so that they almost glowed, and as Harry grew closer, he could see the slight figure sitting cross-legged at the top of the pile.

“Miss me?” he called as he climbed up the stones, and saw Louis leap to his feet.

“Harry!” Louis said, grinning. “About time.”

“Have you been waiting long?” Harry asked with a yawn, collapsing onto his back on the top of the highest rock. Louis said no, he hadn’t, and Harry didn’t have enough energy to tell whether or not he was lying.

“Brought you food,” he mumbled, holding out the cloth bag he had lugged all the way from the kitchen. Louis would never ask for Harry to bring him food, but he always looked slightly starving, just a little malnourished, and Harry liked to do it. Tonight, Louis started immediately digging in, letting out little noises of delight at the food items considered delicacies even for nobles: spiced mutton, sweet cakes and all kinds of fruits, figs and nuts.

“Is this how you dickheads eat all the time?” Louis asked through a full mouth, and after a full night of etiquette and manicured politeness, the brashness of the question was such a relief that Harry wheezed with laughter over something that was not all that funny.

“I’m serious,” Louis said, his voice muffled, but laughed along with him. The moonlight illuminated him softly, bringing out the angles and shadows of his face. Harry felt overcome by fondness for him, and for the fact that he could just sprawl out on the rock in front of him instead of having to appear poised and proper at every moment.

“No, not all the time,” Harry responded. “Tonight was a special occasion.” Full to the brim of thoughts from the night, he started launching into a full account of everything that had happened while Louis kept eating. He talked about the various kings and nobles he had met, mentioned what an asshole Prince Andrew had been, and gave a play-by-play of his confrontation with King William. His story of seeing Zayn accidentally spill his goblet all over the ground made Louis snort with amusement.

By the time he had finished rambling, though, he noticed Louis looked a little conflicted. He was staring down at his hands as he turned an apple over and over in his palms.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, folding his hands over his chest and turning his head to look at Louis.

“It’s nothing,” Louis said guiltily, and Harry raised his eyebrows.

“You know I can see right through you,” he said, and Louis laughed and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know, Harry. It’s… you know I have no idea what you’re talking about, right?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

“You and Zayn and Liam, you all belong to this totally different world,” Louis rushed, and by the quickness of his words Harry realized he had probably thought this conversation over before. “And of course I don’t blame you for it, it’s who you are. But we’re getting older, and I just—I guess I don’t know how I fit in here. It was one thing when we were kids, but everything is changing now, and I just… I dunno.” He kept turning the apple nervously in his hands, refusing to look at Harry.

Oh. Harry sat up all the way, crossing his legs as he felt his heart sink. “I understand, Louis,” he said. “I know it can’t be easy being friends with me, when I’m… with everything. If you don’t want to come around anymore,” and wow, this was really hard—“then I understand.”

“No,” Louis said in frustration, “that’s—that’s not what I’m saying at all!” He hit his forehead with the heel of his palm in exasperation.

Harry was confused. “Then what are you saying?”

“Harry, you’re literally the Prince of Camelot and I’m just some random commoner,” Louis said, gesturing emphatically. “You’re so important and I am so… not. I’m just saying, you don’t have to waste your time with me if you don’t want to, okay? I’ll be fine,” he ended on an entirely unconvincing note.

OH. “Louis, you really are an idiot,” Harry said, shaking his head in exasperation.

Louis’s face went red and he crossed his arms. “Why? Tell me why I’m an idiot.”

“I like you because you aren’t like me,” Harry practically shouted, though not angrily. “Louis, you’re the only person I know who doesn’t treat me like I’m some perfect royal poster child. You’re honest with me and you don’t let me win at anything. Even though I usually win anyway.”

“Hey,” Louis protested.

“I’m just saying,” Harry continued, leaning over and poking him in the arm. “We’re friends, Louis, real friends. I’m not letting the fact that we’re different get in the way.” He felt almost embarrassed by the soft sincerity in his voice but chose to commit to the sentiment.

“Okay,” Louis mumbled, but he still looked hesitant. “Well, that’s easy enough to say now, but what happens when events like this become more common? You’re going to be King someday, Harry, you think you’ll still have time then to come hang out with me in—in the woods, or whatever?”

A small grin started to spread across Harry’s face. “Actually…” he said thoughtfully, “I might have a solution for that…”

-----------------

“A manservant?” said Harry’s father and Louis’s grandmother incredulously, unknowingly speaking in unison from opposite sides of the castle walls.

“Yes,” Harry and Louis spoke back, both forcing themselves not to shrink under the respective gazes of their guardians.

“And you have someone specifically in mind?” King Daniel said from his throne, leaning forward wearily. He looked tired from the previous night’s festivities but maintained his normal regal demeanor.

“Yes,” Harry repeated, standing as tall as he could. “My friend Louis, the healer Sylvia’s grandson. He’s—”

“—my best friend, and I’d be there to help him,” Louis said, sitting across from his grandmother at their well-worn kitchen table. “I would live within the castle walls, and I could send money back. I’d be able to go to school.”

She hummed thoughtfully as she crushed the herbs he had collected that day into a paste. “You understand this is no small decision,” she said, without looking at him. “Being aide to the prince is not the same as being his friend. You’ll be his servant, you’ll have to do the chores he gives you—”

“—without complaint,” the King continued. “He’ll have to learn to tend to the horses, to mend armor. He must be prompt and helpful, or else he won’t be worth the cost. We have others in the castle already who could take this role, others who are already familiar with the necessary duties…”

“Louis is a hard worker,” Harry said honestly. “He’s always helped his grandmother with her practice, as long as I’ve known him. And he’s smart, too—”

“—and kind. He doesn’t mistreat his servants, he’s always been good to me, and to us. I know I’ll have to work hard, but it’s not like I’ll be a slave. It’s like—Harry said he wants me to be like his advisor,” Louis tried to explain, hiding his nervously trembling hands underneath the table. “I’d be with him all the time, and he trusts my opinions.”

His grandmother finally set down her mortar and pestle and looked up at Louis. Her face was lined and serious, her dark eyes as perceptive and caring as ever. “And what about your gift, Louis?” she asked quietly, and Louis’s hands went still. “You understand the danger—”

“—of bringing someone into your life in that way? A manservant is more than an errand boy, Harry. He is someone you trust with your most private moments. He’ll know—”

“—almost everything about you. And that is something that is uniquely dangerous for you in that castle, Louis. If he were to discover—”

“—secrets pertaining to our kingdom, and if he were a traitor, there’s no telling the damage he could do. I say this not to cast doubts on the boy’s character, but to remind you—”

“—what is at stake. I know you must have thought about this. But I have to ask you, Louis:”

And the two guardians, speaking across the borders of distance, class, and circumstance, asked their children: “Do you trust him?”

And Louis and Harry looked up with confidence, and they both said, “Yes.”

-----------------

But here, their paths diverged. Because as Harry left his father’s throne room in high spirits, his goal achieved, Louis’s grandmother kept him in his seat with a long, hard look.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” she asked.

The words felt as though they pierced Louis through the sternum. His gran could always see right through him. It had always been that way.

The flame in their fireplace was dying out slowly, and she tilted her head towards it questioningly. Grateful for the distraction, Louis held out his hand and slowly coaxed the fire back to life with his magic, helping it lick up new kindling. He dropped his hand, satisfied, as the fire roared into a healthy blaze. Even performing simple spells always left him feeling warm and confident in a way only magic could.

His gran watched with a soft expression. “You won’t be able to do that in the castle. Ever.”

“I know,” Louis said with a twist in his gut.

“You know that I’ll be fine here, Lou,” Sylvia continued as she started to sweep up the dried herbs that had fallen onto the table. “I knew you would leave this house at some point to follow your own path. But is this really the life you want? A life led in secrecy? The castle may have its comforts, but it is not an easy task – to hide who you really are.”

Louis sat in silence as his grandmother continued her tasks without hurry, the fire’s slow burn filling the air with orange light and soft crackles. She was always so patient, always waiting for him to find the right words before he spoke.

Finally, he said, “It’s hard to explain.”

She hummed. “Just try.”

“It’s something about him”

At this, his grandmother paused her motions and looked up at him sharply. “Who?”

“Oh,” Louis said, feeling his face burn. “I meant Haz.”

She put her hands down slowly. “You call him Haz?”

“Yeah, it’s dumb. It’s a nickname, I guess, uhm… since we were kids,” Louis said, suddenly confused. “Why does that matter?”

She looked surprised, actually surprised, an incredibly rare emotion for her that he hadn’t seen even when he started conjuring sparks from his fingers as a child. But it was only for a moment, and she masked it well, though he noted how she leaned forward onto the table, paying even closer attention than she had before. “It’s nothing. Just… say what you were going to say.”

“I don’t really know what I was going to say, or at least what I want to say doesn’t make any sense,” Louis acknowledged, but kept talking, opening up the hatch to the crowd of confusing thoughts that had been rummaging about in his head for months. “There’s just something special about him. And I know how stupid that sounds because obviously he’s special, he’s the Prince. But I mean something else. I… I just get this feeling.”

His grandmother was silent. He actually felt unnerved by how closely she was paying attention to him.

“I really feel like he might allow magic to return to Camelot,” Louis rushed.

“You said Prince Harry hates magic,” his grandmother said immediately.

“He does, which is why it doesn’t make any sense,” Louis said, burning red again and burying his head in his hands in frustration. “Ugh, I can’t speak.”

“You’re doing fine, Louis, just fine,” she said, patting the top of his head kindly. “What you’re saying is very interesting to me. I want you to keep going.”

After a long moment, Louis lifted his head again. “He does hate magic, I mean really hates it. And – and there are even some times I feel afraid of him. And yet I feel… I feel drawn to him,” he finally mumbled, feeling embarrassed by the words. “I want to protect him. And when I ask myself why I feel that way, beyond the fact that he’s my closest friend, the other answer I find is… because he’s going to be King someday. And… he’s going to bring magic back to Camelot. I don’t know why I think this, but I do.”

His grandmother was very still, and very quiet.

“What does it mean, Gran?” Louis asked, feeling very unnerved.

In place of an answer, she rose and walked towards her bookshelf, mumbling something under her breath. The book she pulled down from the shelf was well-worn and almost impossibly old, the leather cover scratched and water-marked, yet fully intact. Louis couldn’t read the letters on the cover, as they were written in the alphabet of the Old Language, but his grandmother could, and she flipped quickly to a well-marked page of the manuscript, where she ran a finger down the page until she found what she was looking for. As she read, she shook her head and a laugh escaped her mouth.

“I should have known,” she muttered, a weird grin on her face.

“Gran, you’re sort of freaking me out,” Louis said nervously.

She looked up at him and her eyes were sparkling. Louis was actually taken aback as she said, “Lou, I think you’re right. I think you’re right about everything.”

“…what are you talking about?” he asked incredulously as she placed the book in front of him. From the Old Language lessons she had managed to fit in during the few free hours of their days, he could make out some of the words, but the rest dissolved into unintelligible scribbles in his eyes. His grandmother pointed at one passage, where Louis could make out exactly one word: dream.

“This is a book of prophecies,” his grandmother said as Louis strained to make out the surrounding words, “that witches and wizards across Albion have clung to for decades. For years, we’ve been hunted down and burned in every kingdom, not just Camelot. And for years, we’ve been trying to understand the meaning of this prophecy. The dream of Camelot.”

“The dream of Camelot?” Louis repeated numbly. His head was spinning.

“We all – we all gave it a literal interpretation,” his grandmother babbled, laughing again and hitting her forehead with her palm. “You should have heard the council meetings, every single time some Camelotian mage with recurring nightmares came in claiming to understand the key to balance…”

“Gran, I don’t understand what you’re saying and I can’t read this,” Louis interrupted in frustration, pushing the book across the table. “Explain.”

As though remembering her surroundings, Sylvia took a deep breath and collected herself, taking the book back and inspecting it once more with a wry smile still on her lips. “In the darkest age,” she read aloud, “the dream of Camelot will restore balance to Albion.”

Then she raised her palms in the air. “That’s it. You can understand how there would be confusion.”

“Yes, I am very confused,” Louis half-shouted in exasperation.

“Bringing balance to Albion – uniting all of the Five Kingdoms – we’ve known for decades that it’s the only way magic can be restored to the land,” his grandmother forged on, standing and pacing as she explained. “Until Albion lives in peace, magic will always be used as a tool of war, and will always be scorned and punished by those who lack it. It’s a story as old as the land itself, Louis. And this -,” and here she pointed again at the book, “this is what we’ve been waiting for.”

The gears in Louis’s head were turning at last, and he stared at the page in a sort of shell-shocked state. “And… and you think this book is talking about Harry? My Harry?” Weird, goofy idiot Harry? he thought—but just as quickly thought about Harry's constant bravery, his natural fairness towards others, his easy strength and talent, and realized with a start that, yes, he could picture it. He could picture Harry as an incredible leader.

His grandmother returned to the book, where she scanned it again. “This page also talks about a powerful sorcerer who will help lead a King of Camelot to greatness. You have to understand,” she chuckled, running a hand through her hair, “prophecies like that are almost a dime a dozen, but now, in context, Louis… this could be about you.”

“Gran, that doesn't make any sense,” Louis said, pushing up from the table finally. “I am not a powerful sorcerer. I can barely lift pebbles higher than a foot, and you remember that time I caught my eyebrows on fire? The best thing I’ve ever done was that wind I summoned last year, with the bandits, and—and I don’t even know how I did that! I haven’t done it since! It’s—this can’t be talking about me, Gran, it just can’t. I’m not—”

His grandmother grabbed him gently but firmly by the shoulders, breaking him out of his anxious spiral. He looked at her, and in the light of the fire which still blazed brightly in the furnace, he saw something he hadn’t seen before. Beyond the wrinkled lines and gray hair of his grandmother, a light was flaring in her eyes, a kind of wildness as she drew herself up proudly. He saw Sylvia for the witch she was, and shivered.

“Louis,” she said calmly. “Summon a flame in your hand.”

Louis swallowed and did so, opening his palm until a small flicker of fire appeared and danced in his hand.

“Good,” she said, and then held up her own hand. “Forbearnan,” she whispered in the Old Language to her palm, as Louis had seen her do a hundred times, lighting an identical flame which she held up to compare to Louis’s. Louis stared at their hands, enraptured.

“There,” she said, “equal. Now, tell me, Louis. Why didn’t you speak?”

Louis was pulled out of his thoughts. “What?”

“You didn’t cast a spell,” his grandmother said, raising her eyebrows. “How did you conjure the flame?”

“I dunno,” Louis said, suddenly feeling foolish that he had never noticed the difference before. He rolled the flame around absently from hand to hand. “Just did it.”

“Exactly, Louis, exactly,” his gran said, snuffing out her flame as she grabbed Louis’s hands. “You’re an elemental wizard, Louis. Most people have to learn magic, but you were born with it. It was the same way with your mother,” and now the pride was evident in her voice, and Louis swallowed back a lump in his throat. “She was wildly gifted, even as a child. From the minute you started lighting your own candles as a child, I knew you had inherited her gift,” she chuckled, her eyes shining. “And now I see you have something even greater written into your destiny.”

“I’m supposed to help Harry,” Louis said numbly, before she could say it for him. It was something he already knew to be true, but it was still bizarre to hear the words come out of his mouth. “I’m supposed to protect him.”

“You knew it even before I did, and that’s saying something.” His gran dropped his hands and returned to the book. “Nothing is set in stone, Louis, especially not the future,” she murmured. “Harry—Prince Harry—he has to live long enough to become king. And he has to change his mind about magic, as well. Otherwise, our people will forever remain in persecution.”

Poor Louis looked like he might have a stroke. He sat down heavily in his chair, burying his head in his hands and groaning. A few seconds later, he felt his gran combing through his hair with her hand like she always did when he felt overwhelmed, and he relaxed into the comforting touch.

“One thing at a time, Louis,” she said softly. “The most important thing you can do right now is to keep being Prince Harry’s friend. You two were drawn to each other, even as children. You can trust that bond.”

“You don’t know the way he talks about sorcerers,” Louis mumbled, feeling his heart sink even at the thought. “If I told him I have magic… I’d never see him again, or worse, he’d throw me in the dungeons.”

“No, you can’t tell him yet,” his gran mused. “It will take time.”

“So you want me to lie to him?” Louis asked, feeling his stomach churn. Somehow, that felt even worse than facing the dungeons.

“You’re protecting yourself, and further, you’re protecting him. Remember what you told me about the bandits? Do you think it was an accident you were there to save him?”

Louis sighed deeply. “I guess not.”

“You need to be there to protect him. It’s fated. The fact that he can’t tolerate magic… that’s his shortcoming, not yours,” his grandmother said. “The quest to help Harry become King, to help him unite Albion, and to save our people from the pyre… these are all incredibly noble aims, Louis. You have a difficult road ahead of you. But I have faith.”

“You don’t know how stubborn Harry can be,” Louis said, and they both dissolved into giggles.

His grandmother pulled him into a hug. “I’ll miss you. You’ll visit often?”

“All the time,” he promised, hugging her tightly.

-----------------

The next morning, Louis was once again trudging across the castle grounds, this time carrying all of his possessions in a small bag on his back. The sunrise set the castle aflame as he neared it, and he paused on the lawn for a moment to appreciate the sight, for the last time, as an outsider. The towering spires glowed gold in the morning light, and the banners fluttered gently in the breeze—Camelot, grand and untouchable, soon to be his home. A place of secrets, a place of power. A place where he would have to hide who he truly was.

And then he saw Harry open the side door for him, waving with a wide grin, his green eyes bright with excitement. “Took you long enough,” he called out, laughter in his voice.

Louis felt something warm settle in his chest. For all the uncertainty, all the fear, he knew one thing for certain—he would follow Harry anywhere.

He smiled back and picked up his pace, walking steadily towards his destiny.

Chapter Text

sixteen

The noon sun beat down mercilessly on top of Louis’s head. Stuffed inside of a suit of second-hand armor, he felt like a chicken roasting in a metal pot. His heart hammered in his chest as he readjusted his grip on the unwieldy sword in his right hand, hoisting a heavy shield in his left.

Several yards in front of him stood his opponent, covered from head to toe in finely made chainmail and iron armor. His sword glinted dangerously in the sunlight.

On all sides of them stretched an enormous, empty field, the grass scorched and yellow from the summer heat. There was nobody else in sight. Crickets and cicadas whirred loudly from the grass and trees nearby, and Louis thought bitterly that they would be the only witnesses to the travesty that was about to unfold.

“Defend yourself or die!” his opponent roared, his voice muffled through the helmet.

Louis grit his teeth and widened his stance. “Come on then,” he yelled back, cursing himself as he heard his voice waver, and waited for the inevitable.

All at once, his opponent raised his sword and rushed him, moving fluidly, as though the weight of his armor meant nothing at all. Louis heaved his shield up in a last-minute block of his opponent’s first strike and swung his sword in a wide arc his opponent easily parried, shoving him backwards. His opponent struck him once more on the shield, then lunged for his right side; Louis managed to bring his sword up in a block, but the impact knocked him back a half-step so that he wobbled for a second, off-balance.

Seizing the moment, his opponent feinted to the right and then brought his full weight against the shield that Louis tried to bring cross-body to block the blow, successfully knocking him onto the ground. Louis hit the earth with an oof, the heaviness of the armor worsening the impact, and brought his shield up against another strike of the sword. Frantically, Louis tried to swing his weapon from the ground, but the other man kicked it from his hand.

Louis’s attacker planted a foot on his chest, swung his sword in an arc, and aimed the point at Louis’s heart. For a moment, Louis felt his magic instinctively spark to life in his hands, showing him everything he could do to defend himself: twist his arm, knock him back, let the earth swallow him whole…

“Do you yield?” came the metallic voice, and Louis closed his fist, stifling his magic and letting his head fall back in annoyance.

“Alright, fine, I get it already,” he shouted in exasperation. “Will you let me up, please?”

Rather than remove his foot, his attacker brought his hand up to remove his helmet and threw it to the side. Prince Harry grinned down at his servant, sweat lining his brow and plastering his hair to his forehead.

“Come on, Louis, it’s no fun if you don’t yield,” he said, his eyes glinting mischievously.

“Are you kidding me, Harry?” Louis groaned, but Harry didn’t move his foot, raising an eyebrow in expectation.

“I yield, I freaking yield, you dolt, get off me!”

Harry chuckled and stepped back, and Louis pulled himself up from the ground with as much dignity as he could muster.

“This is servant abuse, you know,” Louis grumbled, tearing his own helmet off.

“Hey, you agreed to come out here with me,” Harry reminded him, and Louis sighed because it was true. An afternoon spent training with Harry beat sitting around the castle mending tunics any day, no matter how many bruises he ended up with afterward.

Harry returned to his initial position and turned again, sword in hand. “Okay, one more round. Best out of five.”

“Harry, come on,” Louis complained. “We’ve been out here for hours.”

“I have to train, Louis! Do you want me to fail at the Tournament?”

“If you actually wanted to train, you should have found Zayn,” Louis retorted, throwing down his shield. “At this point, you’re just beating me to make yourself feel better.”

At this, Harry looked sort of guilty. “I told you, Zayn was busy,” he said in defense, but he dropped his stance. “We have been out here for a while. We should probably head back.”

“What a great idea, where’d you get it?” Louis said sarcastically, earning him a punch in the shoulder that rattled his armor.

Their horses had drifted across the wide field they had chosen to practice in, and as Louis and Harry started trudging their way across it, Louis snuck a glance at his friend. Though they had both grown taller, Harry maintained his nearly half-a-foot-high lead, to Louis’s great chagrin. His constant training had filled him out so that he was strong and moved capably in his heavy armor. But he was still young, and in the way he looked down at his feet as they walked, Louis could sense anxiety about the upcoming competition Harry had spent months practicing for.

“You’re not nervous about the Tournament, are you, Harry?” Louis said, and then immediately regretted the way he phrased it as Harry looked sharply at him, put on the defensive.

“Of course not,” he snapped. “Don’t be stupid.”

Louis raised his palms. “Sheesh, sorry.”

After a pause, Harry sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t snap. I’m just…” he trailed off.

“…nervous about the tournament?” Louis finished dryly, and Harry rolled his eyes but shrugged his shoulders once.

“I guess,” he said as they reached their horses. Harry grabbed his horse by the reins and started packing away his things without much fanfare, but Louis had to take his horse by the halter and coo to her a bit at first, saying “had a good afternoon, did we, Daisy? Ready for a nice ride back, yes you are…”

Harry really rolled his eyes at this. “You named your horse Daisy?”

“Well, what’s yours named?” Louis asked as he brushed some twigs away from Daisy’s mane. She was a gray speckled mare who he loved very dearly, and who secretly got a forbidden apple from the kitchens every now and again.

“He doesn’t have a name, he’s a horse,” Harry replied, planting his right foot in its stirrup and swinging himself up onto the saddle with ease. “Giving him a name would be demeaning.” His horse, a black stallion with a white stripe down his front, whinnied and dipped his head as though in agreement.

“You just don’t understand animals,” Louis said dismissively as he clambered on top of Daisy. Harry laughed at this as though Louis had made a joke, but Louis secretly believed it to be true. He patted Daisy as they started walking and she snorted (happily, in Louis’s opinion).

“Maybe shoveling their poop all day gives a man a better appreciation for them,” Harry joked, and Louis glared at the back of his head.

They started the ride back, retracing their steps through the worn path in the forest. Louis was grateful for the shade the woods provided, the great oaks and maple trees stretching overhead and relieving some of the summer heat. He was still in his armor and felt stifled by it. He spent considerable parts of his day cleaning armor, but never had a reason to wear it unless Harry pulled him along for one of his little training sessions. Riding a horse with armor on was a distinctly unpleasant experience.

Harry looked unfazed, as usual, looking just as comfortable in full armor as he did in his night clothes every evening. Noting this while looking at the prince’s back led Louis to return to their previous conversation.

“You know you’re literally going to win the Tournament, though, right?” he said as he urged Daisy on a little faster so that he and Harry were riding side by side. “You’ll be great, like you always are.”

Harry glanced at him but then looked away with a sigh. “Maybe,” he said.

Though there was clearly something bothering Harry he wasn't saying, Louis basically understood his worry. Next week’s tournament was nothing like the monthly jousts held for fun by the Camelot court, which Harry had won several times. The Tournament, capitalized, was held once every five years, and it invited competitors, and crowds, from across Albion. Participants were placed through a series of grueling events designed to test their strength, skill, and bravery, and everyone participated with exactly one goal in mind: to secure an invitation to join the Knights of Camelot. At the end of the Tournament, King Daniel would stand in front of the entire crowd and announce the names of the men he was most impressed with to invite them to join the Knights. He could choose as many or as few as he liked. Rumor had it that one year, he did not accept a single contestant, and the entire population went home disappointed.

Though Harry had been in training to join the Knights since the day he was born, this year was the first he was old enough to participate – to officially earn a seat as a knight in his father’s court. And it had been his sole, obsessive focus for months. As it grew closer and closer with each passing day, Harry had become even more laser-focused and slightly neurotic.

“Harry,” Louis said as he ducked under a particularly low-hanging branch, “even if you don’t win an invitation tomorrow, your father will make you a knight as soon as you turn eighteen. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said dismissively, but he didn’t seem comforted. “Hey, you think I can make that jump?” he asked suddenly, pointing at a large ditch in the road, which they had skirted on their way out.

“No,” Louis said immediately. The ditch was practically twice the size of an average jump. “Absolutely not.”

“I think I can,” Harry said, and suddenly dug his heels into the side of his horse, shouting “yah!” and snapping his reins. His horse whinnied and took off in a gallop, leaving Louis to watch in terror as Harry and his horse barreled recklessly towards the gap.

“He’s not gonna make it,” Louis mumbled under his breath, and as Harry’s horse neared the gap, he took in a breath and held out his hand, summoning wind.

A small ball of wind appeared behind Harry’s horse, and as it launched itself up from the earth, Louis pushed it forward with as much force as he could muster without it becoming suspicious. He could feel it push them along a few inches at least, but even then, Harry’s horse faltered at the opposite edge, his hind legs only barely finding purchase in the soft soil.

Harry whooped obliviously and threw a fist in the air. “Good horsey!” he yelled, patting his horse on the flank, who Louis thought looked distinctly windblown and confused.

“So you did give your horse a name,” Louis said as he and Daisy climbed carefully around the ditch.

“What, horsey? That’s not a name,” Harry argued, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, it’s not a word,” Louis said with a grin.

“You’re just mad cause we proved you wrong,” Harry said, patting Horsey again and turning away haughtily. “I keep telling you not to doubt me, Louis.”

Louis rolled his eyes behind his back and they forged on.

They filled their ride with easy, mindless chatter as they continued on the long road home. They took long rides like this every now and then, whenever Louis had finished with his chores and Harry wanted company, and they knew the sights and sounds of the Camelot countryside quite well.

Which is why they both fell silent as they started to pick up on something that sounded very, very wrong.

“Do you hear that?” Louis said finally, and Harry nodded immediately, picking up his reins and urging his horse into a trot. Louis followed close behind, and they rode towards a nearby hill, towards the sounds of shouts and crashes that were growing ever-louder.

“It’s that village,” Louis realized suddenly, “that village we saw on the way here,” and Harry didn’t respond, just urged his horse on a little bit faster until they finally crested the hill and saw it for themselves.

The village, no more than a dozen houses and a few acres of farmland in the middle of a large meadow, was burning. The villagers ran from their homes, shouting in panic, as various men dressed in dark garments barged into house after house, leaving laden with food, weapons, and other valuables.

“Pillagers,” Harry muttered, and Louis went pale. Pillagers, the name commoners had assigned to dangerous, organized groups of thieves, had been increasing in number in recent months, and the wreckage they left behind was always horrible: innocent people murdered in cold blood, children left orphaned, whole villages pillaged and burned to the ground. And for no reason, it seemed, other than the scant amount of money they could rip from common people.

Suddenly, Louis realized Harry was grabbing his sword and gave a start. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice rising in pitch.

“I’m helping the villagers,” Harry said shortly, putting on his helmet.

“Harry,” Louis said, panic rising in his chest, “there’s a dozen of them, at least! We can’t just --,”

“Louis, what else do you want to do? Ride away and leave them here?” Harry shouted, turning towards him, and Louis could actually feel the glare even through the helmet. “These are Camelot citizens, and I’m helping them!”

And then Harry lashed his horse’s reins and took off into the village in a gallop.

“Son of a --,” Louis threw his head back and bit back a scream. “Why does he make everything so difficult?”

Then he swung off of Daisy and grabbed his sword and shield, running in after him.

By the time he reached the village, Harry had already cut down a few pillagers from his perch on his horse and was clashing with another who held a broadsword. Louis swiveled his head from left to right, looking for a way to help, until he noticed a woman screaming at her burning house. He ran to her side.

“My baby,” she said, and Louis heard a sharp, piercing cry from inside, and yep, that would do it. Louis dropped his things and ran into the burning building.

The smoke immediately stung his eyes and burned his throat, but he forged on, searching for the source of the cries. He reached a room on the second floor and found a makeshift wooden crib, where a toddler stood and screamed, tears streaking through the ash on his cheeks.

“Come here,” Louis said, rushing to grab the child in his arms. “That’s it. You’re okay.”

Suddenly, he heard a great creak coming from above him, and looked up just in time to see a burning ceiling beam come loose from its bearings and hurtle directly towards them.

The baby screamed as Louis instinctively threw a hand in the air over them, holding the beam up with a surge of magic. Shaking, he slowly let the beam tip over so it crashed into the floor next to them, gasping for air as he dropped it.

The baby stared at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“Let’s keep that between you and me, eh?” Louis said hoarsely before hearing another creak from the ceiling and making a dash for the door.

After depositing the baby with his tearful mother, Louis scanned the village for signs of Harry, and found him on the other side of the small village, holding off three pillagers at once. Horsey was gone, and Harry’s helmet had somehow fallen off at some point, but he was grinning maniacally, parrying and dodging blows like he was the lead in some sort of psychotic dance. When one of the pillager’s swords glanced off Harry’s armor just a little too closely, Louis’s heart caught in his throat, and he scrambled for his sword and shield, racing to reach him and help.

But a dozen yards or so away from Harry, he was intercepted by a pillager who rose from the smoke of a nearby building like some kind of phantom apparition – an apparition with a very real, very deadly sword, which he swung at Louis’s head like had had been born to decapitate him. Louis pulled his sword up and blocked the blow, feeling the shock waves travel down his arms, and realizing with panic that maybe he should have paid more attention during his training with Harry.

“Louis!?” he heard Harry shout, and unwilling to distract him, Louis shouted back, “I got it!”

The pillager leered at him. He had a tattooed mark around his right eye that made it look slightly larger than his left, and it gave him a deranged look as he lunged at Louis again and again. To Louis’s credit, he parried and blocked with his shield well enough, and one of his own swipes even cut across the pillar’s arm successfully – but it wasn’t enough when, just like earlier, a particularly good hit knocked Louis off balance and suddenly he was pinned against the wall of a smoldering building, their two swords clashing and putting him up close and personal with a sweaty man with very yellow teeth.

“Who are you supposed to be, the court jester?” the man snarled, pressing closer to Louis.

“Oh, god,” Louis couldn’t help himself from saying, “your breath is terrible --,”

Something over his assailant’s shoulder caught his attention, although his entire body was consumed with the effort of keeping the pillager’s sword away from him. Harry had successfully brought his fight down to a two-against-one, and was standing on the high ground on a small hill, fending off two pillagers at once. But what he couldn’t see was that behind him, a third pillager was racing up to meet him on a mangy-looking horse, a sword held high in the air, and as he reached Harry he brought it down in a clean arc towards his head –

Louis screwed his eyes shut and summoned up the last bit of magic energy he had left in him, praying it would be enough – and suddenly heard that mangy horse practically scream. When he opened his eyes again, he saw it doing exactly what he had asked it to do, which was to buck up in the air, toss its rider, and flee into the nearby forest. Harry’s would-be assailant smashed his head on the ground and went still, while Harry went on fighting, having never registered the danger he was in.

Louis exhaled in relief –

and then felt the sword pierce through his shoulder.

Louis shouted in shock, having for a moment forgotten that he was being attacked himself, and then used the pure adrenaline from the pain to heave the pillager away from him in a single motion and then run him through with his sword. He and his attacker stared at the sword in mutual shock before the pillager collapsed.

Louis took one breath, then another, his hand coming up to meet his shoulder where it was stabbed, finding it sticky with blood. He groaned, his head swimming, but tried to push through the haze in his vision as he looked frantically for Harry – was he okay? He had to make sure –

And there he was, plunging his sword into one last pillager while the remaining few fled rapidly on their horses. Harry was dirty with ash and blood, his eyes wild with battle, but Louis saw, even from a distance, that he was unharmed; his armor was barely even scratched.

Louis and Harry made eye contact, and the prince flashed an adrenaline-powered grin.

And then Louis collapsed.

He didn’t pass out – the wound wasn’t that bad – but he needed to sit down… he needed to sit down very badly. He focused on breathing and applying pressure to his shoulder as he saw Harry’s feet race up to meet him, slowly registering the prince’s voice.

“Louis, what the hell?! Are you okay?” Harry was shouting, kneeling in front of Louis to look at the wound. “Oh my god, Louis, why did you come down here?”

Louis looked at him like he was stupid. “Wanted to help,” he muttered. His tongue felt heavy and leaden in his mouth.

Harry laughed shortly in disbelief. And then all of a sudden Louis was being scooped up easily in his arms, like some kind of maiden in distress.

“Hey,” he squeaked, but Harry completely ignored him, marching resolutely through the village (where villagers called out profuse thanks as they put out the flames) and starting to climb the hill towards their horses.

“That was a stupid thing to do, Louis,” Harry was saying, and Louis could hear the worry in his voice as clear as day. “I could have handled that on my own.”

You would have died without my help, Louis thought, but bit back the words. “I helped a woman,” he said instead, hearing with a wince how his words sort of slurred. Drained of both physical and magical energy, he let his head drop gently against Harry’s shoulder, trading dignity for rest. Distantly, he could hear Harry's heart beating rapidly through the armor. “Wasn't completely useless.”

Harry was silent as they reached their horses; he hoisted Louis carefully on top of Daisy, where he quickly secured him as Louis slumped forward, holding on to Daisy’s saddle. And then Louis felt Harry’s hand on his knee as Harry said, “You weren’t useless at all, Louis. You were very brave.”

-----------------

One week later, Louis was up before the sun, stretching and yawning in the small, cozy room he had inhabited for the past two years. He glanced out of the small window cut into the stone above his bed and saw other servants already moving quietly about the castle grounds, preparing for the big day. Just like them, Louis had a lot to do today.

He took a moment at the small mirror in his room to undress his bandages and inspect his injured shoulder. It was nearly healed except for a small scar which he actually quite favored, but he kept the bandages on for appearances’ sake considering his wound had disappeared supernaturally quickly, thanks to his gran.

“Once in the morning and once at night,” she had said, applying a paste of natural herbs she had mixed with a healing potion that had taken her all night to concoct. “You’ll be healed in a few days.”

“Wow.” The magic had started to set in almost immediately, and Louis felt as though he could actually feel the muscles in his shoulder repairing themselves. “Can you teach me how to do this?”

“Healing is the most difficult kind of magic,” his gran had said as she continued her work. “Like with most things, it’s easier to take life away using magic than it is to restore it. I can teach you, but it will take a long time. Even for you, little gifted one,” she said as she ruffled his hair.

Louis sighed in slight exasperation at the memory, pulling his shirt back on and inspecting his appearance in the mirror. His gran still treated him like he was a little kid. Louis didn’t feel like a kid anymore, though. He had responsibilities, now, real ones. Even if nobody else knew about the most important one.

The path from Louis’s room to Harry’s room was so familiar it might as well have been worn into the stone. The sun finally broke over the horizon as Louis followed his route through the halls, and the light coming through the castle windows quickened his pace. There were only so many hours in the day to prepare for the Tournament, which was to officially begin tomorrow.

As he reached the prince’s quarters, Louis gently pushed opened the double doors and saw a familiar sight: Harry sprawled out haphazardly across his double bed, his bedsheets tangled in his legs, his hair mussed and eyes closed, dead to the world. Louis smiled to himself as he heard a soft snore drift from the bed. How precious, he thought sarcastically, padding quietly across the room.

And then he ripped open the curtains, letting the sun pour in through the east-facing windows.

“Wakey wakey,” he said cheekily as he heard a noise of protest from behind him.

“Louis,” a barely-awake Harry groaned, squinting into the light. His hair stuck up around his ears and his eyes were bleary. “Close the curtains.”

Louis clapped his hands instead, turning to walk towards him. “Big day today! Time to get up!”

“Too early,” the prince grumbled, turning over and pulling his blanket over his head.

Louis grabbed the edge of the blanket and ripped it off of the bed entirely, making Harry sit up with a shout. “The Tournament competitors will be arriving in a few hours,” Louis reminded him. “I don’t think you want to oversleep.”

Harry glared. “You know there are nicer ways to wake a person up in the morning, Louis,” he muttered as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Especially royalty.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Highness, what would you prefer next time?” Louis asked, opening Harry’s dresser to grab his outfit for the day.

“Breakfast in bed or something, I don’t know,” Harry mumbled, squinting into the sunlight again.

“In your dreams,” Louis said, shoving the clothes into Harry’s arms. “Get dressed while I go get your food.” Harry waved him away like he was shooing a fly and disappeared behind the small partition in the room to get dressed.

It had taken them both a while to adjust to their roles, but they had settled into it pretty well, Louis reflected as he made his way to the kitchens, brushing past other members of the castle staff and smiling at them in greeting. At first, he and Harry had acted totally friendly, as though nothing had changed, an illusion that was shattered the first time Harry had to ask him to do chores; then they had overcorrected into being entirely too formal with each other, before both calling it quits out of sheer misery. Now, they had found a good balance, retaining their friendliness with each other while respecting their mutual positions.

On Louis’s part, he had to overcome the natural awkwardness of fetching your friend’s laundry and breakfast and things. It wasn’t exactly helpful to his pride to basically be at Zayn’s, and anybody else in the castle’s, beck and call. But Louis had swallowed his pride pretty quickly. Being at Harry’s side meant that he was there to protect him – secretly, of course – from the several deadly events that tended to threaten the prince’s life every month. That was his true role, not the errand boy he had to playact as during the day. Anyway, he had to recognize that most commoners would have killed to have his job. He was housed and fed well in the castle, paid enough to help his gran, and was even able to attend some lessons in his free time.

On Harry’s part, once he knew Louis was okay with the arrangement, his natural royal bossiness sort of took over, and they fell into mutual agreement. Besides, it wasn’t like Louis became a doormat just because he was a servant. Louis was a commoner and Harry was royalty, and that was just how it was; but there were no laws regulating how snippy Louis could be about it.

By the time Louis had returned with breakfast, Harry was sitting at his desk, looking out the window pensively. He had some of his finest clothes on, well-made leather pants and a red tunic which draped over his shoulders. He had washed his face and hair, and looked cleaner and more awake already.

“Are you ready for today?” Louis asked as he placed the tray of food on the desk. He jumped up to perch on an empty windowsill.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, breaking himself out of his thoughts. He inspected the tray, which was piled high with fruits, pastries and meats, and raised his eyebrows. “This is a lot. Have you eaten yet?”

“No, actually,” Louis said, having not even thought about it, and Harry pushed the tray towards him. Louis leaned over and grabbed an apple and a scone, which he dug into thankfully.

“You’ll need your energy, because there’s a lot to do today,” Harry said, and launched into the laundry list of chores he had for Louis. Most of them had already made it onto Louis’s internal list: Harry’s horse needed a full grooming, his armor needed polishing, and the tent he would use for the Tournament needed to be pitched and prepared for the following day.

"I’ll be greeting guests with my father in the Great Hall all day, so I won’t see you until tonight,” Harry finished.

“Scoping out the competition?” Louis asked lightly, but Harry didn’t respond, and the closed-off, nervous expression that had become so common over the past month returned to his face as he stopped eating breakfast and looked back out the window.

Louis looked at him with a hint of frustration. Harry was clearly worried about the Tournament, on some level greater than being nervous for the competition, but he refused to talk to Louis about it. Obviously, he didn’t have to. But also obviously, it was messing with his head. And Louis didn’t like seeing Harry like this, all closed off and unsure, so different from his usual, ultra-confident persona.

“Okay,” Louis finally said. “Good luck. I’ll make sure everything is ready for tomorrow, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Thanks, Louis,” Harry said, shooting him a grateful glance.

“No problem,” Louis said, jumping down from the windowsill. “And hey, if anyone gives you a bad vibe, just let me know and I’ll sneak into their tent tonight for some good old-fashioned sabotage. Missing weapons, snakes in the bed, itching powder in the armor, you name it.”

This, finally, got a smile from Harry, his eyes crinkling up at the edges. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he said dryly as Louis gave a mock salute and set out for his chores.

-----------------

The castle grounds were bustling by noon, full of commotion from the participants who were arriving from all over Albion. The great field which was usually used as the knights’ training grounds had been repurposed into an enormous stadium, and the various nobles and lords who had come to compete strolled around surveying the field solemnly, as though treading the ground before the Tournament tomorrow would unlock some secret knowledge they would need to earn a spot on at the King’s side. With them came their servants, sometimes dozens of them, hauling in armor, weapons, and amenities for their master’s tents.

Louis had enlisted the help of a few other servants to pitch and organize Harry’s tent, and was walking towards the stables to attend to the horses, wiping sweat off his face, when a trumpet sound at the gates announced the arrival of yet another competitor. Curious, Louis stopped to catch his breath for a moment, hoping to catch sight of whoever was arriving. The rich nobles who competed in these tournaments often arrived with a parade of horses, carriages and carts, which was often an interesting spectacle.

The crowd parted for a moment and Louis was given a strange view. Two men entered the gates alone, carrying barely more than what fit on their backs. The men’s horses were groomed, but seemed somewhat lean and underfed, much like the two men themselves: unlike most of the other competitors, who looked strong in the somewhat false, practiced sense, these men gave the impression of being dangerous by necessity. They were sort of lean and looked around sharply, as though anticipating an attack at any moment.

Louis suddenly felt a tingle at the base of his neck that sent a small bolt of dread shooting through his stomach. Something felt wrong about these men, something that he couldn’t quite place. All he knew was that his instincts didn’t like them, and his instincts weren’t often wrong. He watched as they made their way through the crowd, attracting a few confused murmurs and glances.

“Hey, Bennett,” he asked a familiar face walking by, “do you know who that is?”

Bennett was a third-generation member of the castle staff and served as the head steward for much of the daily operations. An older, graying man, he had seen everything and knew more about the members of far-reaching kingdoms than almost anyone; yet even his eyes narrowed as he inspected the newcomers, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“I’ve heard that competitors from Zeria are appearing for the first time in many years,” he finally said, shrugging. “They’re a far-off territory of Essetir’s. Perhaps that’s them.”

“Zeria,” Louis said, watching the backs of the men disappear into the crowd. “Interesting.”

The horse stables were behind him, and Daisy and Horsey were probably getting impatient, but Louis let the tingle at the back of his neck carry him towards the crowd where the two men had disappeared, following his instincts. Around him flowed a sea of people, some dressed in colorful garments and others in common garb; everyone was excited, animated, placing bets on who would be victorious in the upcoming competition. Louis tuned them out and pushed further towards the doors to the castle, where he assumed the men would be going to be received by the King.

As he reached the steps to the castle, he caught a glimpse of the two men, walking into the castle with their dark green and black robes. Louis sighed in frustration as they neared the doors, knowing he wouldn’t be allowed into the Great Hall while the King’s court was in session;

but at the last minute, the man who trailed behind the other turned around to look at the crowd, and Louis registered his face with a shock. The servant had a dark mark tattooed around his right eye.

Instantly, Louis was transported back to a week prior, to the village he and Harry had saved from pillagers; the man he had stabbed with the tattoo around his right eye. He tried to take a few more steps forward for a closer look, but the man had already turned around again and disappeared within the castle.

Louis’s head spun. Could it be the same person? He had stabbed the pillager with the tattooed eye and had seen him fall; how could this be the same man? He touched his own magically-healed shoulder and dread pooled in the bottom of his stomach. A few of the pillagers had escaped. Was it possible they had magic?

If these were the same men, Louis thought, Harry was in danger. He pushed his way up the stairs and through the front doors of the castle, where he saw the enormous doors to the Great Hall shut with a loud thud. In front of the doors stood two fully-armored knights.

“I need to go inside,” he rushed, running up to them.

The knights moved in front of him to stop him. “The King will not have any interruptions,” said the one on the right.

“Please,” Louis argued, clenching his fists. “It’s important.”

“What’s going on?”

“The Prince may be in danger.”

This stalled the knights and they glanced at each other. “Why? What’s happening?”

Oh, I think a man I killed might be here to kill the Prince… “It’s… hard to explain.”

The knight who was speaking shook his head. “Not good enough.”

“Listen, I just need to talk to Prince Harry!” Louis argued in frustration. The pillagers were in there, inside the Great Hall, and who knew what could happen…

What could happen? There were two of them inside, being met by King Daniel, Prince Harry, and the entire order of knights. Would they really make a move in the open like that? If that was their plan, Louis realized, surely they wouldn’t have gone through this whole charade of entering the competition. They may as well have outright stormed the castle. And if they were to make a move now, they’d be killed before they had a chance at a second. No. Whatever they were planning, it must have been planned for the Tournament…

“If you really need to talk to him,” the knight was saying, “the court will be breaking for mid-day meal in about an hour. You can find him then.”

“Fine,” Louis muttered and walked away, nervously rubbing his injured shoulder. Pacing outside the castle doors, Louis stalled once again, moving out of the way of the flow of people and standing against the inner castle walls, waiting. Before he brought this to Harry, he needed to be sure what he thought was true.

A few minutes later, the castle doors opened again and the two green-robed men exited, walking down the steps and making their way towards the field. Louis pushed off of the wall and fell into step a few yards behind them, staring intently at their backs. They were talking to each other, their heads close together, but the noise of the crowd prevented Louis from hearing their voices clearly.

Although Louis didn't need to cast vocal spells to do magic, his gran had taught him that doing so every now and then could help him focus his pure elemental powers into something more targeted, and that was proving itself to be true in real time. Relying on the anonymizing cover of the crowd, Louis whispered "astyre" under his breath, and his hearing immediately became magnified. He focused on the two men and his hearing focused, muffing the surrounding voices, so that Louis could hear as clearly as if they were standing right next to them as the taller man spoke:

"...and prepare for tomorrow," he was saying. "You're sure everything is ready?"

"We're ready," said the shorter, and Louis stopped in his tracks, hit once again with recognition: the same voice, the same man, leering in his face, "who are you supposed to be, the court jester?”

His lack of attention caused the spell to fall apart and the men disappeared into the crowd, but it didn't matter. Louis knew it was the same man, now, and once the court broke for their meal, he would talk to Harry right away. He would understand.

-----------------

“You think… what?” Harry asked in utter confusion.

Louis stood bedraggled-looking and dusty in Harry’s chambers, but he was buzzing with energy, shifting his weight from side to side.

Harry himself looked impeccable, his clothes barely wrinkled, but he looked exhausted. The prince removed his crown and placed it carefully on his desk, his forehead furrowed.

Louis backtracked. “Did you recognize the two men who arrived earlier?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Harry said.

“Green and black robes. Weird-looking. Unfamiliar.”

“Oh, you mean the men from Zeria?” Harry asked, frowning. “No, I didn’t recognize them. Zeria’s never appeared before the court.”

“Exactly,” Louis rushed, “well, not exactly, I mean. I don’t think they’re from Zeria at all.”

“Where else would they be from?” Harry asked as he sat down in his chair.

“I think they’re the pillagers. The ones we fought a week ago.”

Harry looked at Louis for a long, hard moment. “Why do you think this?”

“I recognized one of them. I think he’s posing as the servant,” Louis tried to explain. “He has a tattoo around his right eye.”

“And?”

“The pillager who attacked me – he had the same marking.”

Harry let that sit for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. “The one you stabbed?”

Louis suddenly realized he sounded very foolish. “Well – yes.”

“And killed?”

“Well – no, apparently not!”

“You’re basing this entirely off the fact that they both have eye tattoos, Louis? Tattoos aren’t rare, you know, especially for the servant class.”

“He has the same face, the same voice - I’m sure it’s the same person, Harry, I think I would know the face of the person who stabbed me!”

Harry still looked hesitant, but he shrugged his shoulders. “Well… I guess that’s hard to argue. I didn’t recognize them, though. Louis… you’re sure you’re not just still a little shaken from that battle a week ago? I know it’s new for you to be injured in battle, but we won. You don’t have to be afraid of them.”

Louis felt his heart sink and crossed his arms. “You don’t believe me.”

“Come on, Louis, it’s not like that, it’s just… you have to admit this is hard to believe.”

Fair enough. “I’m not afraid of them for myself, anyway. I’m worried for you,” Louis said. “I recognize that man, Harry, I’m sure of it. And if they’ve gone through all this trouble of pretending to be someone they’re not to enter the Tournament, it must be to try and get revenge on you.”

“If that is true, I’m not worried about it,” Harry countered, straightening up in his chair. “It’ll be a fair fight, one on one. I’ll win.”

“But what if they don’t fight fair?” Louis returned, and the two sat in silence, contemplating the possibility.

The Tournament events – jousting, hand-to-hand combat, and the melee – all required actual weapons, and thus always contained an element of real danger. One bad move, one poorly aimed strike, could injure a man permanently. It had been a long time since anyone had died during a competition, but that was only because each man who entered held to his honor and avoided deadly strikes at all costs. If a man entered without those honorable intentions, he had the opportunity to inflict real damage on his opponent.

“Do you have any evidence?” Harry asked eventually, rubbing his forehead. “Other than the resemblance?”

“No,” Louis muttered and looked away. They both knew that wouldn’t be enough.

“I can’t bring that to my father. They’re claiming to be noble-born, even if they aren’t – and it’s our word against theirs. Well, your word, really,” Harry said with an apologetic glance Louis’s way. “And I don’t have time to do anything about this before the Tournament begins.”

“Okay,” Louis said, the wheels in his head turning. “Then I’ll do something. I’ll investigate tonight. And when I find evidence, I’ll bring it to you, and you can bring it to King Daniel, and he’ll remove them from the Tournament--,”

“No, Louis,” Harry interrupted. “We’re not going to do that, either.”

Louis was stunned, looking at his friend incredulously. “Why not?”

Harry stood and paced away, looking out the window. The same nervous, tense energy he had carried about him for the past month returned, pulling the air thin and taut like a rope about to break. “It’s hard to explain.”

Louis sighed in utter exasperation. He walked over to Harry and grabbed his arm, turning him away from his godforsaken window-gazing so that the prince had to look him in the eyes. “Harry,” he said quietly. “Can you just try? You’ve obviously been thinking a lot about this – about something. And it’s sort of driving me crazy that you won't just... tell me.”

Harry looked startled (did he really think Louis wouldn’t notice?) and paused for a second, looking down at where Louis still held onto his arm. Louis suddenly felt very self-conscious about this and dropped his hand, sitting down on the edge of Harry’s bed, where he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

After another pause, Harry sighed and sat down in his chair, turning it so that he was facing Louis. He rested his elbows on his knees and composed his thoughts.

“I have to win tomorrow,” he said, “and I have to do it fairly.”

“You will,” Louis interrupted, but Harry held up a hand and he took the hint, falling quiet.

“If tomorrow comes, and those men pull something in front of the entire Kingdom that proves they’re attempting to harm me? Then we stop them. And we kick them out. But if I go to my father tonight and we do the same thing, without evidence, without proof? It will seem to everyone that I’m receiving preferential treatment." Harry's tone was serious, and Louis was struck by the solemnity in his words and posture.

“Tomorrow is my one chance to prove – once and for all – that I deserve a spot in my father’s court," Harry continued, looking up at Louis. "That I’m not being placed there simply because of my birthright. If I win the Tournament, I will have earned my place as a Knight, and nobody will ever be able to say otherwise. But if it seems like I’ve won through using my father’s favor, then I – and my father, and the entire court of Camelot – will be delegitimized. I will lose my one chance to gain the true respect of my people. I will be a poorer King someday, and Camelot will be a poorer Kingdom, for it.” His eyes flashed and he looked back down, troubled.

Ah. So that was it. Louis leaned back, feeling like he had unlocked the key, or found the path that Harry's thoughts had clearly been treading over and over for the past month or so. This really was not just a competition to him: it was what his life had been leading up to.

“For that reason, we cannot go to my father about this,” Harry finished, sitting back in his chair. “Not until they do something out in the open. Something everyone can see.”

“But what if it’s too late by then?” Louis said, anxiety spiraling in his chest at the thought of sitting back and waiting for them to do something to Harry. If they really did have magic, as he suspected, there was no telling what they could do – almost anything. And in a stadium of packed people, Louis’s ability to interfere would be… severely limited, to say the least. “What if they hurt you, or kill you tomorrow?”

“They won’t. I’ll beat them,” Harry said. He had that confident, arrogant gleam in his eye that Louis both admired and resented at times. “And if they do, at least I will have acted honorably.”

This nearly knocked Louis off the bed. “You care more about your honor than your life, Harry, really?”

“I care more about my kingdom than my life, yes,” Harry said quietly, and the words hung heavy and golden in the air, as though they were too important and precious to be argued with. “I can handle this on my own, Louis. Just… please, promise me you’ll leave it alone.”

Louis stayed quiet for a moment, staring at his hands. The moment hung strangely between them. His protective instincts were running into overdrive, telling him he couldn't just sit back and do nothing. But he also understood Harry, and he could see how important this promise was to him.

Eventually, he sighed. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said. “I think you’ve already proven yourself, Harry, and even if you don’t win tomorrow, you will have earned your place as a Knight ten times over. And I don’t think you rushing to get yourself hurt will somehow help the kingdom, either. But --,” he put up a hand as he saw Harry open his mouth to interrupt – “even if I don’t think you’re right… I get it. And if it’s that important to you… I’ll stay out of it.” The words felt difficult to get out of his mouth.

The relief in Harry’s eyes was obvious and immediate. “Thank you, Louis. Thank you.”

“But the second they try and pull some shit,” Louis warned, holding up a finger, “it’s over, okay? They won’t know what hit them.”

Harry threw his head back and laughed, and Louis was both pleased that he seemed to relax and slightly annoyed that he took it as a joke.

“You’re Camelot’s secret weapon,” he said, standing and patting Louis’s non-bandaged shoulder.

“You have no idea,” Louis muttered as Harry walked away.

-----------------

Louis went through the rest of the tasks he needed to finish that day on autopilot, his mind constantly returning to his conversation with Harry. Hearing his view on the Tournament felt like everything had clicked into place. But it also filled him with a great deal of anxiety.

Harry didn’t want him involved. At all. He needed to succeed tomorrow on his own merits – entirely. And Louis understood that - more than that – he respected it. Clearly, Harry did not want to rely on his divine right to the throne. He wanted to prove his worth, both to himself and to everyone else. And who could resent him for that?

And Louis had said he wouldn’t interfere. He hadn’t been lying. Louis lied to Harry every day he didn’t tell him about his magic, and the sick feeling that big, necessary lie gave him meant that he had made a promise to himself a long time ago to never lie to Harry about anything else, as far as he could help it. So he intended to keep the promise he had just made. He wouldn’t interfere tomorrow, he wouldn’t go snooping around the pillager’s tent tonight, even if every atom in his body was screaming at him to involve himself somehow, to prevent something bad from happening to Harry.

“He can handle himself,” Louis muttered to Horsey as he brushed him for the final time that evening, trying to melt the cold feeling of fear spreading in his chest. Horsey neighed softly and dipped his head in agreement. Louis groaned and leaned his head against Horsey's shoulder, closing his eyes. “But what if he can’t?”

Unbidden, a vivid image played out behind Louis's closed eyelids: Harry facing down the pillager in hand-to-hand combat; a burst of unseen magic throwing him to the ground; the pillager’s sword driving down before anyone had a chance to react.

What would Louis do?

He saw himself standing, saw himself using his magic to push the pillager away, to hold the other in place until the knights could reach them and carry them both away.

And then he saw the knights approaching him, forcing him to his knees and dragging him off towards the dungeons.

He saw himself sitting in the cold dungeon, hugging his knees to his chest, dreading the light of morning.

And then he saw himself put to death when the morning finally came, burning on the pyre reserved for sorcerers.

And what would Harry do? How would he look at Louis, once he knew? Would he be shocked, confused, grateful? Would he be upset? Betrayed? Angry? Would he understand? Would he hate him?

Would he protest as the knights dragged him away, or would he remain silent? Would he speak to him in the dungeons, on Louis’s last night? Would he watch as Louis burned? Or would he simply disappear?

These visions, so vivid otherwise, faltered when they reached Harry's face, and dissolved him into static. Louis had no idea how Harry would react. But no matter his reaction, the result of Louis revealing his magic remained true every time. King Daniel had no tolerance for sorcerers, regardless of how they used magic. He would spare no mercy for a servant in his own castle: he would probably expedite the execution, seeing it as a failure or an embarrassment. Louis would be made an example.

It was enough to wake Louis up in a cold sweat, many nights, plagued with the feeling of fire licking at his feet.

Yet he would do it, tomorrow, if that’s what it took to save Harry’s life, he thought, and the seriousness of the thought sort of scared him. He had read and re-read the prophecies a hundred times by now, though all they really did was reinforce the instinctual feeling Louis got in his gut every time he looked at Harry.

Harry was to be king, the greatest king Albion had ever seen. Louis could see it already in his fierce love for his kingdom, his willingness to throw himself into danger for his people, and his pure talent and intelligence and capability.

Louis’s job was to get him there. Whatever it took. Compared with that great destiny, Louis felt, his life was merely a footnote.

But the fear remained in Louis’s chest as he put away his grooming tools, patting Horsey once more before leaving the stables, heading for his room for the night.

As he passed the rows of tents now set up and waiting for the morning to come, Louis stopped with a start as he saw the pillager – the tattooed pillager – emerge from his tent several yards ahead of him. Louis stood still and watched as the man looked around him, caught sight of Louis, and met his gaze. The man’s eyes widened as Louis’s narrowed.

The man grinned slowly, raising a hand and giving Louis a little wave.

Then he disappeared inside of his tent.

Chapter Text

Louis was awake before Harry arrived to drag him out of bed, for once. It was early – still dark outside, though the sky was slowly starting to lighten in the east. Harry pushed his blankets off and swung his legs over the side of the bed, where he sat for a long moment, staring into space.

His dream from last night played on a loop in his head.

It was a recurring dream he had been having for years. More of a series of images and words than anything. There was golden light all around, and the feeling of warmth, total warmth and security.

His mother was there, though he couldn’t see her face. It was always either hidden behind her waves of blonde hair or obscured in the glare of the sun, as though her face was the source of the light itself. When she spoke, her voice sounded like a woman’s voice, but it also sounded like the wind, or maybe the sound of a harp.

“You will be a great knight, Harry, and a greater King,” she had said, as she always did, and he had felt the ghost of a touch on his head, on his cheek. “So long as you always follow the true path, and not the easy one.”

“How will I know which is which?” he heard himself ask, his voice wavering and unsure, both a child and himself at the same time.

“You know truth,” she responded simply. “It is your gift. Trust it.” There were a few more lovely sounds he could never make out – like wind chimes. And then the light fell away.

She spoke no more than a few dozen words. He had committed them all to heart many years ago. He thought it must be a memory of his mother. It was the only way to explain the consistency – how the scene never changed. Yet when he tried to conjure up the memory in his head, independent of the abstract unreality of the dream, it slipped away elusively.

It was so different from what always followed.

The second part of the dream, the bad part, was undoubtedly a memory. Harry knew because he could see it in detail by closing his eyes, even while awake. Himself, a child, cowering in a closet, holding his breath so as not to make a sound, peeking through the cracks in the door. His mother, slammed against the wall by some unseen force. The sorcerer, a dark-haired woman dressed in black, demanding something from her. Her refusal. And then…

Harry shook the vision from his head and rubbed his face, bringing himself back to reality. The dream didn’t scare him anymore, like it had the first few times. But it did still give him a strange, deep feeling in his chest. A pulling, or a calling towards something. It was difficult to articulate, though he felt it more clearly every day. That dream held the key to something. It was a clue pointing him towards the feeling in his chest that never left, the feeling he was never able to fully explain.

His purpose. He had one, even though he didn't know what it was. It felt secret and unspeakable, too personal to tell anyone, too vague to even try. It was more than the fact that he would be King. It was something he felt sure nobody would understand.

It was why he had taken so long to speak to Louis about his feelings regarding the Tournament. His friend had ultimately taken it well, all things considered. Harry knew his reasoning wasn’t sound – that his motives weren’t purely logical. But he felt convicted, sure that he had to prove himself today without aid, even if meant knowingly entering an unfair fight. It was an act which held greater importance to him than he could properly explain.

He wished he had the words, he thought, bunching his bedsheets in his hands in frustration. He wished he could communicate to Louis directly. Just place his friend inside of his head and show him the way he felt, the way this big, enormous thing just sat inside of his head and chest and screamed for attention. But he couldn’t. And if he tried to say it out loud… he didn’t think Louis would understand. Mostly because he could barely understand it himself. There was probably nobody else in the world, actually, who could understand.

Except, perhaps, his mother. She saw that pulling, that purpose in him before he saw it in himself. That’s what the dream meant, he thought. It was a reminder.

You’re not the only one who sees it. She saw it, too.

If only she were here, he thought for the millionth time, and felt the wave of grief roll over him, as sharp and breathtaking as it was the day he watched her die.

When he felt like he could breathe again, he picked himself up and walked towards the armor set out for him on his table. Engraved onto his shield was his family’s crest.

Seeing the symbol made pride start to swell in his chest, slowly taking the place of his grief. This crest was his heritage signified. His mother and father had combined their family crests at their marriage. On the right side, his father’s crest sported a roaring bear, representing the ferocity and strength of Daniel’s lineage. It was juxtaposed with the animal from his mother’s crest on the left: a phoenix, its wings spread, caught aflame. It fit perfectly with Camelot’s colors: red and gold.

Harry was still looking at the shield as he heard the door behind him open and close. It was Louis. He knew without turning around, knew the way Louis moved, the way he changed the air in a room. He heard Louis walk to the table, setting down breakfast.

“You’re up early,” Louis said quietly.

Harry turned. Louis looked serious, lacking his usual jovial morning demeanor. He was looking at Harry closely, but when they made eye contact, Louis glanced away.

“Just getting ready,” Harry responded, and to his relief, his voice came out clearly. He took a deep breath and set the shield down. “Let’s eat.”

The two of them sat at the table together and started eating from the tray of food Louis had brought from the kitchen, a meal-sharing ritual that happened often, even though it probably wasn’t very proper. Outside, the sun was rising, shedding rays through the windows. Already, Harry could hear commotion from villagers and noble spectators starting to arrive, filling in the stands that would be packed by the time the tournament began in a few hours. He took a deep breath, putting down a piece of bread unfinished. Louis had stopped eating, too. He looked lost in his thoughts.

“It’s about that time,” Harry finally said.

Louis nodded, breaking himself out of his trance. “Want to put your armor on?”

Harry nodded and rose, disappearing behind the partition to change into the linen clothes he would wear underneath his tournament armor. When he emerged, Louis was waiting to help get him into his armor like he had done a hundred times before. This time, though, the actions felt heavier, almost solemn. Louis started to help Harry put on each piece of chainmail and armor, tying each knot and fastening the straps to hold each piece in place. It was a job that needed a capable pair of hands. Louis had grown adept at it quickly.

Silence stretched between them as Louis worked, and Harry got the distinct impression they both had something they wanted to say to the other, but didn’t know how. In his head were the words: I know you don’t understand why I have to do this, but I think it’s something bigger than myself…

Louis was standing behind Harry, tying the knots that laced up Harry’s back, when he finally broke the silence.

“Haz,” he started.

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the nickname. Louis was the only one who still called him Haz. Zayn and Liam had gotten a little too old, treated him a little too formally. But with Louis, he could still be just Harry. He liked it that way.

“Last night, while I was leaving the stables, I saw that man again,” Louis continued, his hands brushing against Harry’s back as he worked meticulously. “The one with the tattoo. I think he recognized me.”

Something lying dormant in Harry’s chest started to wake up. “Did he threaten you?”

“No,” Louis responded and Harry's protectiveness tentatively died down. “They’re not here for me, Harry.”

Harry heard the meaning in the words, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Okay. So we know for sure it’s them, and that they’ll be dangerous. It’s good to know.”

“There’s still time to talk to your father, you know,” Louis said, coming around to Harry’s front, inspecting his work so far. He wasn’t making eye contact with Harry, and his voice came off casual, as though he didn’t have a stake in it. Taking Harry’s left wrist in his hand, Louis started strapping his gauntlet onto his forearm. “He’d believe you.”

“No,” Harry said simply, although he understood his friend’s need to try one more time. “We have to wait until they do something clearly malicious. Anything before that will disqualify me.”

Louis’s eyes stayed trained on his task, but his grip on Harry’s wrist tightened almost imperceptibly, and his face betrayed his emotions. Harry noticed the small shift in his friend’s touch, something that didn’t quite match the usual casual ease they had with each other. It lingered for a moment, just long enough to make Harry’s pulse quicken. “I know you don’t totally understand, Louis, but just follow my lead on this, okay?” Harry said. His voice was steady, but his words felt heavier than usual. Louis’s eyes flickered up to Harry’s face for a brief second, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly conflicted, and then nodded, but his gaze didn’t waver from Harry’s for just a fraction longer than necessary. “It’s your call, Harry,” Louis said, grabbing Harry’s right arm to fasten its gauntlet into place. His fingers brushed against Harry’s skin, sending a small spark through him that he quickly brushed off. “If this is what you think is right, then… I trust you.” The simple admission resonated in the meagre space between them, the weight of Louis’s trust hanging in the air like something fragile but precious. Louis finished with Harry’s armour, his fingers working deftly, yet his movements seemed slower now, more deliberate. As he stepped back to look over his handiwork, Harry couldn’t help but notice the way Louis’s eyes softened, the subtle way he seemed to study Harry. “How do I look?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows, his tone light. Louis snorted, shaking his head, but his smile faltered for just a moment. "Well, you’re no Prince Charming, but…” Harry laughed, grateful for the usual playful banter to ease the tension that lingered between them. “Oh, come on, I’m plenty charming,” he argued, turning to inspect himself in the mirror. His armour gleamed under the sunlight, colours bold and bright, but as he quickly ruffled his curly hair, his attention shifted back to Louis. There was a moment of silence between them. When Harry looked back at Louis, the usually confident man seemed... uncertain. He was stammering, his voice faltering slightly. “No, you – you look… good,” Louis said, his cheeks quickly turning a shade of pink that Harry hadn’t expected. Harry felt his heart skip, a rush of warmth spreading through him at the unexpected compliment. He couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lips, and he lightly pushed Louis’s shoulder, the playful gesture masking the fluttering in his chest. “I’m messing with you, Louis. Come on. Let’s go find Zayn and Liam.” But as they turned to leave, Harry couldn’t shake the thought that Louis’s words had meant more than he let on. And when their hands brushed again, just for a split second, the spark he’d felt earlier flared up once more—an electric tension that he couldn’t ignore. Louis was still blushing, looking at the ground, his expression hiding something Harry couldn’t quite place. But the way he shifted closer, ever so slightly, made Harry wonder if he was feeling the same pull between them.

-----------------

They weren’t hard to find.

“Prince Harry!” Zayn’s voice boomed even over the low roar of the crowd, and Harry and Louis saw him pushing through the crowd towards them with a gleeful grin, his arms lifted high in the air. “You ready to get your butt kicked?”

Harry laughed as he embraced Zayn briefly. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Zayn mussed up Louis’s hair, causing him to squawk in protest. They stood just outside the gates of the Tournament, which were adorned with arrangements of flowers and colorful banners. On all sides of them filtered one of the biggest crowds ever seen in Camelot. Noblemen and ladies made their way to the shaded seats with an excellent view of the field, while villager children raced around the grounds, thrilled just to be within the outer castle walls.

As he watched the commotion, Louis saw Liam finally push through the crowd as well, jogging up to join them. Unlike Zayn and Harry, who were both in their armor, Liam was dressed in his typical day clothes, having chosen not to enter the Tournament this year. He had been spending most of his time in his family’s fiefdom to support his father after he had fallen ill. In typical Liam fashion, he was chipper and seemed utterly unbothered by his exclusion from the day’s competition.

“I took a look at the lineup, and it is going to be an incredible day,” he told Harry.

“I mean, we already know I’m going to beat you in jousting and hand-to-hand,” Zayn boasted at Harry, who crossed his arms, “but I think we can both agree the real highlight is gonna be our team-up during melee.”

This broke a broad grin across Harry’s face, and he clasped Zayn’s arm, nodding once. “Okay, that we can agree on.”

“We're gonna crush it!” Zayn crowed triumphantly, drawing some pointed glances from the people who were passing them on all sides. Liam and Louis shot each other semi-exasperated glances and fell in behind Harry and Zayn as they started walking further into the tournament grounds.

“How have you been, Louis?” Liam asked, and Louis looked at his friend with a smile.

“I’ve been alright,” he said, in what he supposed was honesty. He had been so preoccupied with his thoughts that he had forgotten to look forward to the tournament itself, the chance to spend time with his friends. “How are you? How’s your father?”

A small shadow crossed over Liam’s face, and he seemed to respond honestly, too. “He’s not doing well. I wish I could be here more often, but right now, I’m glad I’m there to help him.”

Louis nodded and placed a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “You’re a really good person, Liam.”

Liam shot him a grateful smile and then dipped his head towards Harry. “And how has our dear Royal Highness been?”

Louis snorted and looked at the back of Harry’s head as the prince obliviously wheezed with laughter over something Zayn had said. “He’s been an idiot, overall, but I’ve managed to keep him alive somehow.”

“Sounds about right,” Liam laughed as the four of them reached the tents. Harry and Zayn turned around, and the four of them made a familiar little circle.

“The first round starts in a few minutes,” Zayn said. “It’s probably time for us to go.”

“Louis and I will be cheering for you. We believe in you guys,” Liam said earnestly, and Harry and Zayn smiled at him genuinely.

“Yeah, and I promise only to throw a few tomatoes when you lose,” Louis smirked, earning himself a punch on the shoulder from Zayn.

Louis was about to follow Liam to the noble’s stands, figuring he could sneak in pretty easily, but Harry grabbed his shoulder, stopping him with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry, Louis,” he said, “but in case I need you… you have to sit in the servant’s stands.” He turned Louis in a 180 and pointed him towards a small, worn-down set of benches closest to the tents, where several dozen sullen-looking men dressed in servant’s clothing watched the field with almost total disinterest.

“Yippee,” Louis said flatly as Zayn failed to hide his snicker.

“You’ll be fine,” Harry said, while Liam tried to cheer him up: “it’ll be okay Louis, just make a new friend!”

Liam meant it genuinely, but it made Zayn roar with laughter, and Louis shot him an exasperated glare as Liam protested: “what, what’s so bad about that!”

“Sorry, Louis,” Zayn said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re the best, man. I’m giving you my favor once I win, for sure.”

Louis rolled his eyes, flushing with embarrassment at the thought of Zayn throwing him his favor, the small token usually given to a lady who had caught the knight’s eye during competition. Of course, his redness just made Zayn laugh harder as he and Harry disappeared into the sea of competitors. Liam waved goodbye and headed in the opposite direction.

The servant’s seats would be fine, Louis told himself as he neared them, despite the dour atmosphere standing in stark contrast to the festivities happening everywhere else in the stadium. Actually, it would probably be for the best. The servants had a very direct view of the field, they had close access to the tents, and the lack of distractions and attention around him would let him focus on what was happening – and keep a close eye on the pillagers, who he hadn’t yet spotted.

Louis found a seat near the middle of the stands and sat down, getting as comfortable as he could and preparing himself for a long, mostly lonely tournament experience.

It didn’t last long.

“Ello,” came a bright voice as someone sat next to him – right next to him, uncomfortably close. It surprised Louis so much that he didn’t even respond at first, just moved a few inches away from the boy who had sat down next to him with no concept of personal space. It was another servant, Louis figured; a boy a year or two younger than him, with a shock of unruly blonde hair and an oversized grin. He seemed to buzz with hyper energy, sort of like a puppy.

“Hello,” Louis eventually said back, furrowing his brow.

“Name’s Niall,” the boy said immediately, sticking a hand out so far it nearly bumped into Louis’s chest. “Pleased to meet ya.”

Louis took Niall’s hand tentatively and the boy vigorously shook his arm up and down a few times before returning his focus to the field as though nothing had happened. “Nice… to meet you as well,” he said in confusion. “I’m Louis.”

He almost immediately regretted giving the kid any kind of information as Niall sucked in air through his teeth, clicking his tongue a few times. “Louis, Louis, Louis, Louis, Louis, Louis, Louis…” he said. “Can’t say I recognize it. We haven’t met before?”

“No,” Louis said, “definitely not.” He would remember.

“Where you from?”

“Camelot.”

“Ah, Camelot, love the place, grand old place,” Niall said with an air of worldliness. “Not as great as Mercia, mind you, that’s where I’m from, you know, but decent, definitely, knows how to throw a great Tournament that's for sure…” His words steadily increased in speed as they went, like an avalanche of sound.

Louis just looked at him in bewilderment as the trumpets cut him off, calling attention to the center of the field as the spectators finally settled into their respective seats. Everyone’s gazes focused on the men riding into the field on their horses: King Daniel led the charge, followed by his Knights. As Daniel reached the center of the field, he pulled his horse to a stop and the spectators quieted.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice effortlessly filling the stadium. “Welcome to our Tournament!”

The audience cheered and applauded; Louis clapped as Niall let out a loud whoop of excitement.

“I won’t take too much of your time,” King Daniel continued once the noise quieted down, “but it hardly needs saying that I greatly look forward to watching today’s festivities. I know our participants will compete with honor, and I hope to welcome a few of them into my court today. So without further ado, let us welcome this year’s competitors!”

The King and his knights dismounted, handing their horses off to a group of servants and taking their places in the King’s booth, which sat exactly across the field from Louis and had the best view of the field by far. As they took their seats, the trumpets sounded again, and the competitors rode into the field on horseback.

The competitors were lined up by kingdom, and Louis recognized the groupings based on the colors of the crests on their shields. First came the men from Northumbria, the cold northern lands; their faces were pale and stoic, their colors dark blue and black, as they solemnly entered the field, hardly reacting to the cheers and shouts that met them.

Next was Mercia, sporting green and silver. As they passed by, Niall leaped to his feet, shouting, “that’s my boy! Get ‘em Ed!”

An older man with a frock of ginger hair shot Niall an exasperated glance as he passed, but Niall was undeterred: he let loose with another piercing whoop, punching the air enthusiastically, and after the man had passed by, he sat down with a satisfied exhale.

“That’s the man I serve,” he told Louis in a loud whisper, as though it weren’t exceedingly obvious. “Lord Edward of Mercia. He’s fantastic. Definitely gonna show ‘em who’s boss.” He raised his eyebrows at Louis exaggeratedly, like he had let him in on a secret.

“I’ll keep my eye on him,” Louis responded, stifling a grin. As obnoxious as Niall was, he was twenty times more entertaining than anyone else in the servant’s stands.

The men from Nemeth, a close ally of Camelot’s, followed Mercia, dressed in oranges and whites. Then came Essetir. Their colors were a dark purple and black.

At the end of this group trailed the man from “Zeria.” He looked distinct from the group. He sported the right colors, but they were somewhat faded. Placed next to the other competitors, it was even starker how different he looked, slightly malnourished and scrappy. Yet nobody else seemed to care as the procession moved on. Louis narrowed his eyes at the pillager as he passed, but the man didn’t even seem to notice him. He sat silently on his horse, his gaze flickering around the stadium warily.

Then, finally, the cheers of the crowd rose to a roar as the competitors from Camelot entered the field in blaze of red and gold. There were five competitors from Camelot this year, including Harry and Zayn, who was clearly soaking up the attention for all it was worth, grinning cheekily and bowing chivalrously as he passed the ladies’ stand. Harry led the group, beaming and waving confidently as his horse trotted proudly around the arena.

Louis couldn’t take his eyes off of Harry. Compared to everyone else in the arena, Harry practically shone. The sun caught his colors and his armor perfectly, and although he was significantly younger than most of the other competitors, he carried himself with spectacular confidence and grace.

Louis hadn’t expected to be struck by his appearance like this, since sometimes it felt like all he did all day was look at Harry. But this was different than the bedraggled boy he had to drag out of bed in the morning, his friend who he had eaten breakfast with. This was someone else, someone strong and regal. Harry was in his element. His eyes danced and his curly hair was ruffled lightly by the breeze.

He is stupidly handsome, Louis thought out of nowhere, and then tried to keep himself from flushing in embarrassment (again) from the unexpected thought. It was fine to note the obvious, he told himself, doing his best to ignore the fluttery feeling in his chest as Harry’s eyes found him in the stands. Harry pointed right at him and his smile grew impossibly wider, and Louis couldn’t help but smile back and roll his eyes.

“Which one is yours?” Niall asked, trying to track Louis’s gaze.

“Prince Harry,” he said proudly, gesturing, and Niall’s eyes grew wide.

“Wow,” Niall said, shaking his head. “True royalty, eh? Must be pretty nice, ‘less he’s an arse. Is he an arse?”

“I mean, sort of, but not in a bad way,” Louis said absently as he watched Harry dip his head towards the ladies in the stands, seeing a few of them giggle to each other as he passed them by.

The procession of competitors returned to their tents as the first event, jousting, began. Jousting was a highly entertaining, intense competition. Two people rode toward each other on horses, each holding long lances. Whoever successfully unseated the other was the winner. Armor usually absorbed some of the impact of the lance, but it was always harrowing seeing people fall from galloping horses.

As the preliminary rounds commenced, Louis clapped and cheered along with the crowd as several knights were knocked from their horses. Niall practically blew Louis’s right ear out when Ed won his first round, but fell into unhappy grumbles when the pillager unseated Ed on the second round. Louis, for one, was occupied with staring at the pillager’s every move, trying to catch any hint of genuine malice or magic. He couldn’t spot any obvious foul play, but the pillager still won, moving incredibly fast to ram Ed off his horse.

“That’s alright, man, you’ll get him next time,” Niall shouted as Ed led his horse off the field, only to mutter to Louis, “only have to wait another five years…”

“I heard that,” Ed shot at him as he passed, and Niall made a face at Louis, who couldn’t help but laugh.

Zayn won his first round handily, sending a man from Northumbria packing. Then Harry emerged, taking up his position against a man from Essetir who was nearly twice his size.

“Come on, Harry…” Louis whispered under his breath as Harry fastened his helmet and the starting drum sounded. The two competitors barreled at each other, and Louis’s heart jumped into his throat as the Essetirian’s lance glanced against Harry’s shoulder; but Harry’s aim was truer. His lance caught against the bottom of the man’s chestplate, and he was tipped to the ground, which he hit in an explosion of dust. The crowd cheered as Harry steered his horse around, offering a chivalrous hand to his opponent and helping him up. Louis felt a swell of warmth as he saw Harry leaving the field, grinning happily.

Zayn, Harry, and the pillager all kept winning, as well as a man from Nemeth, who Harry just barely managed to unseat in the semifinal round, winning himself a spot in the finals. Louis cheered until his throat felt hoarse, and Niall had begrudgingly crossed his arms, admitting, “okay, so he is pretty good.”

It was Zayn against the pillager in the other semifinal. Noticing this pairing, Louis’s excitement dissolved back into serious concern. He leaned forward in his seat, watching the pillager with eagle eyes as he took position across from Zayn. The starting drum boomed, and the two competitors raced towards each other, picking up speed as they went. Jousting was as much a game of chicken as anything, and in this round, neither person was backing down.

Their lances hit each other squarely in the chest at the same time, and Louis winced with the rest of the crowd as the impact of the hit clearly rocked both competitors. In a momentary push, Zayn managed to hold on just a little longer, push forward a little more, and the pillager hit the ground as Zayn lifted his arms victoriously to a roaring crowd.

Louis jumped to his feet as well, punching the air and shouting in excitement and relief. The pillager picked himself up from the dust with an angry expression, and Louis watched as he shot a dirty look towards the stands. Louis followed his gaze and saw the tattooed pillager in the stands on the opposite side of the field, shrugging his shoulders.

Relief felt like a cold glass of water to Louis, who sat back in satisfaction on the bench. Zayn had done well, and now the pillagers wouldn’t have a chance to get close to Harry in this event.

“Competing in the final round… Squire Zayn and Prince Harry, both of Camelot,” shouted the announcer, and the Camelotians in the crowd cheered wildly.

Louis watched eagerly as Harry and Zayn guided their horses towards each other in the center of the field, clasping arms with large grins on their faces. Zayn said something into Harry’s ear and Harry threw his head back in laughter, and then the two were galloping for their respective sides, putting on their helmets.

The crowd fell into a hushed silence as they took their places.

The drum sounded off like a cannon and the two were racing towards each other. Harry was leaning forward in his saddle, and he looked so comfortable, barely even moving as his horse’s hooves pounded into the ground.

The two met in the middle and Louis’s heart leapt into his throat as Zayn’s lance made contact first, knocking Harry off balance and halfway out of the saddle. The crowd gasped as the prince nearly fell off his horse –

but he dug his right foot into the stirrup and hoisted himself back onto the saddle. Neither had fallen.

The two turned around and faced each other again. Round two. The crowd was ecstatic.

The drum sounded and the two raced towards each other again, their horses’ hoofbeats echoing in the arena. This time, Harry’s lance reached Zayn just a little sooner – but Louis suddenly realized, as he looked across the field, that the tattooed pillager’s mouth was moving; he was speaking words that Louis could almost lip-read, and several things happened in quick succession.

First, Harry’s lance hit Zayn dead-on and sent him flying to the ground.

Second, Harry’s saddle strap broke and the saddle started to slide down Harry’s horse’s side, sending him tumbling towards the horse’s hooves.

Louis jumped to his feet but before he could even think of how to react, Harry had already hit the ground dangerously close to his running horse, rolling a few times before coming to a complete stop. Louis’s heart caught in his throat as Harry was still for a long moment, the dust settling.

And then Harry pulled himself to his feet, removing his helmet and waving at the crowd with an exhausted grin.

The crowd went crazy at the dramatic finale, and Harry was presented to his father as the winner of the event. Louis saw Ed nod, though he betrayed no other emotion, and Harry nodded back. Then he went to collect Zayn, the two briefly embracing again and walking back to the tents side by side.

Louis had been so consumed by the whole event that he had barely breathed, and finally felt himself relax as he watched Harry safely exit the field. His magic tingled in his hands, but he had managed to keep it at bay. It physically pained him to do so, though. Especially now that he was certain the pillagers were using magic.

“Well, THAT was a trip,” Niall said, and Louis glanced at him, having almost forgotten about the boy sitting next to him. “I guess what they say about Camelot blokes is right, eh? Really are some tough bastards.”

“I guess so,” Louis said, feeling a rush of affection for his friends. Foul play aside, the two of them had just conquered their greatest challenge yet. He desperately wanted to go talk to them, and got to his feet as the Tournament went on break for a few minutes before the melee.

“Can I come with?” Niall said immediately and jumped up next to him, trailing behind him as Louis walked towards the tents. “Ooh, or I might go get something to eat, I saw some amazing looking drumsticks being sold at the entrance…”

“Do whatever you want, Niall,” Louis said distractedly, and was somewhat grateful as the boy split away from him. Right at this moment, Louis just wanted to talk to Harry.

He found him in a group of other competitors sporting various colors, laughing in a small circle. Harry had dust in his hair and all over his armor, but he was smiling, practically glowing after the first event.

Louis tapped him on his shoulder and Harry turned around with a surprised grin. “Hi, Louis.”

“Congratulations,” Louis said, and the two boys smiled at each other happily, but then Louis’s face fell. “Did you see what happened?”

Harry’s face soured as well, and he glanced towards the other competitors who might have been within earshot if they were paying attention. “Let’s talk about this later.”

“Harry,” Louis whispered, “I think they’re using m-,”

“I know,” Harry cut him off through gritted teeth. “Nothing’s changed from when we talked earlier. Alright? I’ll see you later.”

Louis felt confused and frustrated as Harry turned away from him, returning to his conversation with the other competitors. The circle was closed. Louis was clearly no longer invited.

His pride smarting, Louis walked away from the tents and back towards the stands, where he saw Niall waiting for him with an enormous drumstick in hand.

“Look at the size of this thing!” Niall was saying in amazement as Louis sullenly joined him, crossing his arms and looking towards the field. “What, are the chickens the size of horses in Camelot?”

“I think it’s a turkey leg,” Louis responded flatly.

“At any rate, it’s sort of cold, which is a disappointment,” Niall continued, and Louis was ready to tune him out completely until he heard Niall whisper “baerne” under his breath, at which point his attention was entirely, 100% laser-focused on the boy, who was about to take a bite from a suddenly steaming drumstick.

“What did you just do?” Louis snapped, grabbing Niall’s arm and pulling him towards the back of the stands, away from where people could overhear them.

Niall looked guilty. “Uh… nothing.”

“You just used magic,” Louis accused in a whisper, in utter disbelief. “To warm up your drumstick.”

Niall shrugged.

“Do you know how stupid that was?”

“Oh, come on, it’s not like anybody saw,” Niall tried to deflect.

“You --- I saw,” Louis hissed, “and you’re lucky I’m not the type of person to report you. You know magic is punishable by death in Camelot, right?”

Clearly, Niall didn’t know this, or at least didn’t fully understand it, as his face went a little pale. “Well, it’s not technically allowed in Mercia, either, and I still get ‘way with it,” he muttered, trying to brush it off with a little false bravado. It was true that Mercia had recanted its previous acceptance of magic, but everyone knew it was informally accepted there, as long as it wasn't flaunted. “Calm down, Louis, it’s charming you care so much but I’m fine, really.”

“You,” and then Louis couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief, rubbing his face with his hands. No. No way. This was one too many things to deal with. “You can’t do that in Camelot, Niall,” he eventually said. Niall just looked away uncomfortably. “Seriously. Put a lid on it.”

He started to march back to the stands, ready to wash his hands of the whole situation, but incredibly, Niall continued to trail behind him, daring to ask, “so… if you don’t mind me asking, why aren’t you reporting me then?”

Louis shot him a look. “I’m not a big fan of child executions, Niall.”

“I am not a child,” Niall immediately protested, but his voice kind of squeaked on the middle word, and Louis just rolled his eyes at him as they took their seats. The melee was about to begin.

A favorite of many spectators, the melee involved groups of five competitors facing each other down. Each armed with a shield and their choice of weapon, the goal was to push the opposing team back and past a marked line. The first team to successfully push back 3 of the other team’s 5 members would win the round. Considering it needed a significant amount of prior cooperation, the teams were largely divided by kingdom.

Louis spotted Harry and Zayn talking to each other and smiling as they took the field for their first round. Louis crossed his arms, still feeling a bit hurt by how Harry had completely dismissed him earlier. He was having a hard time telling if Harry was operating on pure arrogance or not. He wanted to keep his promise not to interfere, but he also wanted Harry to take the threat to his life seriously, and he wasn’t sure that was happening.

Harry and Zayn’s countless hours training for the melee event with the other Camelot competitors paid off. They were more than capable on the field, winning their first few rounds with ease. Harry often led the charge, usually claiming responsibility for pushing at least one or two opponents past their line. Despite Louis’s slight resentment towards him, he couldn’t help but feel captivated at the way Harry moved. He was especially clever, often backing up to bait his opponent into a faulty swipe and then seizing the opportunity to push him back several steps.

A team from Essetir was winning, too, though Louis noted with interest that each time the team containing the pillager took the field, the other members seemed to glance at him with discomfort. Louis wondered how, exactly, the pillagers had managed to convince the other Essetirians that they were really from some random territory within its borders. Clearly, it hadn’t worked perfectly.

There was something unnatural in the way the pillager moved, Louis thought, as the team from Essetir beat the Mercian team containing Prince Edward in their semifinal round. However quickly he seemed to move normally, he was always twice as fast in the defining blow. His sword became more blur than weapon. It consistently caught his opponent by surprise. Louis probably would have chalked it up to the adrenaline burst of the final attack if he hadn’t known who the pillagers were.

Niall groaned in disappointment as Mercia left the field defeated. “Looks like your golden boy’s up yet again, Louis.”

“Looks like it,” Louis murmured as Camelot and Essetir took the field for the final. The two teams of five stood across from each other, and Louis could see the pillager set his sights directly on Harry, adjusting his grip on his sword. The prince set his stance in preparation.

As soon as the drum went off, the pillager made a mad rush for Harry, but the prince was ready for it and met him with an equal blow. The two began to clash as the others on their team fought around them, laser-focused on each other.

Harry fought admirably, gaining little ground but not losing any, either, until the pillager pulled one of his ultra-fast motions and slashed his sword against Harry’s knees. The armor absorbed the blow, but it knocked Harry off balance, and he was regaining his footing as the pillager moved lightning quick, bringing the sword up above his head in an alarming motion –

and Zayn was there, bringing his sword up to parry the blow, pushing the pillager back in a single smooth motion. The crowd cheered as Harry and Zayn tried to regain their ground, falling into their usual rhythm.

But they were a little too late. In their absence, their team members had been successfully pushed back by the other capable Essetirian fighters, and by the time Harry and the pillager met each other again, the drum sounded and Essetir had won.

All the breath left Louis’s body in one relieved exhale as he watched Harry and Zayn leave the field unharmed. The two were clearly disappointed at the loss, but they were also alive – a win in Louis’s eyes. Behind them, he could see the pillager trying to hide a scowl despite his team’s victory, glaring daggers at the prince’s back.

There was something about this whole situation that fundamentally didn’t make sense to Louis as he watched the Essetirians being presented to the King as victors. If the pillagers were there to kill Harry, and they were using magic; then why the theatrics? Why enter as a competitor? And why the slyness – trying to make it seem as though Harry merely lost or was injured naturally? Why not just – do it already? The pillager using magic had a clear view of Harry. Surely, he must have had greater magic than the ability to speed up his compatriot’s motions and undo Harry’s saddle strap. Instead, they seemed intent on playing this game, using just enough magic to give them an edge but not enough to be obvious. If they were attempting to avoid execution, they shouldn’t have been trying to kill Harry in the first place.

The question itched Louis’s brain as the short break before the final event began and he trailed after Niall, who ran into the tents to look after Ed. It was one thing to feel helpless. It was another to not even fully understand what he was helpless against.

-----------------

The instant Harry made it into his tent after the melee, he dropped heavily into the chair that waited for him, taking a deep breath. He had expected the Tournament to take it out of him, but the final round of melee had been especially draining. In his first actual confrontation with the man from Zeria, he had realized just how dangerous the scrawny-looking stranger could actually be. If Zayn hadn’t been there…

He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if he had done the right thing. Made the right call. Anxiety started to flicker in his head, and he felt distracted, unfocused. "Okay, you're fine, you got this, you got this," he said under his breath, trying to calm himself down, but the exhaustion in his body pulled his mind in multiple directions, a poor sign for the mental focus that he would need during hand-to-hand combat.

Just as he felt he was starting to panic, he heard the tent flap open, and turned to see Louis entering, ducking through the entrance.

“Hi,” Harry said with a relieved exhale.

“Hi,” Louis responded. He looked nice, Harry realized, surprised at the thought; his face looked pink from the sun, his hair tousled, and he held himself in a sort of guarded way, his lanky arms lightly crossed. He also looked unsure of himself, and suddenly Harry remembered the way he had treated him earlier and winced, regret adding to the confusing cocktail of emotions in his chest.

A slightly uncomfortable moment passed before Louis sighed, dropping his arms. “Okay. Up.”

Harry blinked at him in a sort of haze. “Huh?”

“I’m gonna check your armor,” Louis said, motioning him up. “I’m not taking the fall if these assholes decide to make your chestplate fly off or something. Get up.”

That made Harry laugh, and he pulled himself to his feet as Louis started checking and resecuring the straps on his armor. His movements were sure and focused, and Harry started to relax, feeling Louis's focus help him center himself as well. Louis was doing all he could do to try and protect Harry, and affection fluttered in his chest.

“I didn’t mean to upset you earlier,” he said as Louis came around front to look at him.

Louis grabbed Harry's chestplate and tugged it into place. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have started talking about it in front of other people.”

“You were right about the Zerians, anyway,” Harry said. “Including the magic. I don’t know how they’re doing it --,”

“I think the one in the stands is casting the spells,” Louis said, leaning back against the nearby table. “He’s making the other incredibly fast. However quick you think he can move, he can move twice as fast when he needs to.”

Harry nodded. It made sense, and really, he should have guessed they would have magic. Magic and evil went hand-in-hand; he felt it was difficult to find anyone with evil intentions who wasn’t connected to magic in some way. “I’ll just anticipate it.”

“Yeah,” Louis mumbled. His eyes were full of worry.

“It’ll be okay, Louis,” Harry said, and he placed a hand on Louis’s shoulder. “I might not even face him this time. Maybe somebody else will knock him out first. Or I’ll lose.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’ll happen,” Louis said, and he wasn’t looking at Harry, but he wasn’t moving away from his hand, either; if anything, Harry felt like Louis had shifted into his touch just slightly, and the movement felt important, somehow, and the air was thick and quiet between them for a second.

“You’re not dying today, Harry,” Louis said finally, breaking the tension and causing Harry to pull his hand away self-consciously. “I know that.”

“Louis?” came a sudden, unfamiliar voice from the entrance to the tent, and suddenly a head was pushing through the flap, causing Harry to sort of jump as a younger servant entered the tent. He flashed an enormously toothy grin at Harry and gave him a little bow, and Harry watched him with increasing bemusement as he started rambling: “Ah, Your High Royalness, sir, forgive the intrusion, I just came to fetch my compatriot, here, because the next round is about to begin, and… well, I wanted to introduce myself as well, sir, one promising young man to another, I have to say, I’m impressed with your… general skill and -,”

“Niall,” Louis groaned as Harry flashed him a mystified look. “Shut up.”

“Yes, right, well,” Niall continued, totally unfazed, “best of luck, Prince Harry, sir, and I’ll be rooting for you from the stands, after my liege, Lord Ed, of course, have to keep up appearances, don’t we, but you’re a close second, I assure you. And tell King Danny Boy old Niall said hello,” and this made him cackle, a ridiculous, ear-splitting sound that followed him as he exited the tent.

Harry looked after him, windblown, as though a small tornado had just entered and exited the tent. “What… was that.”

“That… was Niall,” Louis said. He pushed himself off of the table and Harry felt a slight surge of worry again, realizing the next event was about to start. As Louis left, he paused and touched Harry’s arm near the elbow.

“Good luck,” Louis said quietly, and then he was gone.

Harry watched him go and wondered why the brief touch hadn’t felt like enough.

-----------------

Harry's first few rounds passed in an abstract haze. His opponents were worthy competitors, but they were basic, predictable, and he followed his motions automatically, parrying their blows and knocking them to the ground without much mental effort at all. Every round ended the same way: with his sword aimed at their chest or placed lightly, very lightly, against their neck, and his opponent vocally yielding, usually with a hint (or more) of frustration.

Did Harry even have to try? Louis wondered from the stands. He seemed to move effortlessly, unbothered by heat or danger. His skill was entrancing.

At the end of every round, like the end of every round that day, Harry resisted the urge to glance at his father for approval, knowing he would see what he always did: a stoic face, betraying nothing. It was not going to be easy to win a seat on the Court today, he knew. Winning the joust was a good first step, but the loss in the melee was significant.

Hand-to-hand combat, though, was his way to prove himself once and for all. Above and beyond the other events, it was the most prestigious, the easiest way to win a good name for yourself – even if you didn’t end up victorious. It was also the only event all the competitors tended to watch, grouped in a crowd near the edge of the stands.

The pillager was winning, Harry noted with frustration. (The pillager was winning, Louis noted with a growing sense of dread.) He would have to face him soon. The other competitors were being eliminated, one by one. Zayn was bested by Lord Ed, who Harry vaguely connected to the strange child who had entered his tent earlier.

Louis just barely managed to stop Niall from trash-talking Zayn as he left the field.

“What did I say, Niall. No child executions today.”

Ed was Harry’s penultimate opponent. He was a worthy opponent, and clearly very smart, forcing Harry to put his full effort towards the fight. He was taller and older than Harry, using his natural advantage against the prince, who had to make up for it by anticipating Ed’s actions and seizing the gaps in his defense. Ed was slower on his left side, Harry realized, and he played to Ed's left, forcing him back. Their fight lasted twice as long as any of Harry’s other rounds, but by the end Harry managed to gain the upper hand, tripping Ed and knocking him to the ground in a final burst of energy.

Louis failed to hide a satisfied smirk which drove Niall absolutely crazy, sent him to muttering “oi, man, watch yourself, or it’s gonna be me and you, one on one, soon as this is done, I swear…”

At last, it was the final round, and – as though it were ever going to be anything else – Harry found himself facing the man from Zeria across the field.

The crowd fell silent. The final round of the Tournament. The Prince of Camelot. The totally unknown stranger. The pillager’s face twisted into a tiny grin as he adjusted his grip on his sword and Louis’s chest clenched. This was it. Harry set his stance and waited for the starting drum.

As soon as it sounded, the Zerian rushed at him with inhuman speed, and Harry was only barely able to drag his sword up to block his first blow, remembering with a sudden lurch that the last time he had faced the man one-on-one, Zayn had had to save him. Determined not to make the same mistakes, Harry recalculated the man’s speed in his head, and the next time the Zerian swung, Harry’s shield was there to meet the blow, his sword already swinging in an arc towards the man’s side and knocking him directly across the ribs.

The man was pushed back a step, suddenly put on the defensive, and Harry took the advantage, striking again and again, forcing him back on his heels, forced to block Harry's hits without having a chance to get another strike in. Vaguely, he could hear cheers and murmurs in the background, but that was just noise, a distraction from his all-consuming focus.

He swung again but this one was poorly aimed; it glanced harmlessly off the man’s shield and suddenly the Zerian was snaking in for a strike that hit a little too closely to the gap in Harry’s armor, forcing him back a step. His balance was off and the man’s eyes widened, his expression wild, as he went for another hit, and then another. He was only picking up speed, and Harry suddenly felt panicked as the man’s sword swung in an incredibly fast arc – he felt it nick the front of his helmet –

“Come on,” Louis whispered as he watched the pillager taking deadly swipes at Harry, Harry only barely dodging them, “come on, come on…” His magic practically caught flame in his hands, screaming at him to move, but he had to wait, he had to keep his promise until the last second possible.

He’s fast, he’s smart, but he’s not that strong. The fact suddenly became clear to Harry and he looked for the next opportunity to use it. The Zerian swiped his sword overhead, but Harry brought his own sword up to block the hit, and then he barreled down on the man, basically taking him in a one-on-one strength contest. It wasn’t his usual fight style, and it seemed to take the Zerian by surprise, as the man dropped his shield to hold his sword with two hands, struggling under the force of the blow –

As the man faltered, Harry pushed their swords to the side and immediately rammed his full weight into his opponent, sending him flying to the ground, his sword knocked away. Harry immediately brought the tip of his sword to the man’s neck.

“Do you yield,” he said, gasping for air.

The Zerian was also panting, and his face twisted into something utterly hateful, something that chilled Harry down to his bones, before he spit to the side.

Louis clenched his jaw and he heard many people in the stands murmur in confusion.

“Do you yield,” Harry grit out again.

The Zerian’s face fell into a much calmer, colder expression. “I yield,” he finally said.

Just like that, the arena exploded into cheers. Harry removed his sword from the man’s throat and extended a hand to help him up, but the man ignored him, pushing himself up to a sitting position.

Louis watched the tattooed pillager and the pillager on the field look at each other as Harry walked away, holding his sword up with one hand and waving to the crowd triumphantly with the other. Harry removed his helmet and his face looked utterly exhausted but full of pride. He started to make his way towards his father’s booth –

But the pillager was finally getting to his feet behind him, and with that inhuman speed, Louis saw him reach for his discarded sword. Louis leapt to his feet as the Zerian raced towards Harry, his motions muffled by the sound of the crowd’s roar, and instinctively, Louis threw his magic in a desperate, unfocused push towards Harry’s head, hissing, “Harry –”

TURN AROUND, said a voice in Harry’s head, as loudly as if someone had screamed in his ear, and he did, and there was a sword coming down in an arc that would cleave through his head –

he threw himself to the side, hitting the ground, and the blade just barely missed him, nicking the top of his ear. Harry heard the crowd gasp and a few people scream but all he could do was desperately pull up his sword and block the next strike from the Zerian man, his face now totally deranged, as he slashed at Harry again and again.

“Just – fucking – die,” he thought he heard the man grunting under his breath, and Harry’s mind scrambled frantically for something, some maneuver he could pull, but he was pinned to the ground, and his arms were growing weaker –

Suddenly the man froze, his face, his actions, everything, and he stared down at Harry with wide, shocked eyes.

He fell to the side with a choked gasp and Harry saw Zayn standing behind him, his sword dripping with blood from where it had just struck Harry’s attacker. Zayn looked alarmed and angry, but he moved surely, leaning down and wrenching the sword from the Zerian man’s injured grasp.

“What the hell just happened?” Zayn said as he reached out a hand to Harry.

“I have no idea,” Harry said, mostly honestly, as he grabbed his arm and got to his feet, taking a ragged breath of air.

The crowd was going absolutely crazy, some people standing and cheering for the two Camelotian knights, others confused, upset, shouting at each other and at the field. Louis looked frantically for the tattooed pillager, but he had disappeared entirely. Niall was rambling, talking a mile a minute: “I knew something was up with that man, he did not look right, he did not look right at all. What the HELL just happened, I mean seriously what the HELL just happened --” And then the King stood and people started to fall quiet, and Daniel spoke.

“Friends and neighbors, please,” Harry’s father said, and Harry turned to see him standing in his booth, commanding the space and causing the spectators to fall quiet. “It is clear that we have had an imposter with less than honorable intentions among us today.”

Understatement of the century, Harry thought, watching as a few Knights picked the pillager up by his arms and dragged him away from the arena. He knew his father was merely trying to preserve calm, and peace between the present Kingdoms.

“Let this not distract us from the displays of strength and bravery we have witnessed here today,” Daniel continued, and the crowd broke into nervous, appreciative applause. Harry looked around and saw the rest of the competitors joining him and Zayn in the center of the field. Several of them clapped him on the shoulder, offering him words of support.

The deadly threat of the pillager put to rest, Harry was suddenly free to remember his original anxiety. The choosing of the knights.

Daniel disappeared from his booth and reappeared in front of the competitors. He looked as regal and imposing as ever.

“This is not something I expected to do today,” he said, more to himself than anyone else, and Harry’s heart skipped in his chest. “Prince Harry.”

Harry stepped forward, and could barely process what was happening; the world felt unreal, and he felt his heartbeat pick up as his father said, “I don’t think there’s a person in this audience who can say I am unfairly favoring you with this honor today. You have proven yourself in strength, character, and bravery. It would honor Camelot to receive you into our court.”

Harry moved on autopilot as he knelt in front of his father, bowing his head deferentially. “I accept,” he said, his words ringing strange in his ears. I did it, I did it, I DID IT.

He did it. Louis’s heart swelled twice its size.

Then his father spoke another name, and things became even more surreal as Zayn knelt next to Harry, his eyes wide and shocked.

“More important than individual bravery is trust and loyalty to each other,” his father was saying. “By receiving you both into the Knights of Camelot, you will each have something rare: a comrade to fight alongside you, to support and protect you.”

And Louis couldn’t help it, he was so happy for his friends but he couldn’t help the spark of bitterness and jealousy. Harry already had someone like that. He always had. But nobody knew it. Not even the prince himself.

Zayn accepted his invitation and then the ceremony was over as quickly, and strangely, as it had begun. Harry stood as the crowd roared and cheered with applause. He tried to contain his excitement, but couldn't stop himself from throwing his fists in the air, beaming and reveling in the moment, in the feeling of finally achieving the goal of his life so far.

Immediately, he was swamped with people, first competitors and then spectators. He felt like he was moving through water as dozens of people at a time came up to him to speak with him, to shake his hand or clap his shoulder. He was carried through the tide, barely registering any faces and fewer words, responding as best he could, unable to wipe the grin from his face but starting to feel overwhelmed with the noise and the unwelcome feeling of closeness as people packed in all around him.

Finally he caught a glimpse of a safe haven, pushed his way into his tent, and yanked the strings to close the tent flaps firmly behind him, taking his first clean gulp of air since before the final round had started.

He turned around, and there was Louis.

He looked relieved and delighted, crossing his arms and just shaking his head slightly. And Harry felt a genuine smile break across his face.

He spread his arms. “What did I tell you?”

Louis scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You are such an idiot,” he said, and then he was moving forward and crushing Harry in a hug.

This was a kind of closeness that was welcome, and Harry hugged him back just as tightly, spinning him around a little and wheezing with laughter. "I did it, I fucking did it!" he said, knowing Louis would allow him that unfiltered celebration.

“You did it,” Louis said, breaking away, his face pink. His next words were more serious. "That was way too close for comfort, though."

“I know,” Harry said, thinking he would be vividly remembering that brush of steel against his ear for a long time to come, and touching the cut that had been left there as a reminder. “I know.”

Louis's eyes were bright, but a small frown crossed his face. “The second man disappeared,” he said quietly. “I don’t know where he went.”

Harry shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. If he comes back, we’ll be ready. And we don’t have to wait around for him to strike this time.”

Louis nodded in relief as a familiar shout boomed from outside. “HARRY! Get your ass out here so we can celebrate!” Zayn – Sir Zayn – shouted, sounding happier than Harry had ever heard him. "Louis! Harry! Where are you!!" he heard Liam shout as well.

Louis and Harry grinned at each other and Louis made a move for the entrance, but Harry pulled up short. “Wait,” he said, grabbing Louis’s arm for a second.

“What’s wrong?”

“On the field,” Harry started, and then stopped again. Louis looked at him in concern, but Harry was suddenly unsure what to say, unsure why he had even brought it up. What was he about to say?

There was a voice in my head – and it sounded like you?

“Nothing,” he eventually said, “nevermind.” Louis had a strange expression on his face, but Harry just ruffled his hair, drawing a familiar splutter from his friend. “Let’s go celebrate.”

The two of them walked into the sea of people side by side.

-----------------

The night was pitch black, the new moon swamping Mercia in total darkness, when the Circle finally met a few days later.

They had called an emergency meeting. Almost immediately. The events of the Tournament had not only not gone as planned – they had basically backfired in every way possible.

Well – nearly every way possible.

“This had better be worth the travel,” one of the cloaked men grumbled. Thirteen of them were gathered in the Mercian cavern that made up their usual meeting spot – hardly a distinguished gathering place, but necessary for their current level of secrecy. A few flickering torches lit the space, and each figure was dressed in a dark cloak, mostly obscuring their faces. In the middle of the cavern stood a large stone table.

“If what Malcolm says is true, it most certainly will be,” said a woman who stood at the head of the table. She spoke with a lilting accent, her face framed with long, silver hair. Behind her stood an unusual figure, unfamiliar to the group, gaunt and somewhat scrappy compared to the regal qualities of the other members. He had an unseemly tattoo around his right eye.

Finally, footsteps announced the arrival of their final member as Malcolm appeared at the mouth of the cave.

“Malcolm,” the woman said, her voice echoing softly. “You have your witness?”

“I do,” the man said, and he stepped aside to reveal his guest.

Niall slowly stepped into view of the Circle. His eyes were wide, his face slightly terrified. He looked, for once, as though he had finally realized he had gotten himself in over his head. He hadn't meant to get himself involved in... whatever was happening here. He had just told his teacher, Malcolm, a few too many details about his new friends from Camelot.

“Tell them what you told me,” Malcolm said, pushing Niall forward a little bit.

Niall cleared his throat nervously. “Well, sirs, and madams, it’s a pleasure to meet you, um… well, you see, it’s not like I was trying to be a snoop, I just…”

“It’s okay, Niall,” the silver-haired woman said, and Niall balked. “Just tell us what it is you saw.”

He hesitated before speaking succinctly for once. “Louis. The prince’s servant. He has magic. I saw him use it to warn Prince Harry during the competition.”

The words cast a deathly silence over the gathered members. Niall looked anxious, and he tried to continue: “they weren’t a bad lot, really, they were actually quite nice -” but at this, Malcolm placed a hand on his shoulder firmly, silencing him. Luckily, nobody was paying attention to him anymore; their gazes were focused solely on Olivia, who turned to look at the pillager behind her.

“Why any self-respecting sorcerer would serve in Daniel’s house…”one muttered, shaking her head.

“Leave,” she said coolly to the blonde. “Your failure will not be held against you. There were larger forces at play.”

The man narrowed his eyes, but left quietly, disappearing into the night. Shortly thereafter, Malcolm whispered something to Niall, and he scampered away as well.

Olivia took a deep breath as the sorcerers were finally left alone, and she leaned forward onto the table. “If this is true, then Prince Harry is even more dangerous than we thought. He has got to go.”

The group murmured in unified assent.

“What of the servant boy?” Malcolm spoke up. “He is protecting the Prince. That is a significant complication.”

Olivia's eyes flashed and her lips narrowed into a thin line. “He's still young. And he's one of us,” she eventually said, looking around the group. “He could be a great asset.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then he will have chosen his side,” Olivia said, and the coldness in her voice was enough to chill the air. “And he will accept the consequences.”

Chapter Text

Eighteen

The news rode into Camelot at sundown in the form of a man on horseback. At the entrance to the castle, he dismounted, speaking urgently to the knights guarding the gates. After exchanging meaningful looks, one knight opened the gates, while the other escorted the man into the castle.

It was uncommon procedure for an unsolicited visit from a commoner, but this was something the King needed to hear.

A sorcerer had been found in Camelot.

Like usual, the servants found out about it first.

Gossip spread like wildfire through the castle. Before the messenger had reached the throne room, the groundsmen had told the chamber servants, who told the kitchen staff, who told the servers, who spread it along to anyone who would listen. Soon, clusters of men and women were whispering about it in every corner of the castle.

A sorcerer. A sorcerer hadn’t been found in Camelot in over a decade.

King Daniel heard the news shortly after. Though he had retired to his chambers for the night, he reemerged in the Grand Hall, looking slightly disheveled.

The messenger bent his knee and told the King the story in a few rushed sentences: a woman in Henwick, a large village under Camelot’s protection, had been caught using magic on her children. (At this, Daniel’s nose wrinkled in utter disgust. Her own children.) She had been caught by the local guard, and they would transport her to the castle as soon as the morning made it safe to travel.

King Daniel nodded briefly and commended the messenger for his haste, offered him a safe place to stay for the night, and spent the rest of the evening pacing his quarters, stroking his beard, his mind churning.

He took no pleasure in eliminating magic users from his land. Daniel did not consider himself to be a sadistic man – merely realistic. He had seen the utter havoc magic could wreak on a kingdom, and he was determined to protect Camelot from such a fate.

He had made it clear, over and over, to his citizens, what the punishment for magic would be. Tomorrow, he would be true to his word.

----------

Louis’s grandmother, Sylvia, found out only a few moments later.

The young woman who had taken over Louis’s herb-gathering duties found out from her friends at the castle, and when she dropped by Sylvia’s house in the evening, she spilled the news in a rush of excited words. She missed the way Sylvia’s hands clenched at the news, the way her gaze grew distant and pained. Sylvia stayed quiet and asked her assistant to leave shortly thereafter, ignoring the young woman’s confused expression.

Once she was gone, Sylvia sat heavily at the table, trying to keep her hands from shaking.

She remembered the last time a sorcerer had been put to death in Camelot.

She remembered it every time she closed her eyes.

After letting a moment of dread pass by, Sylvia’s concern focused in a far more particularized direction. She sighed deeply and pressed her hands into her forehead briefly.

“He’s ready,” she told herself. “He has to be.”

----------

The two people who most needed to hear the news were two of the last to receive it. Mostly because they were slightly drunk, and completely engrossed in a game of darts.

“He’s gonna choke,” Harry was saying from the table, to a group of snickering knights. “He always does. Watch.”

“I’m not gonna choke,” Louis grumbled, focusing intently on the cork dartboard hanging on the tavern wall.

“Hurry up, Louis, we don’t have all night,” Zayn taunted from his side, having already taken his turn. The knight was smirking, casually tossing a dart from hand to hand as Louis ignored him and threw his first dart.

Bullseye. Zayn protested, “beginner’s luck,” as Louis turned and raised his eyebrows at the table. “What was that, Harry?”

Harry rolled his eyes as Louis turned and took aim again – but maybe Zayn was right, because his second shot was nowhere near as good as his first, and his third dart glanced off the side of the board, cementing his loss. Louis tilted his head back and groaned in exasperation as Zayn clapped loudly and whooped, returning to the table victorious.

“This is so stupid,” Louis muttered as he fell back into his chair. Ben, the tall, mostly silent knight who was sitting next to him, offered him a conciliatory smile while the boisterous Nick boomed, “Ah, don’t worry, Louis, I’ll get you another drink,” standing to move towards the bar.

Harry, sitting directly across from him, had a merciless smirk on his face. “Told you,” he said smugly, leaning forward.

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Aww, Louis, you’re so cute when you’re angry,” Harry teased, just to fluster Louis, who was annoyed to feel it work as his heart stuttered awkwardly in his chest.

“You know what, Harry,” he said, trying to barrel past the comment, “enough. You and me. Let’s do this.”

“Oh man, Louis,” said James, a larger, lighter-haired knight from the end of the table. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, Louis, definitely not a good idea,” Harry repeated, his smugness growing even more intolerable. “I think you’ve lost enough for the night.”

“What’s the matter, scared to lose to your servant?” Louis snarked right back at him, pulling a number of oohs from the gathered knights. Harry’s grin slipped a bit, and his eyes narrowed, satisfying Louis. It was way too easy to get a rise out of him.

“Fine,” Harry said, “but if I win, I’m putting you on stables duty for a week.”

“Fine,” Louis retorted, “but if I win, you have to do both of our laundry for a month.”

This cracked up James and Zayn as Ben raised an eyebrow at Harry. The prince’s face was almost pink, delighting Louis, and Harry leaned over and snatched the darts from Zayn, who protested weakly.

“All right, let’s go, then,” Harry said with bravado, standing and approaching the dart board. He took his usual position as Louis stood to stand next to him, and Louis rolled his eyes as Harry started narrating his actions: “See, Louis, what you always forget is that it’s really in the stance. You have to be consistent, not just lucky.”

It was something that Louis both loved and hated about Harry in equal measure. The way he was the best at everything – and knew he was, and had absolutely no qualms rubbing it in.

So – okay. It wasn’t fair for Louis to do this. It really wasn’t. But Harry never lost. It was getting ridiculous. And god, Louis hated stables duty.

And it was just so easy, when Harry let his first dart fly, to use the tiniest bit of magic to nudge it to the right, so that it hit the 6-point wedge rather than the bullseye.

Harry looked confused, and Louis smiled patronizingly. “That was pretty consistent, Harry,” he said in a sarcastically sweet voice, hearing Zayn giggle from the table. “You think you can hit the middle of the board next time?”

Harry glared at him. “That was just a warm-up.”

Louis lifted his hands in the air, and Harry returned his focus to the board, taking a second longer before throwing another dart.

Thwip. Bullseye. (Louis had to let it be believable.)

“There we go,” Harry muttered under his breath, “two in a row, come on,” and brought the third dart to bear, green eyes narrowing in focus. Louis couldn’t help but feel a mixture of annoyance and affection at how seriously Harry took these games, all the time, and really felt like the prince could use a dose of humility, which is why he adjusted the third dart’s arc just a little bit again so that it embedded itself on the 5-point wedge.

Nick, Zayn, and James all dissolved into laughter, while Ben took a surreptitious sip of his drink. Now, Harry looked actually frustrated, but he tried to save face, crossing his arms and turning to Louis.

“Okay, not my best round, but never underestimate Louis’s ability to choke,” he said, sweeping his arm out in invitation.

That really sealed the deal. Louis stood in front of the board and told each of his darts exactly where he’d like them to go.

Thwip. Thwip. Thwip. Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye.

“WHAT THE HELL,” Harry shouted as the table absolutely erupted, Zayn banging his fist against the table with glee while Nick and James roared with laughter. Harry crossed his arms, his forehead wrinkling in a little scowl. “There’s no way you didn’t just cheat,” he said.

“Aww, Harry,” Louis said, “you’re so cute when you’re angry,” and was utterly delighted to see Harry go fully pink under his freckles.

Before their little back-and-forth could go any further, the door to the tavern swung open, and another member of the royal guard – a familiar face, his name was Fundy, he often joined them when he wasn’t working night shift – made a beeline for the group of knights. The table slowly quieted when they saw the man’s serious expression. He was clearly not coming to join in their fun.

“Prince Harry,” he said, “your father is requesting your presence in the Grand Hall.”

Harry looked taken aback, but he nodded, placing his darts down on the table. “I’ll be right there.”

Fundy dipped his head and left quickly, and the group exchanged quiet glances.

“Well, sorry, Louis,” Harry finally sighed, grabbing his jacket, “but I guess we’ll just have to call it a wash.”

“What?!” Louis exclaimed. “But I won!”

“Everyone knows wagers are best two out of three,” Harry said, because of course he would. “I’ll see you guys later.”

As Harry left the tavern, Louis sat and crossed his arms, watching the doors swing shut behind him with a tinge of worry. It was rare for Harry to be summoned to his father’s side like that, especially this late.

“Don’t worry, Louis,” Zayn said through a mouthful of tavern peanuts. “Harry’s just being a sore loser, as usual.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Louis said, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “I feel kinda sorry for him, it must be hard to be so bad at everything.”

This pulled a laugh from the table, which brought a genuine smile to Louis’s lips. He didn’t know all the knights as well as Harry and Zayn did, but they treated him as an equal, despite their pretty vast difference in status, and he felt comfortable around them.

His mind felt tugged towards the castle, though, as Harry marched through the chilly autumn evening towards the Grand Hall.

----------

Louis left the tavern soon under the pretense of going to bed, and was stoking a small fire to life in Harry’s room when the doors swung open and the prince entered. He looked a little surprised to see Louis.

“Did the others leave so early?” Harry asked, shrugging his jacket off and draping it over a chair.

“No, I just got tired from beating you so badly,” Louis joked, but Harry didn’t take the bait. Instead, he collapsed onto his back on his bed with a soft groan, rubbing his face and scrubbing through his hair with his hands.

Not for the first time, Louis felt himself distracted by the attractive way Harry moved as he stretched his arms over his head without an inch of self-consciousness, his back arching up from the bed a little as he yawned. Even sprawled out on the bed, looking exhausted, Harry had this natural grace about him, his long limbs moving fluidly.

Louis felt a small rush of heat in his stomach and quickly snapped his gaze back towards the fire, embarrassed. He had these thoughts… somewhat frequently, more frequently than he would like to admit. They were distracting, and unimportant, he scolded himself internally, and tried to ignore the way his heart skipped half a beat as Harry rolled over on his side, his head propped up on his elbow, his hand in his disheveled hair, inspecting what Louis was doing.

“What did your father want?” Louis asked, trying to move past the moment.

Harry’s face went serious. He had tired lines at the corners of his eyes, and his forehead was softly furrowed. “A trial is being held tomorrow.”

Louis’s eyebrows lifted slightly. A trial wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t especially common. He turned a little, still sitting in front of the fire, and brought one knee to his chest. “What happened?”

“A sorcerer was caught in Henwick,” Harry said, and looked up to meet Louis’s gaze just as the servant had to race to keep his face from falling. It clearly didn’t work perfectly, as the prince caught his distraught expression, but he just nodded gravely. “Yeah. I know.”

“Do you know what happened?” Louis asked, fighting to keep his voice from trembling.

“No,” Harry said. “He didn’t give me any details. I don’t know if he even knows what happened. They’re coming tomorrow, and we’ll hold trial. And then we’ll have the execution.”

Louis’s heart sunk like lead into his stomach and he lost his breath for a moment. When he regained it, he asked, “how can you say that already? What if the person is innocent?”

“You don’t get accused of sorcery if you’re innocent, Louis,” Harry said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Then what’s the point of the trial?”

“We have to hear the evidence, it’s how things are done. There’s always a chance the execution won’t happen, but Louis, I’d be really surprised. There’s no room for magic in Camelot. There can never be. You know this.”

Louis’s heart hammered loudly in his chest and he swallowed. “I know,” he said weakly, trying to keep a hold on himself.

Harry sighed, seemingly oblivious to Louis’s internal panic, and fell back on the bed, staring up at his ceiling. “Tomorrow is going to be a really long day.”

Louis stood and bit his lip, utterly unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to leave. But he didn’t know what he wanted to say. Or what he could say.

“Do you want me to come to the trial tomorrow?” was what he came up with. He had accompanied Harry to several trials and court sessions previously, helping to fetch anything the King might need throughout the process.

Louis wasn’t sure whether he wanted Harry to say yes or no, but he didn’t have much of a choice when the prince said “yes, definitely. This is… this is pretty new to me. You’ll be helpful during, but I’d also like another person’s perspective after it’s over.”

Louis nodded, feeling his throat sort of thicken. “Okay. Of course.”

“Thanks, Louis,” Harry said. He glanced at Louis and then looked concerned at Louis’s expression, so he pushed himself up to a sitting position and said, “Louis, don’t be afraid, okay? The sorcerer is under constant surveillance. She won’t get away.”

Harry was worried about him, and Louis knew he should feel touched. But he was worried for exactly the wrong reason, and it just made him feel sick to his stomach. So he just nodded quickly and said, “yes, I know. Thanks, Harry. I – I think I’m gonna go to bed now. Unless you need anything else.”

Harry still looked worried, but he shook his head no, and Louis left abruptly, throwing a quick “goodnight” over his shoulder.

He managed to make it back to his room without breaking down.

----------

Sylvia knew the midnight knock at the door would come hours before it did. She had stayed awake to wait for it.

When she opened the door and saw her grandson standing, tear-stricken, in front of her, she knew he had heard the news.

Quickly, he was seated at the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket and given a warm cup of tea. She saw Louis’s shoulders still shaking, either from the chill of the autumn night or from the shock of the news or both, and she bit the inside of her lip as she sat in the armchair adjacent to his, cradling her own cup of tea.

“I don’t know what to do, Gran,” Louis said hoarsely, after a long moment of looking into the fire.

Sylvia noticed, once more, what a fine young man her grandson had grown to be. At eighteen, he was somewhat shorter than his friends, but he held himself proudly, with a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself that was entirely deserved. For the past four years, he had been practicing his magic with her, and she was utterly astonished at the pace at which he was learning. Already, he was a better sorcerer than many men twice his age. His understanding of magic was intuitive, spiritual rather than merely intellectual. It was intertwined with his soul, a part of him since birth. He treated magic with reverence and appreciation, rather than the greed and malice with which lesser men often approached it. He knew it to be an art form, rather than a weapon. And his time at the castle had instilled him with a fine work ethic, a sense of perspective and humility. He had served his and Prince Harry’s dual destinies with care, protecting the man he was sure would grow to be an incredible king.

Sylvia couldn’t have been prouder of him. And she couldn’t be more scared that every day, he walked into the jaws of the kingdom that would crush him with impunity given the chance.

“I can’t stop thinking about mum and dad,” Louis finally whispered, blinking down at his tea.

“Of course not,” Sylvia responded, her voice trembling. “I can’t, either.”

“I know I wasn’t there,” Louis said, twisting his hands around the cup, “but… I don’t know. It feels like I was. I have… flashes.”

Sylvia winced.

“Can you tell me again how it happened?” Louis finally asked, looking up. His dark eyes looked upset and vulnerable. “I was trying to remember the details, but it’s been so long.”

Sylvia’s heart twisted in her chest. “Louis… I don’t know if I should.”

“Please, I…” Louis took a steadying breath and drew himself up a little. “I want to know.”

She wouldn’t tell him that it hurt her every time she talked about it, too. Louis’s mother was her child, her baby. Reliving the memory was incredibly painful. But Sylvia was the only carrier of this memory, and she had a duty to him to pass it down. Louis had been so young, far too young to comprehend what was happening to him. She still remembered him, his wide, dark eyes, his tiny voice, asking questions with no easy answers…

She could answer him, now.

“We all knew of Daniel’s disposition towards magic,” she started, and saw Louis pull the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. “So when he became King… most of us became careful. Secretive. Several of us who openly practiced magic decided to move villages, change our names. It was all… we hoped it was an overreaction. We hoped we were overestimating the depth of his distrust.

“It started small. Restrictions on public magic. Asking people to register themselves as sorcerers. Some of us did… others didn’t. Nobody knew what to do, or who to trust.

“But your mother wouldn’t have any of it,” and at this Sylvia smiled wryly down at her hands, remembering her daughter: her wild mane of black hair, her flashing dark eyes and wickedly sharp tongue. “Like you, her magic was inborn and inescapable. She couldn’t simply stop doing magic. It would be like asking someone to put aside speaking, or breathing.

“So she refused – all of it. Refused to go into hiding, refused to register, refused to stop practicing magic in public. She helped people – that was all. She was a healer, like me, but better,” Sylvia laughed quietly, “much better. And your father – well; he was her helper. And although he was afraid, mostly for you,” she glanced at Louis, “because you were so young, he knew who he married. And he was by her side for every moment.”

She took a shaky sip of her tea. Louis’s eyes were focused on the floor. She could tell he was drinking in every word. “Things got worse,” she said, and then stopped. How could she even explain it? The way everything had moved so gradually, and then so quickly all at once. “Things got much worse.

“There were many more restrictions placed upon magic, so many laws. Eventually sorcerers couldn’t take two steps without being arrested for it. Placed in dungeons, or exiled. And what could any of us do about it? Daniel was the King, divinely ordained. He was looking out for the best interests of his kingdom, he said.

“The magic users got angry. They started discussing solutions. Several people wanted to flee to Mercia, but Mercia wasn’t much better in those days. Others refused to leave their home. A small – but vocal faction wanted to fight. To make clear we wouldn’t be passive. And maybe… maybe there was a way we could have done it. Maybe there was something that could have worked.

“But they did it all wrong. It was unorganized, desperate fighting. After a few outbreaks of violence, Daniel started putting to death any sorcerer who was involved. Except – he would just take everyone. Every sorcerer in an entire village that had seen violence – gone. Just like that. Burned.

“People were angry, and getting angrier. Their family members had been taken from them, innocent loved ones. And at that point they didn’t want justice. They wanted revenge.

“A few managed to infiltrate the castle. I still don’t understand what they wanted – or what their purpose was. But they killed the Queen. They almost killed the Prince,” Sylvia said, and saw Louis’s brow furrow.

“That was the last of it. Magic was outlawed permanently. Daniel promised to put any person who practiced magic in Camelot to death. It was chaos. Known sorcerers being arrested left and right. Executed within hours…

Louis was quiet. He wasn’t crying anymore. The fireplace crackled softly and illuminated his face in an orange glow. Sylvia couldn’t read his expression.

“I can’t let him do it again,” Louis eventually said. His voice was quiet but strong. Convicted. “Not even to one more person.”

“What are you going to do?” Sylvia asked.

Louis looked down at his cup, still mostly full and long gone cold. He tapped a finger against it and fresh steam rose up; he took a fortifying sip. “I’m going to get Harry to stop it.”

“How? Have his feelings towards magic shifted at all?” It was Louis’s second mission, and the one he had encountered the most trouble with. Daniel’s prejudice seemed deeply ingrained in Harry’s mind, through no real fault of the prince’s. Indoctrination was a difficult demon to exorcise.

Louis’s forehead furrowed. “No. Not really. But… maybe facing down the reality of putting someone to death will change his mind. Maybe if I confront him about it, really confront him, he’ll see that it’s wrong.”

Worry bloomed in her chest. “Louis… if anyone can stop this, you can. And I know have to try. I want you to try. But please, promise me something.”

“Anything, gran,” he said immediately, meeting her gaze.

Sylvia looked at him tenderly. “If you’re not sure,” she said, “absolutely sure, that he’ll take your side… don’t reveal your magic.”

Louis hesitated, his face clouding. “What if that’s the only thing that’ll change his mind?” he asked softly. “I have to tell him at some point. I’ve been lying for… for years. For our whole lives.”

“Do you know for a fact,” she said, “that if you told him today, he would stop Daniel from putting you to death?”

Louis’s eyes widened in shock before he looked away. Sylvia could tell he wanted to say yes, but he struggled with his answer for a long moment. “I don’t… I don’t know,” he said, and his voice broke a little. “I hope he would.”

Your mother hoped, too. “I want you to be certain,” Sylvia said, nearly pleading. “I can’t…”

I can’t watch it happen to you.

She didn’t have to say it. Louis heard her meaning. He met her gaze again and he nodded. He told her, “I won’t tell him unless I’m certain, gran. I promise.”

----------

The Grand Hall never felt more solemn than it did during a trial. They were very rare. The magistrates usually took care of petty squabbles. The only cases that reached the King were serious and complicated offenses – those matters which implicated the security of Camelot.

Harry felt the nervous energy immediately as he entered the room, the late afternoon light filling the Hall with golden shafts of light. His father was sitting in his throne, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands pressed to his mouth. He was staring forward into space and barely acknowledged Harry as his son took his place in the seat at his side.

To his right sat many of Daniel’s advisors, the noblemen and women he consulted in times of war and conflict. To his left stood the Knights, their hands crossed in front of them.

Harry looked at Zayn but the knight was standing at strict attention, his gaze held forward. They had different roles here, a difference that lingered between Harry and the rest of his friends. In times like this, their role was clearly defined: they were present to observe and to protect the king. The advisors, too, understood their place; they knew when their voice was welcomed and when it was not.

Harry’s role was different and more complicated. He was almost an advisor to his father, but almost a symbolic figurehead, powerless. He was there to watch, to bear witness; to fulfill his role as a prince, to learn how to administer justice when he was king. But did he have a voice in the present moment? Harry wasn’t sure.

He glanced to his left and saw Louis, standing behind the knights, practically blending into the shadows far against the wall. They made eye contact and Louis gave Harry a small, nervous smile. Harry mirrored it back to him, fortified by his presence. No matter what happened today, he’d be able to talk to Louis about it later. Louis would support him; he would understand.

“Bring her in,” Daniel spoke, and everyone fell totally still. Nick, standing nearest the doors, opened them, and the sorcerer was brought in.

Whatever Harry thought a sorcerer would look like, it wasn’t this. It was a woman, short and slight of frame, dressed in a white shirt and a plain brown dress. She had dark skin and her hair hung in curls around her face. She didn’t look terrifying or ethereal; she didn’t look angry; though she did look strong, walking into the Hall with sure-footed steps. She was flanked by four fully-armored guards, and her hands were tied behind her. If Harry hadn’t known she was a sorcerer, he would have laughed at the overkill. They marched her into the Hall and presented her to the king.

You could have heard a pin drop for a long moment. The sheer size of the hall seemed to intensify the silence into a kind of roar.

“Who accuses this woman?” Daniel said, and the tone of his voice sent a shiver racketing down Harry’s spine. It was controlled in a deadly way. He wasn’t shouting, but his voice held barbs that could slice through steel.

Another man, a villager, approached from behind the guard. He was tall and pale, with a scraggly beard and a set of clothes that were almost nice, but betrayed his class. He approached the king and removed his hat, bowing in a deep motion.

“Your Highness,” he said, and Harry noticed the sorcerer’s eyes narrow the instant he spoke. “My name is Geoffrey of Henwick. I am your humble servant.”

“You have accused this woman of sorcery?” Daniel asked, not losing the razor-sharp edge in his voice.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Your Highness, I am the foremost physician of our village,” Geoffrey started, having obviously rehearsed his speech, delivering it like he was in a play. “About a fortnight ago, this woman – Cecily – called me to her home to treat a sick child. I arrived to find a house full of sickness. Yellow fever.”

Harry winced. The deadly illness had spread like wildfire throughout many villages. It could wipe out entire families in the span of a few days.

“I did everything I could, but all three of her children had caught fever, and each greatly deteriorated,” Geoffrey said, his voice dripping with what Harry read as manufactured sadness. “I applied a number of natural remedies and attempted to remove the fever through the letting of blood, as we now know is the best way to eliminate fever.”

“You may skip the medical details,” Daniel said coldly, and Geoffrey blanched.

“Yes, sir, I –” he cleared his throat. “The children were dying. I thought they may only have a number of hours left. But the next day, I returned to their home and all three had made a miraculous recovery. Perfectly healthy. Your Highness, I have seen many things in my time as a physician, but never – never – have I seen three children sick with fever return from the verge of death so quickly. I began to suspect that the woman may have used some unnatural remedy to treat her children. When I entered her home, I found this -,” and here he presented a book, leather-bound and worn through, “in her kitchen.”

Daniel motioned for the book and it was brought to him. Harry took a glance at the pages. It was full of incomprehensible scribbles, a strange and terrifying language that struck fear right down to his bones.

“I informed the royal guard, and they seized her yesterday evening,” Geoffrey finished, and then waited expectantly.

Daniel flipped through a few pages of the book. “Do you deny these accusations?” he finally said, and though he didn’t specifically address the question or look up from the book, it was clear who was expected to answer.

Nevertheless, a long silence stretched before the sorcerer finally spoke.

“No,” she said, and Harry looked at her in shock. Her voice was soft, though it held conviction. Her face was calm.

Daniel hesitated in his next page turn. He looked up at the sorcerer, who held his gaze unflinchingly. His brow started to furrow in anger. “You know the penalty for sorcery in Camelot?”

“I do,” she responded, her chin lifted high.

Harry didn’t know what to think. She was so… so different, from what he had thought she would be like; and then he realized he wasn’t quite sure what he had thought she would be like at all, but he anticipated some sort of strange markings, or bizarre dress, or at least a hint of malice in her voice or in her gaze. This woman had none of those. She looked, by all means, to be a common villager, a mother – not the image of a sorcerer Harry had built in his head. And the thing was accused of doing… was healing her children?

Daniel closed his book and Harry felt that sure his father felt the same way he did. That this couldn’t be right. That there must have been some mistake. He waited for his father to echo the sentiment.

“You have been found guilty of sorcery,” Daniel said, his voice carrying the resounding finality of a decree, and Harry jolted in his seat. “You will be kept in the dungeons tonight, and you will be executed in the morning, as the laws of this land require. This is my judgement.”

Daniel stood and Harry felt himself numbly rising to his feet as well, along with the rest of the room. The guards closed back in around the sorcerer, whose face had gone pale, but whose expression remained stoic, and grabbed her by the arms, leading her away and towards the dungeons.

She said nothing. She didn’t plead for mercy. She didn’t ask for them to understand. She just went, her head still held high. Her shoulders set.

Harry’s thoughts stalled to a stop. He felt disconnected from reality, and wondered if he was dreaming. If he hadn’t woken up at all, and Louis would be pulling him out of bed soon.

But his father’s hand on his shoulder grounded him. He looked at King Daniel, who stared seriously into his eyes, searching for something. Something Harry didn’t know if he had.

“There is no room for magic in Camelot,” the king said, like a mantra.

He felt himself nodding, unable to bring himself to speak, and then his father was leaving, dismissing his court. The matter warranted no further discussion.

The rest of the room left without fanfare, but when Harry looked to his right, he saw the same shocked expression on Louis’s face that resonated within his own chest. His friend stared at the place where the woman had stood only moments prior with a pale, slightly horrified expression. And Harry’s mind spun.

There was no room for magic in Camelot.

It was true. It had to be true. So this had to be right.

Why didn’t it feel that way?

----------

Blood rushed in Louis’s ears as he followed Harry back to the prince’s quarters. They didn’t speak as they walked, silence echoing louder than words ever could. Harry’s shoulders were rigid, his head tilted down.

Harry had been useless, Louis realized, and felt anger and shame rising up in his chest like hot water boiling over. The prince had done nothing. He had just sat there, silently, watching as Daniel sentenced that mother – a mother who had merely healed her own children – to death. Without a second thought.

And Harry had said nothing.

Louis felt bitter, he felt bitter and he felt betrayed, but mostly he felt angry at himself, angry that he had failed, that he hadn’t even begun to change Harry’s mind about magic. Louis had been a coward. He had been afraid to push his luck, too content to slip into his easy life, to protect Harry and enjoy the comforts of the castle and take refuge in the prince’s company without ever taking risks. Shame filled him as he remembered the way Cecily had stood so calmly, accepting her punishment with grace and courage unlike anything he had ever seen.

Louis’s job was to stand up for his people, and he had failed.

It had to end today.

The doors to Harry’s quarters shut behind them and Harry collapsed into a chair with a shaky sigh, putting his head in his hands. Evening was encroaching, and the light in the room was soft and blue.

Louis stood totally still by the closed doors, unable to take another step forward.

“That was insane,” Harry mumbled into his hands.

Louis’s gaze snapped towards him sharply, hoping the words meant what he wanted them to mean. “It was.”

“She didn’t even…” Harry shook her head. “That was nothing like what I thought it would be.”

Louis took a deep breath. “So… what are you planning to do about it?”

Harry stiffened, and then he looked up at Louis. His expression was confused, and Louis’s heart sank. “What do you mean?”

“Harry,” Louis said urgently, “you've got to stop this.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry said sharply. “She’s a sorcerer, Louis. There is no room for magic in -,”

“Don’t feed me that --” Louis waved his hand through the air, cutting Harry’s words off. “Don’t feed me that line. Seriously, Harry. That woman was helping her children. You really think she deserves to die for that?”

He could see the guilt in Harry’s eyes, he could see the indecision there, but it was clouded over and crowded out by that indoctrination, that deep-ingrained programming. “You don’t understand, Louis,” he said, standing and pacing away, towards the windows. “It’s not about what she did with the magic. It’s the fact that she used magic in the first place. You can’t let sorcerers have anything, Louis. You - you give them an inch, and they take root before you have a chance at stopping them,” he said, and it sounded like he was reciting something by heart. “Have you heard what’s happening in Mercia?”

Louis had heard the rumors. “This isn’t Mercia.”

“It could be,” Harry snapped, turning, and now he looked angry. “Easily, it could be. The only reason it’s not is because we have a king who will actually stand against magic. Who actually cares about his citizens’ safety.”

“That woman wasn’t a citizen?” Louis argued, throwing an arm back and towards the door. “You’re telling me that woman wasn’t exactly like every Camelot citizen you’ve ever helped? What about her safety?”

Harry hesitated, but his scowl grew. “Maybe she was a citizen, once,” he said coldly, “but she recounted that when she chose magic. When she chose to learn it, and practice it, in secret, knowing it’s against our laws, knowing what the penalty is, knowing that it threatens our kingdom --,”

“I actually can’t believe you right now,” Louis said, his voice rising almost to a shout. His heart hammered in his ears. He had hoped Harry would see injustice, would hesitate to execute a real person, and – and he had been handed the most innocent human being possible, and he still couldn’t see –

“I kind of can’t believe you right now, Louis,” Harry was saying, his voice rising as well. “Since when are you so friendly towards sorcerers?”

The words were dangerous and Louis’s mouth snapped shut, his blood running cold in his veins. “This isn’t about me,” he said, even though it was, it was, and Harry just – just didn’t know it, didn’t know his every word was cutting right down to the marrow. “It’s about a woman who obviously hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Magic is wrong. It’s inherently wrong,” Harry snapped. Louis’s heart broke from the words, and to hear Harry’s voice hold that contempt, that cruelty, that Louis had long wanted to attribute only to Daniel. It seemed wrong, a perversion of Harry’s usual voice, as the prince continued, “It’s. Evil. It corrupts people. Every time.”

“What about healing her children of sickness is inherently wrong?” Louis said desperately. “That woman did nothing to deserve punishment. And you’re going to let her be put to death, Harry.”

“It’s – I’m not letting anything happen to anyone,” Harry hissed, stalking up to Louis until they were only inches away from each other and shoving a finger at him. “It’s not even my decision! It’s my father’s decision!”

“So, what? You’ll just stand by and let it happen?” Louis said harshly. “You didn’t say a thing during that trial. You just... you just stood there!”

“What is it that you want me to do, Louis, actually? You want me to contradict him in front of everyone? You want me go up to him and challenge him on the one thing he’ll never change his mind about?”

“YES!” Louis practically shouted, and Harry’s eyes widened. “Yes, yes, damn it, Harry! That’s exactly what you should do. You’re the Crown Prince. You think your word means nothing? If there’s ever a time to stand up to the King, it’s now! When he’s about to burn a woman alive for healing her children.”

“My father has lived through this once before,” Harry hissed. “He’s seen what magic can do to a kingdom. Nothing I say will make a difference. And maybe – maybe nothing should! Maybe he’s right, have you ever thought about that, Louis? Maybe he knows something you don’t.”

“Maybe, Harry,” Louis said, clenching his hands into fists. “But maybe he’s wrong. Can you bring yourself to admit that? I think you know that woman doesn’t deserve to die for this. Do you trust your father more than you trust what you know to be the truth?”

Harry’s eyes widened and flashed with some emotion Louis couldn’t identify, but it dissolved quickly into something dark and dangerous. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Louis,” he said, his voice quiet and lashed with anger.

“Who am I talking to, Harry?” Louis snapped back before he could stop himself. “Tell me.”

Harry’s gaze flickered between Louis’s eyes. Louis held the stare, noticing the dangerous edge glinting in Harry's eyes but unwilling to back down. Still, as Harry opened his mouth to speak, Louis remembered something important. Something that scared him.

Harry never lost.

“You got it right, first time, Louis,” Harry said, and his voice held that same quiet malice that Louis had just heard in Daniel’s voice, and it drove a cold slice of dread into the center of his chest. “I’m the Crown Prince of Camelot. You have no idea, Louis. No idea what it’s like to make these kinds of decisions. And you never will. So maybe you should remember your place when you’re talking to me.”

The words washed over Louis like a sudden bucket of icy water, shocking his thoughts into a standstill. His mind went fuzzy with hurt. Harry’s gaze was arrogant as he turned his back on Louis, as if the argument had been resolved, but Louis let rage rush through him and pour out through his mouth.

“Why do you think I do this, Harry? You think I enjoy washing your clothes and fetching your meals and shoveling the shit out of the stables?” he said, his voice bitter. “You think I like sitting around and listening to you complain about how hard it is to have life handed to you on a silver platter?” Here, he saw Harry’s shoulders stiffen, and he felt a cold bolt of satisfaction to know he had hurt Harry in a similar place as Harry had hurt Louis. “No, Harry. I do this because despite how stubborn you are, despite what a total asshole you are, there are times when I think I see something else. Someone better. Someone who could be a great king. A fair one. A king who cares about his people. Who wants to help them, and not just exploit them. And I want to help that Harry. But this?” Louis laughed shortly. “This isn’t that person. This is someone who’s vindictive and cruel and just – just making the same stupid mistakes his father did.”

It was the wrong thing to say, or maybe the right one. Louis wasn’t sure anymore whether he was speaking to get through to Harry or just to hurt him. But his last sentence must have done both, because Harry whirled, and his face was a mask of anger.

“If that’s how you feel, maybe you should leave,” the prince spat.

The words hit Louis like a truck, and he stopped for a second. Harry’s face didn’t change.

“Really, Harry?” Louis asked quietly.

“Really,” he responded.

Never. Never before had they argued, actually argued, without resolving things. But as Louis caught his breath, he saw the impasse. He saw that nothing he said would get through to Harry like this. And he saw that he wouldn’t be able to move past it, either. He couldn’t just go back to fetching Harry’s things. To staying silent. He couldn’t stay and watch it happen.

Louis turned and left the room.

The doors slammed shut behind him with a sort of finality, and Louis froze in the hallway, barely breathing so as not to make a sound.

He waited. Waited for something. Waited for Harry to shout out to him, asking him to come back. Waited for an apology. Or at least a continued argument. An indication that Harry hadn’t really made up his mind.

Nothing came. Just silence that stretched on and on. Just Louis, the servant, standing powerlessly outside of Prince Harry’s room.

Eventually, it became clear there was nothing to wait for. Louis took a shaky breath and walked away.

Chapter Text

Harry stood at his desk, gripping the edge of the table tightly.

A storm raged inside of his chest – a hurricane. He had felt like this before. Felt angry. Confused. But he had always been able to manage it.

Now, his emotions felt out of control.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He felt like throwing something, maybe, or destroying something. Just to make the outside look the way he felt on the inside. But before he could do anything stupid, an image outside his window caught his eye. He watched Louis lead Daisy from the stables, jump on her back, and ride through the castle gates into the darkening night.

The sight startled him. He sat down heavily at his desk, the image filling up his mind and momentarily quieting the storm.

Louis left, like Harry had told him to. Was he leaving for good?

Let him go, a bitter, retributive voice in his head hissed. You can find a servant who’s twice as good, and half as irritating.

But the instant he let himself actually picture a world without Louis by his side, that sentiment crumbled away like sand.

Louis was special. He was smart. Smarter than people gave him credit for. He was incredibly brave. Every time Harry got himself in a scrape, Louis threw himself in right alongside him, even though he had no real way to defend himself. He had an incredibly good heart. He cared about everything and everyone, even animals, to a degree Harry sometimes found ridiculous, but always endearing.

There was nobody else like Louis, not to Harry. His being Harry’s servant was just a technicality. The idea of replacing him was – was laughable.

And Harry had just told him to leave.

But you had to, Harry told himself, his mind spinning again, the storm starting up and swirling his thoughts into gusts. Louis had been defending magic. He had been irrational, had been saying dangerous things. What else was Harry supposed to do?

The inherent evil of magic was something Harry knew to be true. Fundamentally. Deep down, in the parts of himself that never changed. He knew his duty was to protect the things he cared most about: his family, his friends, and above all, Camelot. He also knew that magic threatened Camelot. Every time. Without exception. Therefore, his duty was to eliminate magic.

But apparently, Louis believed differently. Didn’t that count for something? Didn’t it count that Harry, himself, had seen a gray area? Had hesitated when looking into that woman’s eyes?

What if Louis is right? he thought, and even putting that sentiment into words felt terrifying. It was questioning a premise he had accepted unquestioningly for his entire life. It was challenging his father’s bedrock beliefs. It was acknowledging that, all this time, for all these years, Harry might have been wrong.

His mother’s words echoed softly in his head. You know truth, Harry.

He didn’t know what the truth was in this moment. His father and Louis, two people he trusted implicitly, had looked at the same woman, had heard the same words, and had left with entirely different minds. Harry had left torn between the two. Directly in the middle.

Harry needed to see the sorcerer again, for himself. Needed to talk to her. Surely, he must have missed something about her – something that would unlock the answer, something that would confirm to him that his father was being rational, rather than tyrannical. That he hadn’t based his worldview on a lie. He felt himself stand and move towards the doors, propelled forward by the steady drum of his heartbeat in his ears.

He only had tonight to figure this out for himself. By the time morning came, it would be too late.

----------

The cold evening air whipped against Louis’s face and through his hair as he urged Daisy on faster through the forest, stinging his eyes and distracting him from the emotion bubbling up in his chest.

He was running away. He was being a coward. Again.

But Harry had told him to leave, and he just… he just needed to go. He couldn’t be in that castle. Couldn’t go to bed knowing a sorcerer was locked away in the dungeon. Couldn’t face his grandmother again, having failed.

And what else could he do? Brute-magic his way through the royal guard to release Cecily? Force himself into exile, or more likely, onto a pyre?

Maybe a better man would, Louis thought. Maybe he would, still. But not right now. He needed some time to think.

Daisy seemed to be following a path through the forest known only to her, and he trusted her and let her lead as the night grew darker, until suddenly they were emerging from the treeline into an open space and Louis saw the lake he had visited in his boyhood, shimmering with moonlight. His breath caught in his throat as Daisy slowed to a walk, the wind rustling softly in the trees.

“Good girl,” Louis whispered as he hopped off, patting Daisy on the shoulder. He started to walk towards the water, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Soft ripples ran along the surface of the lake, making the reflection of the moon shiver in its center. Louis looked around him but saw nobody, as usual, just the tall branches of trees reaching towards the sky and swaying slowly in the breeze. Across the lake, he saw the rocks where he had once laid out with Harry in the sun, the treeline where the bandits had emerged all those years ago. It was the first time Louis had used his magic to protect Harry, the first of a series of moments that Harry had never known about. Might never know about.

His hands itched and his mind raced with thoughts he couldn’t quiet, and he decided to do something he rarely let himself indulge in. He decided to take his magic for a spin.

Louis wandered closer to the forest to gather a few branches, hoping to try out a new vocal spell he had been practicing in his free time. Gathering a few sticks together, he set them aflame with a flick of his wrist, coaxing the flame until it licked up the branches and dissolved them into embers.

Placing his hands over the sparks and focusing his mind on the result he wanted, Louis took a breath and whispered in the Old Language: “upastiye drakon.”

The embers swirled to life under his hands and flew into the air above the lake, and as Louis kept careful control over their flight, they rearranged themselves into the form of a dragon, stretching towards the sky. Delighted, Louis tried to push the embers a little further to get the dragon to roar, but here he lost his control over the sparks and they dissipated into the night.

Louis exhaled and dropped his hands, resolving to practice more. This spell was more about tact than pure strength. He could have surged forward with all his magic, but – the embers just would have gone out. It was like his gran said: it was easier to destroy than to create with magic.

Like anything. That was the important end to the phrase. Like anything. Magic was no ethically distinct from a sword, or a rock for that matter. They could all be used to hurt. They could all be used to help.

Louis looked down at his hands and clenched them into fists a few times, feeling the sparks in his fingers and repeating it to himself.

You’re not evil. You’re not. And this isn’t wrong.

“That was cute,” came a voice from behind him, and Louis whirled, sudden panic cracking through him like a lightning bolt.

A woman stood behind him, observing him closely.

He had been seen.

----------

Harry had about two thousand second thoughts as he made his way to the dungeons, but before any could take hold, he was descending into the lowest level of the castle. He never had reason to visit the dungeons, and the damp stone corridors lit by flickering torches seemed unfamiliar and unwelcoming as he neared the heavy wooden door which led to the sorcerer’s cell.

Pushing it open, he saw James and Ben jumping to attention, having been put on first watch. When they saw Harry, they relaxed slightly.

“Is everything alright?” James asked. Ben looked attentive and concerned.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Harry assured him. "I need to talk to the prisoner. Alone.”

James and Ben glanced at each other, and then into the cell. The bars to the cell were made of heavy wrought iron, and through them, Harry caught a glimpse of the sorcerer. She sat on the floor in the corner, her hands and feet chained, leaning against the stone wall.

“Okay,” James eventually said, as Ben shrugged. “I guess that’s fine. We’ll stand right outside. Shout if you need us.”

“Thank you,” Harry said as his friends nodded and left the dungeon, the door shutting behind them. He walked slowly towards the bars of the sorcerer’s cell, stopping about a foot away.

The sorcerer kept her gaze fixed on the opposite wall. Her face looked lined with exhaustion. She didn’t look otherworldly. Didn’t look ethereal. Didn’t look like anything except a woman huddled in the corner of a cell. Harry grit his teeth.

“My name is Harry,” he said, breaking the silence. “I wanted to talk to you.”

The sorcerer glanced at him briefly. Her gaze was appraising.

“If you try anything,” Harry warned, “there are two guards waiting just outside.”

“I’m not going to do anything,” the sorcerer said, lifting her chains and tilting her head towards the bars of the cell. She had an interesting voice, sort of husky and strong. “I don’t know any spells that can break through iron.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “You could still do something else,” he muttered.

“Like what,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Turn you green? Give you warts?”

Was that a joke? Harry didn’t laugh. “I don’t know,” he said defensively. “I don’t know what – what sorcerers like you do to people.”

She actually rolled her eyes at that. “Am I the first sorcerer you’ve ever spoken to?” she asked.

“Yes,” Harry said with certainty. “I don’t keep company with traitors.”

“Then I don’t blame you for not knowing that we’re just normal people,” Cecily said, pulling her legs a little closer to her body, “and normal people generally don’t like hurting other people randomly. So. You’re safe.”

Harry bit the inside of his lip. He wasn’t blind. He could see what this situation would look like to an outsider. His father was putting this woman to death, and yet she wasn’t lifting a finger against Harry. Wasn’t even raising her voice.

“Why are you here?” the woman asked. She seemed tired.

“I don’t really know,” Harry said. “Except that a friend of mine seems to think… well, I don’t know what he thinks. That you’re innocent? That I should let you go?”

“Interesting,” the woman said, her gaze thoughtful.

There had to be a trick. There had to be something Harry couldn’t see here. There had to be more than a helpless person stoically accepting her fate. Whatever confirmation Harry was looking for that Zayn was in the right, he hadn’t found it yet. And it freaked him out.

“Okay, drop the act. What’s your game?” he snapped, glaring at the sorcerer. “Seriously. You must be planning something."

"What makes you think that?"

"You're - you're so calm, it's like you don't even care you're about to die. Why didn’t you defend yourself at the trial?”

She met his gaze levelly. “Would it have mattered?”

“You could have tried, at least,” Harry said, avoiding the question. “At this point it feels like you have a death wish.”

A dark look flashed across her face and her forehead furrowed into a soft glare. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” she answered her own question. “I knew the law. I knew what would happen the minute I healed my kids. I did it anyway. I don’t feel like embarrassing myself begging for mercy I won’t get.”

“So you’ll just sit there quietly until tomorrow morning?” Harry said angrily. “I’m not that naïve.”

“Maybe you are,” she responded, matching his volume. “Have you ever had something you would give your life for, Prince Harry?”

The words stopped him in his tracks. “Yes,” he said finally, his arms falling to his side, his hands balling into fists. “I would give my life to keep my kingdom safe.”

The sorcerer nodded slowly, keeping her eyes on Harry. “That’s what they say about you,” she said softly. The words sent a shiver of surprise down Harry’s spine. “They say you’re different from your father. That you care about the people.”

“Of course I do,” Harry muttered.

The sorcerer just kind of hummed noncommittally. “If you do feel that way… maybe you can understand. You think there’s anything I wouldn’t do to keep my children safe? You’re wrong. I die tomorrow. So what?” She shrugged. “They’re home safe, right now. Alive. Breathing. So I say fair trade. Done deal.” She made a motion like she was brushing her hands off, and then returned her gaze to the stone wall. But when she spoke next, her voice kind of trembled, betraying the fact that she wasn't as stoic as she seemed. “Now if you’re done trying to convince yourself I’m some evil demon, or something, I’d like to spend my last night with my thoughts, instead of nursing your feelings, Your Highness.”

The words shook Harry, threatening to throw him off-balance. Because they seemed true. But there had to be more here, there had to be. “I trust my father more than I trust you,” Harry said, shoving a finger at the woman. "And I'm not different from him. There has to be a reason for this."

“Whatever you say,” the woman sighed, but as Harry turned and stalked away from the cell, she said, “but you are different, no matter what you think.”

“And why is that?” Harry threw over his shoulder.

“You came here, didn’t you?”

Harry stopped still at the door, his heart racing. He felt the sorcerer’s eyes on his back.

He didn’t turn. He pushed through the door and waved off James and Ben.

He needed to talk to his father.

----------

The voice that had startled Louis belonged to a woman with a pale face and long, silver hair. She wore a dark blue cloak that swept behind her as she walked steadily towards Louis, stopping a few paces away.

Louis took a defensive step back, his hands balling into fists. “Who are you?” he asked warily. His mind scrambled for an excuse but found none even worth trying. Oh, that whole magic dragon thing? – yeah, total coincidence –

But the woman didn’t look afraid of him. Instead, she looked supremely interested. Her eyes were strangely light, probably blue? – but in the night, they looked almost white. Her face was cunning and she gave Louis a broad, sharp smile.

“My name is Olivia,” she said. “Don’t worry. I don’t bite. Much.”

Olivia lifted her hand and conjured sparks from mid-air, silently blowing a similar ember-dragon to life. This one, unlike Louis’s, was animated; it flapped its wings as it flew several loops around Louis before arcing up towards the sky, breathing out flame and then scattering to the wind.

Louis’s heart caught in his throat, and he looked at the woman with large, wild eyes.

“You’re magic,” he breathed, both relieved and shocked. Aside from his grandmother, and Cecily in the dungeons, he had never met another magic user. Especially not one who seemed close to his age.

“Not just magic,” Olivia responded, her eyes glittering. She had an unfamiliar accent, and her voice held a strange, enchanting lilt. “An elemental. Just like you, Louis.”

Louis laughed in utter disbelief before double-taking. “Sorry… how do you know my name?”

“I’ve heard of you,” she said, taking a step towards him. “I’ve been meaning to meet with you.”

“And… why is that?”

“I have a plan that I think you’ll want to hear. A plan to bring power back to sorcerers in Camelot,” she said, and then, perhaps picking up on the way Louis’s eyes started to narrow, quickly followed with, “and a plan to save the woman scheduled to burn tomorrow.”

This gave Louis pause, and though he heard distant alarm bells ringing in his head, his desperation for a solution that might help Cecily drowned them out. “Well… what's your plan?”

Olivia smirked and motioned for Louis to follow her. He fell into step beside her as she started to walk around the lake. She slipped a hand through his arm, holding him at the crook of his elbow and throwing him slightly off-guard as she started to speak.

“You heard’ve what’s happening in Mercia, Louis?”

“Only rumors,” Louis mumbled, glancing at Olivia. She was beautiful, in a strange, wild sort of way. Her smirk lingered on her lips, and her eyes were bright and focused on something in the distance.

“Tell me what you know," she said.

“That the government is crumbling,” he said, thinking back to all the stories he had whispered heard around the castle. “That magic is going completely unrestricted. That sorcerers are gaining more and more power.”

Olivia chuckled. “Good. That’s what we want all the little people to know. But it’s not the whole story. That part’s much more interesting.”

“What is the whole story?”

“The story is the Circle,” Olivia breathed, and then launched into an account of a world Louis had never known.

The Circle was a sorcerer’s guild that had survived for decades, throughout the purges and the repression, operating secretly and always with the intention of protecting sorcerers in Albion. It was a small group, made up of an elite few who had retained powerful positions in various kingdoms. Nobles with magic blood, advisors with hidden practices. A slight majority of them resided in Mercia, hence their initial attempts at legalizing magic the straight-forward way, Olivia explained with a wince, referring to the Mercian decision which had almost led to war with Camelot some years ago.

“No matter how many times we try, no matter how many ways, we never make any progress,” Olivia said, her jaw working with frustration. “Most kings are too cowardly to risk their throne by allowing people to possess power they can’t control, the greedy bastards. And any time we do make progress, King Asshole of Camelot swoops in and erases it with a single threat. We began to realize something. Something big. Something no sorcerer in Albion can deny any longer.”

“What is that?” Louis asked, his mouth dry.

Olivia stopped and grabbed Louis's shoulders, physically turning him so he was looking directly at her. “As long as non-sorcerers rule in Albion,” she said firmly, her pale eyes flickering over Louis’s face, “we will never be free. Never.”

“I… I don’t think that has to be true,” Louis stuttered.

“I know you think that," Olivia said matter-of-factly. "Because you think Prince Harry will unite Albion.”

Louis's stomach dropped twenty floors. “How do you know that?” he breathed.

“Prophecies are boring, honestly,” Olivia said, rolling her eyes. “They’re so predictable. And oracles are such hacks. I don’t believe in prophecy, Louis. I don’t believe in fate. I believe in grasping your life by the horns and dragging it where you want it to go. None of us are ruled by destiny unless we let it rule us. And I am not putting my destiny in the hands of some ego-inflated pretty boy from Camelot.”

The words stung, and Louis pulled away, shaking his head. “You don’t know Harry. He’s just like the prophecies say, he’s good and kind and fair. He’ll be a great King.”

“Oh, that’s good, that’s so good to hear,” Olivia said sweetly. “So I assume that means he’ll be stalling the execution?”

Louis stopped, and his face drained of color.

“That’s what I thought,” Olivia said. She swept her cloak behind her as she continued her walk along the lake, letting Louis trail behind her. “Zayn’s corrupted Harry far too thoroughly. He’ll never accept magic. Never.”

Her words were striking a chord inside Louis that he didn’t want to play, a thought he had always hoped was an anxious fear and not the truth. He wanted to see a future where Harry could accept magic, but he felt like that future was growing less and less likely by the day, and that worry gnawed a deep, empty hole in his chest.

“Then what’s the solution?” Louis asked, trying to keep up with Olivia’s quick-moving trains of thought. “The prophecies say Harry is the only way to restore magic to Albion.”

“Wrong!” Olivia crowed, turning quickly and shoving a finger in Louis’s face. “Wrong, Louis. They say it’s one way. Not the only way. And I have another one. A better one.”

“Which is?”

“We take control instead,” Olivia said, a manic smile on her lips. “Sorcerers rule. No more kings and kingdoms. No divine rule. We take control of Albion and restore magic ourselves, with our own hands. We’re more than powerful enough, Louis. We just need to do it. We just need to strike, as one. Once we’ve overthrown every King, we can take charge and lead this land into the greatest era it’s ever known.”

“That’s… that’s crazy,” Louis stammered.

“All great ideas are, Louis.” Olivia surged forward and grabbed his hands, clasping them in her own. “I know this is new to you, but imagine it, Louis. Imagine a world where we make the rules. No more groveling for acceptance. No more hiding. A world where having magic makes you powerful, not persecuted. Just think of what that might look like.”

And for a moment, he did.

He imagined Cecily walking free, going home to her children, happy and healthy.

He imagined his grandmother using her remedies to help others, saving people from illnesses that would otherwise kill them.

He imagined sorcerers using magic to protect crops, eliminating famine, feeding the hungry people of their villages.

He imagined defending the kingdom from outside threats with his magic. Using it openly. Being seen as an equal, as the threat he really was. As the person he really was.

It sent a shiver down his spine. It was something he thought about often, usually in the context of the distant future – of Harry’s eventual ascent to the throne. It was a vision that had once been strong, but that had grown weaker and weaker as time went on and Harry stayed resistant to the idea of magic.

But Olivia was talking about soon. Now. And Louis wouldn’t have to wait for Harry to see the truth.

You can grasp your life by the horns, she had said.

“I… I’m interested,” he said, seeing Olivia’s eyes light up. “Of course I’m interested. I’m tired of hiding. But… what is it that you're planning to do?”

A slow, sharp smile spread across Olivia’s face. “The Circle's totally infiltrated Mercia,” she said, her voice quiet and intense. “We’re ready to take it over at the drop of a hat. But we’re waiting. We’re waiting for the right moment.”

“When will that be?”

“We need people ready to act in every kingdom. We need to take over each one at the same time, or we’ll end up with a war we might not be able to win. But we’re missing someone, Louis. We’re missing you.”

“Me?” Louis asked, hesitancy filling his chest.

“We have nobody in Camelot,” she said, pointing a finger in the direction of the castle. “We thought it was impenetrable. We thought war with Camelot was inevitable. And we’re not ready for that. Not yet. But with you –,” and she pressed forward even closer, bringing their joined hands up, making Louis step back slightly with a small flush – “with you, we can act soon. We can do this right. No unnecessary deaths.”

“You still haven’t told me what it is you want me to do,” Louis said, his brow furrowing.

Olivia hesitated, and sighed, nodding. “I won’t sugarcoat it, Louis. I won’t.” But she waited a moment longer, working her bottom lip with her teeth.

The pause set off alarm bells in Louis's head. "Tell me,” he demanded, pulling his hands away.

Olivia set her shoulders. Her eyes held a manic gleam as she said, “There can be no more kings in Camelot.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every claim to the throne must be destroyed. It’s the only way to establish a new world. A better one.”

Sudden horror clawed at Louis’s throat. “You mean -,”

“They all have to die.”

-----------

The doors to Daniel’s quarters rose in front of Harry like great wooden tombstones. He swallowed nervously. Harry rarely came here without being summoned, but this was important. His father would have the answers to the questions now ringing louder than church bells in Harry’s mind. He would be able to explain things.

Summoning his courage, Harry knocked on the door.

“Who’s here?” came the gruff call.

“It’s Harry.”

After a pause, the doors opened. His father was still dressed, though his hair was slightly mussed and, uncommonly, he wasn’t wearing his crown.

“Is something wrong?” Daniel asked.

“No,” Harry said, “well, yes,” and felt foolish. “Can I come in?”

Daniel furrowed his brow but opened the door to beckon him inside.

Daniel’s quarters looked much like Harry’s, though larger and somehow emptier. A healthy fire roared in the hearth. His bed looked untouched. Several scrolls lay scattered on the table.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Daniel said, and Harry turned to face him. His father had his arms crossed, and his eyebrows were raised expectantly.

Harry took a deep breath. “I… I can’t stop thinking about the trial.”

Daniel nodded heavily. “I would expect that.”

“It was so different from what I thought it was going to be,” Harry rushed, his words spilling out all at once. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. She seemed so normal! She didn’t seem evil at all, she seemed – she just seemed normal,” he repeated, shaking his head. “And... I guess I just don’t understand.”

Daniel nodded again and moved to sit in one of the chairs in front of the fire, motioning for Harry to sit in the other. “You’re right, Harry. Today was… very disconcerting.”

Harry felt a rush of relief. His father did know how he was feeling. “Yes. Exactly.”

“It is disturbing,” Daniel continued gravely, “how easily evil serpents can disguise themselves as innocents.”

Harry blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“That sorcerer was possibly one of the most malicious I’ve ever seen,” Daniel continued in a murmur. He was staring into the fire, and the flames reflected in his eyes made them look alight with hatred. “The way she confessed so easily to her crimes, as though she were proud of them. And the way she disguised herself as a mother. It’s chilling to see how easy it is for sorcerers to blend into our midst.”

“That’s… that’s not what I meant at all,” Harry said, and Daniel turned his gaze to him, his brow furrowing.

“Then what do you mean?”

Harry’s breath caught in his chest for a moment, but – but he had to say this. He had to know if there was an answer. “Father,” he said, shifting forward in his seat, “that woman… she didn’t do anything wrong.”

Something dangerous flashed across Daniel’s face.

“She used magic, I know,” Harry rushed, “but – but she was just healing her children. I understand we can’t allow magic, I know! But executing her? That doesn’t seem right.”

Daniel didn’t speak. He kept his gaze trained on Harry’s face.

It utterly unnerved Harry, who forced himself to keep going. “I know you’ve seen what magic is like up close. And you’ve told me over and over that there’s no gray area in magic. But this – this seems like a gray area! And I just want to know why. Why can’t there be nuance? Why does it have to be like this?”

Daniel still stayed silent for the longest time. Eventually, he stood and walked away from Harry, stroking a hand over his graying beard as his heavy steps creaked against the wooden floor. Harry clenched his hands in his lap, hoping for an answer that made sense.

But Daniel didn’t answer his question at all. Instead, after pacing several steps away, he stopped and said: “I’ve failed you, Harry.”

Harry blinked. “Wh- what?”

“I’ve failed you,” Daniel said, turning, and his face was angry. “I’ve tried to teach you about the evils of magic. I’ve done everything in my power to do so. And you still don’t see it.”

“No – no, it’s not like that,” Harry protested, jumping to his feet. “I understand, Father, I do. But this is different.”

“It’s not different,” Daniel argued. “Magic is never different.”

“You say that. But why? Why can’t it be?” Harry begged. He wanted Daniel to explain. He wanted to believe him.

Daniel just shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Harry,” he said, and it made Harry’s heart sink like stone. “I would think your mother’s death would be enough for you, but I suppose you need more? Do you need me to die, as well?”

Harry felt sick to his stomach, but even through the hurt his father’s words inflicted on him, he could still see something true. Daniel wasn’t being fair. Harry wasn’t even disagreeing with him. He was just asking questions. Harry didn’t deserve to be told he was a disappointment for that. He deserved to be able to question his father.

“My mother’s death has nothing to do with this,” Harry said quietly, trying desperately to keep his voice from shaking. “And I want you to answer my question. You say magic is inherently evil. Why? What makes that woman evil?”

The rage was etching itself deeper into Daniel’s face, and his shoulders were rigid. He stood there, staring Harry down, for a long moment. Harry held his ground.

It was in that moment of silence that it finally dawned on Harry. Daniel wouldn't answer his question because he couldn't. There wasn't an answer.

“Who is putting these ideas into your head?” Daniel said instead, and a chill went through Harry. “Someone must be.”

“Nobody's putting anything into my head,” Harry deflected, but Daniel ignored him, pushing past him and grabbing some of the scrolls on his table, practically tearing it apart as he searched for something.

“Surely it couldn’t be one of your tutors. I supervised your lessons,” Daniel muttered to himself. “Was it one of the knights?” At this, he whirled, pinning Harry down with his glare. “I’m commanding you to tell me if it was so I can have them expelled from the order.”

“It wasn’t a knight,” Harry half-shouted, but his face went pale as he realized his mistake.

“But it was someone,” Daniel said, latching onto the error. Harry watched him with growing horror as he paced forward, shoving a finger in Harry’s face. “Who was it? Tell me, Harry. I’m ordering you to tell me.”

Harry swallowed. “It’s not important. What’s important is that you can’t answer me.”

“What’s important is that we apparently have a traitor in our midst, a traitor you’re willing to protect,” Daniel hissed, and his eyes looked wild and deranged. Suddenly, he stopped, pulling up short. Something seemed to click, and Daniel’s voice was deadly as he asked, “was it that servant boy of yours?”

Harry’s blood ran cold, but he fought to keep his face neutral as Daniel started to hiss: “I knew something was wrong with that boy. Something’s been off ever since he came to this castle. And I don’t like the way you talk to him. As though he’s your equal.”

“He’s my friend,” Harry protested.

“No, Harry, he's not. He’s your servant,” Daniel said. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Of course not,” Harry snapped, thinking faintly this might have been the first time he had ever outright lied to his father.

Daniel narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “I don’t like him anyway,” Daniel muttered. “You spend too much time with him. Holed up in your room. People will start to get the wrong idea.”

Harry felt dizzy, sick to his stomach. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” Daniel muttered. “I don’t care what you do in your free time, Harry, but you know you have a duty to this kingdom above all else. And you can’t let some little fling cloud your judgement.”

At this, something snapped inside of Harry, something deep and fundamental. Something that would never go back to the way it was.

“Louis has nothing to do with this,” he hissed at his father, rage rising inside of him. “And nobody put this idea in my head except for me, and what I’m seeing with my own eyes. That woman didn’t do anything wrong. She saved her children from sickness. We shouldn’t be putting her to death.”

Daniel grit his teeth and shook his head slowly. “I weep for the day you become king, Harry,” he said, and he might as well have smacked Harry across the face. “Someone has poisoned your mind with this treachery. But luckily for Camelot, you are not king today. And the sorcerer burns tomorrow. Now you will leave this room before I throw you in the dungeons alongside her.”

Harry was breathing heavily, his hands shaking as he stared his father down.

He had so much more he wanted to say. So many thoughts that were bubbling up from the fractures that had just formed in the foundation of his former beliefs.

He was seeing his father, for the first time, for what he really was. Not an all-knowing, benevolent force. But a man. A flawed, prejudiced man. A man who didn’t have an answer for Harry, because there wasn’t an answer that could justify this execution. There was just hatred.

Louis was right. He was right about everything.

But Harry also saw, just as clearly, that this fight couldn’t be won here. Not in this room. Not tonight.

So he turned and left, his father's glare burning at the back of his head, letting the tombstone doors close behind him.

He knew what he had to do.

----------

Olivia’s words were still echoing in Louis’s ears, ringing almost painfully. There can be no more kings in Camelot. They all have to die.

“You’re insane,” Louis said, shaking his head and taking a few hasty steps backwards, trying to escape Olivia’s reach. “You’re actually insane.”

“A purge,” Olivia breathed, her eyes gleaming, and she stalked forward with each step Louis took back, closing the gap. “Like they did to us all those years ago. But we’ll be better, Louis, we’ll be more careful. Only the royalty, the nobles with claims to the throne, and anyone else who refuses to renounce the old ways. Only those who refuse to recognize our authority. Everyone else can live.”

“You want me to kill King Daniel,” Louis said, and then, horror seizing in his chest, “you – you want me to kill -,”

“I wish I didn’t have to ask you to do this, Louis,” said Olivia, her voice saccharine, “I know you care about him, I know you’re friends. But you have to ask yourself, you have to really ask yourself how far you’re willing to go for Harry. Are you willing to throw your own people into the fire? Are you willing to throw yourself on a pyre? For a man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if he knew who you really are?”

Louis’s heart hammered in his chest, and he shook his head. “No, no, no. H- Harry isn’t like that, he – he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that.”

“He is doing it,” Olivia said, her face suddenly going hard. “Tomorrow. To Cecily. You really think you’re special?”

She had hit on that fear again, almost surgically. “He’s – he’s confused,” Louis argued, and suddenly he felt water lapping at his heels. Olivia had pushed him all the way to the edge of the lake. “He can change. I know it.”

“But how many, Louis,” Olivia said softly. She pressed close to him again, grabbing his hands. Louis felt her nails dig into his wrists. “How many sorcerers will you sacrifice before that happens?”

The words were like knives through Louis’s chest – but he shook his head, unable to face the mere idea of the other option. “I can't do it,” he said, pushing Olivia back. “I can't. There has to be another way.”

“Oh, there is another way, Louis, and let me tell you what it is.” Olivia’s voice had suddenly gone dangerous, and her face twisted in anger. Louis’s heart skipped in his chest as he saw the first real glimpse of malice from the sorcerer. “Endless. War. Neverending conflict. If we leave a single claim to the throne alive, they will fight and kill and maim their way back to power. It’s how they’re wired. And you know what happens then, Louis?”

“It’s not -,” Louis started, but Olivia cut him off with a snarl: “What happens then is I cut Harry’s limbs off one by one and leave him to bleed out on the battlefield instead of letting him die peacefully in his bed. And he kills a hundred, or two hundred, or five hundred of our people before that happens.”

The words sent shock waves through Louis’s body and he stopped still, fully paralyzed by the vicious mask of rage on Olivia’s face. His heart pounded loudly in his ears.

“I don’t want war. But I won't kill Harry,” he finally said, his voice coming out weaker than he wanted it to be. “I won't.”

“Then get me into the castle,” Olivia murmured. “I’ll kill him myself. You don’t have to get your pretty hands dirty.”

“No!” Louis shouted. “That's not – I won’t let him die, period. He's my friend.”

Olivia looked displeased, and her voice was deadly when she spoke again. “Tell me, Louis. I want to understand why you’re so hung up on this boy. I get it. You’re pals. You were kids together. Whatever. But sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for the greater good. And this, Louis! – this is the greatest good. So why? Why can’t you give him up?”

Louis’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment time seemed to stand still.

Why, indeed? Why couldn't he?

A series of moments flashed through his mind. Every time Harry had twisted his face in derision when he spoke about magic, his hatred plain in his expression. The countless times Louis had hidden his crestfallen expression when Harry spoke about sorcerers as though they were lower than dirt. The arrogance and contempt Harry treated him with at times, brushing him off as incompetent, ignoring him in favor of more important friends. The last time they had spoken. Harry’s face, cold with anger. You should remember your place.

But just as quickly, and even stronger, Louis saw every time Harry had stuck up for someone weaker than him, every time he had brought Louis along even when it wasn’t proper, every time he had thrown himself into a fight and put his own safety on the line to protect someone else. He saw every time Harry looked at him with that soft, fond expression, the way Harry would laugh at his jokes like nobody else did, and sneak him food from his own plate, and – and –

And he saw the visions he had of Harry’s future, too, the same vision of a world with magic, a peaceful world, but without the cruelty, without the bloodshed staining the path there that existed in Olivia’s vision. He saw himself standing alongside Harry in that future. Helping him, fighting with him, building a new world. Being with him. Open, and honest. And loved.

And the strength of his longing for that future made it so that when he tried to imagine actually going through with Olivia’s plan – actually killing Harry – his very spirit rebelled against it, instantly burning the thought to ash.

Louis believed in Harry’s destiny. For that reason, he wouldn’t turn against him.

And he also loved him. This he knew bone-deep, and truer than anything.

For that reason, he couldn’t. Not ever.

“You don’t know him,” he said, bringing himself back to reality, and meeting Olivia’s cold gaze. He took a step forward and this time Olivia was the one to retreat. “He’s not what you think he is. I trust him. I – I care about him. And I won’t betray him. Ever.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes. A cold wind blew across the lake, throwing her hood off of her head and tossing her silver hair to the side. “I want you to think about what you’re saying, Louis. You’re abandoning your people for the person who murdered them.” Her voice rose with the wind.

“No,” Louis denied. “Harry didn’t kill our people. His father did. I won’t punish him for that. I won’t help you – help you wipe out whoever disagrees with you. That’s not the solution. That’ll just -,”

His words cut off as his throat closed up, and all of a sudden Louis couldn’t breathe, felt something like a vice around his neck as Olivia’s eyes flashed a ghostly white. Louis clawed at his neck and felt something lift him into the air, his feet scrabbling for purchase and then lifting off the ground as Olivia rose her hand, glaring at him with a manic intensity.

“You can stop now, because I don’t really care,” Olivia said, her voice reaching a fever pitch as the wind picked up. “I don’t care why you like that golden boy so much, and I don’t care why you’re betraying your people. If you’re not with us, you’re against us. And against us, you’re too much of a liability. Sorry, Louis.”

Louis choked for air but found none, futilely thrashing against the invisible grip on his throat. Throwing one arm out, he tried to fight against Olivia’s magic with his own, but doing so bowled him over as he felt power like he had never felt before crackling through the air. He was powerless against it, couldn’t even scream, as Olivia pressed even harder, bruising the skin on his neck -

He was dying. He was going to die. His struggling started to fade as he felt his vision go dark, the world narrowing to the thump of his heartbeat in his ears, and he heard the distant thought as though it were being yelled into a cavern: she’ll kill Harry next… she’ll kill him and I won’t be there to…

At the breaking point, something changed.

Louis’s body, going limp in the air, went suddenly rigid, and a bolt of negative energy cracked through the clearing, knocking Olivia away. The ghostly light faded from her eyes as she gasped for air, looking down at her hand, which tingled with energy.

She looked up just in time to see Louis, still suspended mid-air, as he opened his eyes.

They glowed with golden light, as though the sun itself had replaced his pupils.

Olivia gasped, scrambling backwards before an enormous force slammed against her, throwing her halfway across the clearing. She braced her fall with a cushion of air, but hit her shoulder against the ground as she fell, sending a bolt of pain down her arm.

Olivia turned her head and saw Louis’s feet making contact with the ground. His eyes were still golden, his face severe and unfamiliar. He started walking towards her and she scrambled to her feet, retreating. She had never seen anything like this. Only ever heard –

“You’ll leave Camelot tonight,” she heard Louis say, and the sound was strange, as though he was speaking with two voices at once. “You’ll return to the Circle. And you’ll tell them –,”

and here Olivia threw out her own magic, but the force that had so quickly overpowered Louis before now felt like smashing a pebble against the side of a mountain, and Louis flicked away her effort with a single hand, leaning in closer as he said:

“Tell them that Harry is protected.”

Louis thrust his arm forward and Olivia was sent flying into the forest, crashing to the ground. She pulled herself to her feet and, after taking one last look back at the clearing, which seemed to be lit up as bright as day, she started to run in the opposite direction. She angrily carved a path for herself through the forest, the foliage drying up and withering under her feet, cursing under her breath.

She wasn’t ready for this tonight.

But she would be soon.

----------

When Louis came to, he was curled up on the damp sand of the beach, water lapping gently at his feet.

Daisy stood above him, neighing softly in concern.

“Hi, girl,” he said, reaching up a hand to pat her on the nose. His arm shook with the effort, and as he pulled himself to his feet, he felt his whole body trembling, sapped of all his energy. His skin was hot and feverish. He glanced around the clearing, but Olivia was gone. She had disappeared as quickly as she had arrived. He wondered, vaguely, if she had been a ghost. But when he touched his neck and felt the tender bruises forming there, he knew what had just happened had been all too real.

The golden light, too. Louis had felt it overcome his body, searing through him; he had barely felt in control as he had pushed Olivia away, sent her fleeing into the forest with only a few words and a snap of his wrist. Louis touched his face, pressed his fingertips into his eyelids, but they felt normal.

He had no idea what had just happened.

The clearing was utterly windless, the lake silent and still, and Louis felt tears well up in his eyes, his breath quickening as he started to panic. He... he had no idea what he had just done, he had no idea what to do about Olivia, about the Circle. Harry was in danger, and Camelot was in danger, and - and it was all out of his control, all descending into chaos...

Daisy neighed again, pulling him out of his spiral, and he patted her shoulder, taking comfort in her steadiness as he felt weak on his feet. “Good girl, Daisy,” he said, pressing his forehead against her for a brief moment. Eventually, he gathered his strength and managed to pull himself onto the saddle. “Let’s go home.”

His stomach felt leaden and heavy as Daisy made her way back towards Camelot, and anxiety still buzzed in his head, but something in his chest also felt different – more certain.

Whatever came next, Louis had chosen Harry. Once and for all. There was no going back on that.

There was still so much Louis didn't understand. But that part? That part felt right.

It had to be right.

----------

When you grow up in a castle, you get to know every back passage, every forgotten corridor. When you’re a kid, you might call them secret passageways. As an adult, they’re convenient paths when you don't want anyone to see you.

So it was really no problem for Harry to get Cecily out of the dungeons.

When he had appeared at the cell again, she had looked annoyed, but when he opened the door and removed her chains, her expression had morphed into genuine astonishment, her eyes wide and her face slightly pale. She followed Harry through the small passageway that wound underneath the castle, past the kitchen cellars, and out to the grounds.

He had a horse waiting for her, and a small bag of things she would need for the road.

“You go find your children, and you leave,” Harry told her once he had helped her onto the back of the horse. “You won’t be safe anywhere in Camelot, so find somewhere else to go. Move quickly.”

Cecily was openly staring at him, and she hardly even responded, just nodded shortly.

“Okay, well,” Harry said awkwardly, patting the horse on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Why are you doing this?” Cecily blurted out.

Harry took a deep breath. He never imagined being this close to a sorcerer. Let alone helping one escape. “You don’t deserve to die for what you did,” he said, “and the king won’t listen to reason. That’s all.”

Cecily nodded, and in the moonlight, Harry thought he could see her eyes glisten with tears. “Maybe what they say about you is true, Prince Harry,” she said softly. “You are special.”

And then she took up her horse's reins and rode into the darkness.

Harry watched her leave with a strange swirl of emotions in his chest, then took another scan around the empty castle grounds to ensure that nobody had seen him let Cecily out of the side door. It was the same door where he used to meet Louis when they were children, and the thought struck him as he stared into the forest, down the path leading to Louis’s grandmother’s house.

Louis. He had been right about everything. Right about Cecily. Right about Daniel. Right about Harry.

And Harry had dismissed him. Worse – demeaned him. Harry had been cruel, treating Louis like nothing more than a servant. He flinched at the thought, a terrible, heavy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He had messed up. Badly.

His urge to talk to Louis was very strong, but he didn’t know where his friend had gone, and Harry started walking to try and numb the panicked thought that Louis might never come back.

Had he ruined what he had with Louis? It was a friendship, a connection that Harry didn’t spend much time thinking about only because it was so much of a given. He and Louis had barely left each other’s side in years. They told each other everything. Things they didn’t tell anyone else. They talked to each other about their parents. Their honest opinions of other people. Their fears and hopes for the future. They had sat talking into the early morning countless nights, sprawled out in Harry’s quarters, utterly comfortable around each other. Louis made Harry laugh harder than anybody. And he loved making Louis laugh, loved the way he smiled with his whole face, his eyes crinkling up at the edges.

It wasn’t like what his father had implied, Harry thought, but something rang false about that thought, something that made him feel nervous and slightly dizzy. He and Louis weren’t – they weren’t together. And he didn’t want them to be together. Right?

He cared about Louis more than he had ever cared about another person. Did that mean –

...Harry didn’t know what that meant.

He just wanted to find him. Wanted to make it up to him.

After a few minutes, Harry realized the path his feet had taken him down. Knew where he was going. And when he looked up, he saw the pile of smooth stones in the middle of the wooded clearing he and Louis had frequented so many times as children, glowing softly in the moonlight.

He saw the form of another boy sitting cross-legged at the top.

Relief rushed through Harry like a tidal wave, and he had to stop for a moment to compose himself and gather his thoughts. Louis was here. He hadn’t left. Harry still had a chance to make this right.

Harry approached the stones, and when he reached the bottom, he called out softly. “Hey, Louis.”

Louis jumped in surprise and scrambled to his feet, relaxing only slightly when he saw Harry slowly climbing his way to the top. They stood silently across from each other for a long moment. They were only a few feet apart, yet the space between them felt enormous.

Louis looked weird, exhausted and slightly harrowed. Harry’s gaze scanned Louis’s face, softly illuminated by the moon, tracing its way down his neck, only for his stomach to give a little jolt when he saw dark bruises flowering over Louis’s skin.

“What happened?” he asked, taking a step forward and lifting his hand to inspect the bruises on Louis's neck, but when Louis jerked away, he stopped himself. “Louis, did someone hurt you?”

Louis’s eyes looked sort of distant, and he shook his head. “Nothing happened.”

“You’re hurt,” Harry said in concern.

“I just fell,” Louis said shortly, bringing a hand up to self-consciously cover the bruises. Harry furrowed his brow and bit the inside of his cheek. His instincts were telling him to find whoever hurt Louis and make them pay for it, but Louis clearly didn’t want to talk about it. And there was another hurt that Harry had to take care of first. One he was responsible for.

“I’m sorry, Louis,” he said, feeling emotion work its way into his throat. “I’m sorry about everything. I was cruel to you. And you didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know how to make it up to you, but… I’m just so, so sorry.”

The words seemed to fall flat, and Louis’s eyes remained guarded. “Thank you for apologizing,” he eventually responded, shifting and crossing his arms across his chest.

Harry exhaled softly and dipped his head. “For a second, I thought you might leave for good.”

Louis shook his head. He looked sad. “That wasn't really an option.”

“Even after everything I said,” Harry said, feeling ashamed.

Louis bit his lip. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could change your mind about Cecily,” he said, his voice trembling, “but you’re my best friend and the future king, Harry, and I’m loyal to you. Always.”

The words resonated somewhere deep in Harry’s chest, leaving him aching. He couldn’t wait any longer. “You did change my mind, Louis.”

His face shifted. “Did… did you talk to Daniel?”

“Yes. And he couldn’t answer any of my questions,” Harry said, feeling his frustration well up again. “This whole time, I thought he knew everything. That he knew something I didn’t. And I don’t think he’s wrong about everything,” he clarified, to himself more than anyone. “I still don’t trust magic, I still don’t think it’s right. But he’s wrong about Cecily. He’s just bitter and angry and… and you were right, Louis. You were right.”

Louis’s face trembled, and his arms dropped to his sides, his hands shaking. “Harry, that's… I’m so happy to hear you say that,” he said. “Did you talk to him about Cecily?”

“He wouldn’t listen,” Harry said, trying to choose his next words carefully, “but… she’s gone. She fled, with her children.”

Louis took a shuddering breath and Harry saw the tension physically leave his shoulders as he dropped his head into his hands. When he looked up, there was a vulnerability in his gaze that sent a shiver racing through Harry’s body, and he could hear the same relief and gratitude and – and something else, something he couldn’t name, that burned in his own chest – as Louis said, “you let her go. You -,”

Louis practically fell into Harry, wrapping his arms around him tightly and burying his face into Harry’s shoulder. Harry hugged him right back with a relieved exhale, one arm wrapping around Louis’s shoulders, the other coming up to touch his head, his fingers pushing through the soft hair at the base of Louis’s neck. He felt Louis trembling and pulled him a little closer, closing his eyes and pressing his nose into the top of Louis’s head. He could feel every place where they were touching, felt Louis shift a little closer to him, turning his face towards Harry’s neck.

It was a lot. It was more, more than the way friends embrace. Harry needed it, needed to know that Louis was physically there, that he wanted to be there with Harry. That they were okay.

Eventually, they broke apart, but only slightly, each still keeping a hand grounded on the other, Louis’s hand on Harry’s arm, Harry’s hand gently brushing the side of Louis’s neck. They stayed there for a long moment, inches apart, looking into each other’s eyes for something, some confirmation. Harry's gaze flickered to Louis's lips. He shifted a half inch closer.

Louis’s breath caught, the briefest moment of hesitation hanging in the air before he stepped back. His eyes flickered away, and Harry’s heart fell in a way he didn’t know it could, stuttered and crashed in an embarrassing return to reality. Louis cleared his throat and Harry felt ashamed, pulling away and rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s really late,” Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We should get back before somebody sees us.”

Louis nodded, his face unreadable. The air between them had shifted, and Harry couldn’t ignore the strange tension that lingered, humming beneath the surface. The two of them clambered down the rocks together, making their way back towards the dark castle in a strange, tense silence.

Harry felt embarrassed. Kept his gaze on his feet as he walked, every step feeling like an eternity. He had misread the whole situation. He had put his friendship with Louis at risk – again. And… and there wasn’t much that was more important than that.

He had to be more careful.

He wished he knew what Louis was thinking.

----------

Louis wanted to kiss Harry. He wanted to kiss him terribly. He wanted to touch his face and press their lips together and show him, show him how much he cared, and how much he forgave him, and how – how happy he was that Harry had listened, that he had changed, like Louis knew he would. He wanted Harry to kiss him back, wanted Harry’s hands on him, on his face, his neck – he shivered at the thought. He wanted everything.

And he wanted to show Harry his magic, too, then, right then, wanted to astonish him, wanted his acceptance, wanted to show him everything he had done for him, and would continue to do for him, wanted to wrap his magic around them in a protective blanket so that nobody, not the Circle, not anybody, could ever reach them. So that nobody could hurt them. He wanted to let Harry in and tell him everything, everything, he wanted it so badly it physically hurt.

Louis wanted all of it, so much, all at once, that it scared him, sent a bolt of terror right down to his core, and he slammed the gates down on the outpouring of emotion and forced himself to take one, two steps back, used superhuman effort to take his hands off of Harry, to remove the grounding physical touch that he wanted so much.

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Not yet.

He wasn’t certain.

And – and he couldn’t do one without the other. Couldn’t kiss Harry while still lying to him. Couldn’t give Harry that part of himself without giving him everything. It needed to be all or nothing, and right now... right now, it couldn’t be all.

Louis wasn’t blind. He didn’t miss the way Harry's face fell and shuttered closed, the way he rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, trying to push past the moment like nothing had happened. He mumbled something about it being late and Louis just nodded, barely able to process what was happening anymore, putting one foot in front of the other as they made their way back towards the looming castle.

Louis’s feelings weren’t important. They weren’t. He was just being selfish. Wanting too much, too fast. Putting his own stupid desires in front of what was best. Harry couldn’t be with him. He was a prince, and Louis was nobody. It was too risky, too dangerous, for them to be together like that.

And Louis had practice, anyway, with keeping things like this hidden from Harry. He packaged all of his feelings up and placed them right alongside his magic in that part of himself he hid from Harry, hid from everybody else. It was easy, actually. It was a familiar sort of ache. A safe one.

When they reached the door to Louis's room, Harry laid a tentative hand on Louis's shoulder.

"Tomorrow will be rough," he said quietly. "Lay low. We never talked about any of this, okay?"

Louis nodded, biting his lip. Harry's eyes flickered around Louis’s face and then down, and he gave Louis a quick, tight-lipped smile before walking away. Louis watched him disappear around the next corner before he let himself into his room, collapsing in his bed.

He was exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling as the events of the night played over and over on a loop in his mind.

The Circle was coming.

Louis had so much work to do.

Chapter Text

Nineteen

Nobody knew anything about the assassin himself. They didn’t know where he was from, or what his strange name meant. They didn’t know why he rarely spoke, or where he went when he disappeared for months at a time.

But they knew his work. Throats slit in the dead of night. Knights cut down where they stood. Entire groups of bandits or soldiers found slaughtered, not a single enemy casualty among them. There was only one assassin in Albion who worked with that kind of deadly efficiency.

He had magic, but that wasn’t the scariest thing about him. The scariest thing about him was how he wielded a blade as though it were weightless, as though it were another limb. That was what most people called him, actually. The Blade.

If you were brave enough to ask the man himself, he might have told you he found the moniker a little silly. But it gave him an air of mystery that only increased demand for his services. So Charlie didn’t correct people, and he rarely gave them his full name. He just sharpened his weapons, tended to his small farm, and waited for the next job.

He had helped the Circle at various times over the last few years. He supposed it should have mattered that the Circle was allegedly on his side, making it less risky to be a magic user, but he didn’t really care. Mainly, he kept helping the Circle because they had the most interesting assignments: noblemen whose deaths needed finessing, or knights who could put up an actual fight. They were always much more challenging than the usual, boring requests he got, kills without honor or difficulty.

Charlie didn’t care about who was in charge, as long as the person in charge left him alone. He only cared about being the best at what he did.

And the job Olivia had been dropping hints about for months, the job that was allegedly bigger than anything he’d done yet… that had real potential.

So on the day Olivia arrived at the doorstep of the Blade’s little farmhouse, walking in just as he was pulling off his mud-caked boots from a day in the fields, he could see by the peculiar glint in her eye that the moment had arrived.

“They both need to die at the same time,” Olivia said, lounging on the chair across from Charlie. “Can’t be room for either of them to mount a defense.”

“Tricky, but not impossible,” Charlie mused. He absent-mindedly tied back his long, straw-colored hair into a ponytail as the gears in his head started to work over the details Olivia had provided.

“Do you have someone you can ask for help?”

“Don't need it.”

“Love the confidence, but you are infiltrating a heavily fortified castle to kill two simultaneous targets,” Olivia reminded him. “Backup wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

Charlie huffed, but dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Fair enough. I’ll ask around.” That was… an exaggeration. Charlie wasn't especially social. He would ask Shawn, and Shawn would say yes.

“Good,” Olivia said, flashing a grin. “They won’t have a clue what’s coming.”

Charlie hummed. “I sorta hope they do, actually,” he said, pulling his favorite knife from its leather sheath and flipping it over in his hands. “That would make things much more interestin’.”

As a slow grin spread across his face, Olivia caught a glimpse of the sharpened canine teeth that had led many people to speculate that the Blade wasn’t fully human. Even though she knew better, it was still enough to send a shiver down her spine. Not for the first time, she counted herself lucky that Charlie was working for her.

That night, Charlie went to see Shawn, and in the morning, they set their sights on Camelot.

----------

The village of Blackwell was smoldering to ash. Every building had burned down, the village’s crops reduced to scorched earth. A group of villagers huddled together on a nearby hill, some of them weeping softly as they watched their home burn to the ground. Several of them had not escaped.

“We got here too late,” Harry muttered. “Again.” He watched the grim sight from his saddle, clenching his horse’s reins in tightly closed fists. It was the second village to burn to the ground that month. The sixth this year. Like each of the other attacks, Harry had raced here as soon as he had heard the news. Like each of the others, he was too late to do anything but watch the village crumble.

“Who the hell is doing this?” Zayn muttered. The shorter, stockier knight had come with him. His face was disturbed.

“Pillagers, I guess,” Harry said, unconvinced. Pillagers had been the official answer for months, but it didn’t sit right with him. These attacks were more extreme, more frequent, and more focused on total destruction than any pillager attacks he had ever seen. Harry had his own suspicions, but they hadn't been popular with those he had shared them with. Especially his father.

“They weren’t pillagers,” came a voice, and the two men turned to see an older woman approaching them. She was dressed in common garb, her face lined with age, and she looked desperate. “At least, they didn’t look like it.”

“What did they look like?” Harry asked, turning his horse to better face her.

“They were so many of them, and they barely spoke,” she said, her voice hoarse from smoke. “They had these… these weapons. Spread fire, lightning fast.”

“Magic?” Zayn asked urgently.

“Don’t know what else it could’ve been,” she said.

Harry sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“All our crops were destroyed,” the woman was murmuring, her gaze tracking over the burning village. “Our livestock killed. I don’t know what we’ll do …”

“Don’t worry about that,” Harry said immediately. “We’re going to ride back to Camelot now and send people back with horses and carts. We’ll bring you all into the city and give you a place to stay, food to eat. We’ll take care of you.”

The relief on the woman’s face was palpable, and she bowed shallowly, her hand clutching at her heart. “Thank you, Prince Harry,” she said.

As Harry and Zayn raced back to Camelot, Zayn shouted over the sound of galloping hooves: “Daniel’s not gonna like this.”

Harry clenched his jaw and urged his horse on a little faster.

----------

The candlelight cast flickering shadows over the pages as Louis scanned another page of the book, one hand in his hair. The library was slightly cold and damp, retaining some of the winter chill that the spring was only beginning to thaw.

It had been several months since Cecily had escaped Camelot, and Louis had spent a significant portion of that time in the library, hunched over old manuscripts and scrolls in desperate search for ideas. His grandmother’s tomes had only taken him so far, and he had needed to migrate to the castle’s collections as he continued his search for something – anything – he could use against the impending threat of the Circle.

It was a danger that was growing more and more real by the day. King Daniel was chalking up the attacks on villages as raids from bandits or pillagers, but Louis knew better. They were coordinated – starting far from the castle and encroaching ever closer. The Circle was amassing a growing army of sorcerers, and probably using Mercian troops, too, and Louis was the only one who knew it - though, with no small amount of pride, he had watched Harry start to catch on to the clues the Circle had been leaving with each new attack.

Still, Daniel hadn't seen the truth. So Louis was searching desperately for something that could help their situation: a spell, or a weapon, or the source of the golden light he had been unable to summon again.

But after months of research, Louis was starting to feel slightly helpless. He had found nothing useful, nothing remotely. Even this book, which had seemed promising, written in the Old Language and full of accounts of mystic weapons, was starting to blur together, as Louis scanned through another list of arrow enchantments that he couldn’t use without being discovered.

That is, until he turned the page to see a section titled in large, capital letters:

“ABIRON RIHTCYNN SOJJEYNING”

The One True King.

This pulled Louis’s attention razor-sharp, and his eyes quickly scanned the page, soaking in everything in the language that had quickly become second-nature to him. The words filled him with excitement, and he cast a cursive glance around to make sure he was alone before carefully ripping out the relevant pages from the book, apologizing silently to the kind librarian who had helped him. He stuffed the pages into the inner pocket of his jacket and pushed away from the table.

“Louis?” came a voice from behind him, and he turned around, startled. Behind him stood a younger servant who Louis had asked for help. “Prince Harry is back.”

Perfect timing. “Thanks,” Louis said and ruffled the boy’s hair as he left the library. This was something Harry needed to see.

----------

Harry and Zayn entered the Great Hall expecting to see King Daniel gathered around the table with the Knights, discussing the problem at hand. But they didn’t expect half of the knights to be nursing serious wounds, or to see a tall, familiar man standing at the table as well.

“Liam,” Harry said in surprise, and Zayn rushed forward to embrace their friend, who grinned when he saw them, despite the fact that he was obviously injured. He had a fresh red cut running down the side of his face, and he was favoring his right leg.

“It’s good to see you two,” Liam said with genuine affection. He looked different – more grown up. Ever since his father had died, Liam had been tasked with the responsibility of governing his inherited territory, Frisia, and the three had rarely seen each other. He held himself with the posture of a young man who had been given serious responsibility, and was shouldering it well.

“What happened here?” Harry asked as he joined the Knights.

“Lord Liam sent a messenger this morning informing us of an impending attack on Frisia,” King Daniel responded from the head of the table, barely looking at Harry. “I sent a group of knights to assist him.”

“Why wasn’t I aware of this?” Harry asked in frustration, setting his helmet down on the table with a thump.

“You weren’t needed,” Daniel said shortly. “Sir Nick was a capable leader.”

Nick? Harry bit his tongue as he glanced at Nick sharply, but the knight avoided his gaze. It's not that Nick wasn’t a good knight. But Harry had been the one agonizing over the increased attacks on villages, clearly desperate to take direct action. And Harry was supposed to be the prince, if that meant anything at all.

“What happened in the fight?” Harry asked, turning towards Liam.

His friend’s face fell. “We couldn’t defend ourselves,” he said, shaking his head. “The knights fought well, but the people who attacked us – there’s no way they’re pillagers.”

Harry shot a look at his father, who didn’t meet his gaze. This was what Harry had been saying for months. His father had refused to listen.

“That’s what the people in Blackwell were saying, too,” Zayn jumped in. “They said these men are far more organized. And… and that they’re using magic,” he finished somewhat hesitantly.

But clearly, he wasn’t saying anything new to the injured men around him.

“We could tell,” Liam said grimly. “They had axes that set fire to anything they touched. Swords that cleaved straight through our own, straight through the iron. We were trying to get creative with how we were fighting back, but it was too much. They set fire to the castle, and we were forced to flee.”

“Sir Percy was caught in the flames,” Nick added. “He died valiantly, defending his kingdom.”

Harry felt the loss like a punch to his stomach and set his hands on the table, dropping his head. There was a second of solemn silence around the circle.

A noise from behind Harry broke the silence. He turned his head to see the door sliding open. Louis slipped through the opening in the door, and then fell back against the wall.

While he was normally happy to see Louis, this time, Harry flinched, and turned to see Daniel’s gaze narrowing at the servant’s conspicuous entrance.

“All of this is way above the paygrade of average bandits,” Harry said, drawing his father’s attention towards him. “This has to be something else. Something more organized.”

“What are you suggesting, Prince Harry?” Daniel said.

“I… I don’t know, exactly. An organized group of sorcerers?”

“A group of random sorcerers who have enough men to successfully attack two villages in one day?” Daniel asked, spreading his hands out.

Harry bit his lip. “Maybe… maybe it’s Mercia.”

A hushed silence fell over the room.

“Do you have evidence for that accusation?” Daniel asked quietly.

Harry glanced around the room, but he saw only hesitancy on the faces of his friends. He took a deep breath. “We’ve all heard the rumors – that sorcery is taking hold in Mercia. If that’s true, maybe they’re launching an attack. Testing the waters for a full affront.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes at Harry. “You would have us declare war on our neighboring kingdom on the basis of rumors?”

Embarrassment flooded through Harry, but he stuck to his argument. “No. I’m just saying, maybe we should be more proactive. Figure out if the attacks are coming from a particular place. We can’t just keep sitting around, waiting for them to attack another village. And if they’re using magic weapons, then we need to find something that we can use to fight back.”

“Like what?” Daniel said, and the table fell quiet.

Suddenly, Louis cleared his throat, and suddenly the eyes of a dozen knights and the King were trained on him.

“Do you have something to say?” King Daniel said harshly. “Or are you merely eavesdropping as a means of avoiding your duties?”

Harry winced, and Louis blanched for a moment, but then the servant seemed to brace himself and he took a step forward. “I… I may have something that can help.”

Before Daniel could say anything else, Louis rushed up to the group of knights and shoved a pile of papers onto the table. They were written in a strange language, paragraphs upon paragraphs of foreign, illegible words. At the end of one of the pages, Harry caught sight of an intricate illustration: a sword, lodged into a large stone, its handle pointed in the air.

“It’s called Excalibur,” Louis said as the knights peered to take a look at the pages. “A legendary sword capable of withstanding any enchantment. It’s said it was forged by the fire of the last dragon. It’s stronger than any weapon Albion has ever known.”

“It can beat back magic?” Nick asked with interest. He leaned over to take a closer look.

“It’d put you on equal ground with whoever’s using magic to attack these villages,” Louis said with excitement.

Harry stared at him with wonder, wondering when Louis had worked up the courage to speak up like this in front of Daniel, who had made his distaste for the servant abundantly clear in the previous months. But the moment ran cold as Daniel stood and grabbed for the pages.

“This is written in the sorcerer’s language,” he hissed, his expression stormy as he flipped through them. He looked up at Louis. “You can read these?”

Louis went slightly pale. “I’ve… I’ve been learning the Old Language. As a method of research. That's all.”

“This could be incredibly useful, Your Highness,” Liam jumped in. “We were completely defenseless against their magic in Frisia.”

“We should try to find this sword, then,” Harry said, looking at Louis. “What's it called? Excalibur? Maybe I can -,”

“ENOUGH,” Daniel exploded, slamming the pages down on the table, and Harry tensed up, gritting his teeth. “This is ridiculous. You -,” and here he pointed at Louis, who took a small step back, “are out of line for speaking in my court. And if it weren’t for my son, I’d have you thrown in prison for even knowing this language.”

“That's not fair,” Harry said, moving slightly in front of Louis. "He's just trying to help. Why can't you -,"

“Shut up, Harry,” Daniel shouted, and the words hit sharply, Harry’s face warming in humiliation. “I will not allow you to go off on some wild goose chase to find some weapon that only exists in myth. You should be embarrassed for even entertaining the idea. We do not live in folklore. And if none of you have any helpful ideas for protecting our kingdom, then I will take my leave so I can have some space to think, an apparently rare skill.”

His outburst left the room in a tense, hostile silence, and once it became clear that nobody had anything to say in response, Daniel pushed away from the table and stalked towards his quarters.

Harry stood unmoving at the table as the other knights started to filter away, casting uncomfortable glances his way as they left. His hands were clenched into fists at his side, his gaze fixed on Louis’s papers, which had been crumpled in Daniel's hands.

This? This was what talking to Daniel had been like ever since Cecily had escaped. Daniel hadn’t found out about Harry’s involvement. He hadn’t even admitted to suspecting his son. But he had treated Harry with distrust and outright disrespect ever since. It was downright humiliating, being treated like this in front of the entire court. Harry was being treated like a child, and it left him filled with a deep, simmering rage every time he spoke to his father.

“Well, that was fun,” Zayn muttered, and Harry snapped out of his thoughts to see that he, Louis, and Liam were still lingering around the table, looking sympathetically at Harry. The prince sighed deeply, unclenching his fists and rubbing his face.

“Seriously, Harry, what’s going on with you two?” Liam asked quietly.

“You don’t even want to know.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis said. “I shouldn’t have spoken up.”

“You,” Harry said, leveling his gaze at Louis, “did not do anything wrong.” He grabbed the papers again, smoothing out the wrinkles Daniel had left. “This is the first actual idea we’ve had in months.”

“You think this thing actually exists, Louis?” Zayn asked, leaning over to take a look at the illustration of Excalibur.

“Well,” Louis said, “I mean, I don’t know for sure. But, look.”

He grabbed a paper from the table and turned it over, and the four of them crowded around him to see a detailed map. Though the boundaries and borders were slightly strange, after staring at it for a few seconds, Harry started to recognize a familiar shape.

“This is the Darkling Woods,” he said in amazement, rotating the page a little until it matched up with his mental image of the thick woods that stood just outside of Camelot’s borders. “This... this says the sword is right past the Fallen Valley.”

“Exactly,” Louis said. “I mean, if there’s anywhere a mystical weapon would be hiding…”

It would be in the Darkling Woods, Harry finished mentally. A thick, nearly impenetrable thicket of trees, the Woods stretched for miles, touching the territories of Camelot, Merica, and Nemeth at different points. If the Woods had been controllable, there might have been skirmishes over which kingdom had claim to it. But they weren’t controllable, not even a little. In fact, they were notoriously deadly, full of hidden cliffs and ravines, and allegedly full of dangerous wild animals. Many men had died in those woods, and other than the few pathways that allowed safe passage through parts of the forest, they had been largely written off as uninhabitable.

The gears turned in Harry’s head as his eyes scanned the map again, noting the little accuracies, the known rivers and valleys that ran through the Woods. The map seemed credible, if ancient.

“Well, even assuming it does exist,” Liam said, “anyone could have found it by now, right?”

“Even if they had,” Louis said with certainty, “they wouldn’t be able to take it."

“And why is that?”

Louis hesitated for a moment, and Harry looked up at him to see his face flicker with something he couldn’t quite identify. He looked around the faces of his three friends and then pointed to a spot on the page. “It says you need to be a king to get the sword,” he said, glancing briefly towards Harry. “I don’t think many kings go on day trips through the Darkling Woods.”

“I’m not a king yet, Louis,” Harry said slowly.

“The exact interpretation is hard to explain, but you’re royal blood. It will count. Trust me, Harry, I’m sure of it.”

Harry wasn’t quite convinced, but the longer he stared at the page, the longer the illustration of the sword in the stone seemed to stick in his brain. If it was true… if it was true, this could be important. Really important.

Harry had no idea how to fight against magic. He had never done it before, and, apparently, neither had his father – never in any real, organized way. And what if Harry's suspicions were true? What if Merica had an army of sorcerers? He had no idea what to do with that. He had no idea how to protect Camelot.

And he was sick down to his bones of sitting around the castle doing nothing. Being sidelined by his father. Waiting for a fight to come to him that never arrived.

He needed to do something. He needed to be useful.

“I think I should go find it,” he said, and felt his friends snap their heads towards him.

“Even after what your father said?” Louis asked, but he didn’t sound unsure. He sounded hopeful. His gaze was fixed intently on Harry.

“Especially after what he said,” Harry responded hotly. “My father doesn’t have a plan, and neither do I. And our people are suffering for it. I'm not like him. I can't just stand by and watch this happen. If I leave tonight, I can be back in a number of days. And even if I can’t find it… it’s at least worth a try.”

Louis nodded, his eyes bright.

Harry turned back to the map on the table and shivered as he remembered the tales he had heard of the Woods, the stories of brave men who never returned.

“It’s going to be very dangerous,” he said, and he couldn’t deny the sliver of fear in his chest. “I… I can’t ask any of you to risk your lives, to risk your position with my father, to -,”

“Dude,” Zayn interrupted, “shut up before you insult me. Obviously, I'm coming with you.”

Harry whipped his head towards Zayn and a relieved grin broke across his face. He clapped Zayn on the shoulder, his friend reaching up to clasp his arm back with a broad smile. “Thank you,” he said genuinely.

Then Liam cleared his throat, and when Harry looked at him, he looked torn. “I think you’re right to go, Harry,” Liam said, “and I support your decision. But… my people are here. They’ve lost their home. I have a responsibility to take care of them.”

“I completely understand, Liam,” Harry said. “You’re doing right by your people. I really respect that.” Liam smiled and nodded at him.

And then Harry turned to Louis, who was staring down at the papers on the table with a slightly crinkled brow. There was a moment’s pause before he prompted, “Louis?”

Louis looked up, blinking owlishly. “What?”

“Are… do you want to come with me?” Harry asked, feeling suddenly quite nervous.

“Oh,” Louis said, and a grin broke across his face. “I sort of thought that was a given.”

The sentence pulled a laugh from Harry’s mouth, even as it caused a confusing swirl of emotions in his chest, and he moved to embrace Louis like he did with Zayn. But as he did he saw his friend shift away, his gaze glancing briefly towards their other friends, and he stopped himself mid-air, pulling back awkwardly.

Careful. They were so careful around each other now.

“Thank you, Louis,” he said instead, trying to put his meaning into his voice, and Louis met his gaze and nodded.

“When should we leave?” Zayn asked, and Harry returned his attention to the plan.

“Tonight,” he said definitively. “The sooner we leave, the better. And I don’t want to give my father the chance to ruin this. We’ll leave as soon as it gets dark. It’ll take us a few hours to get to the edge of the Woods. We’ll sleep there, and then head into the woods as soon as it gets light.”

“I’ll put together what we need for food and shelter,” Louis said, and Zayn jumped in: “and I’ll make a stop by the armory – they like me there, they won’t ask questions.”

“If you guys take longer than a week to return,” Liam said, “I’ll come and find you. Otherwise, I won’t tell anyone where you’ve gone.”

Harry nodded, looking around the table, and for a moment, it was like they were thirteen again, standing around and making plans to evade their lessons for an afternoon. He felt a warm rush of affection as he realized, not for the first time, that he had made friends with the greatest people in Camelot.

“This will work,” he said. “We’ll make it work.”

----------

Camelot was expecting two new servants to arrive that evening, kitchen workers who had been hired from Nemeth. But when the head cook met them at the castle that evening, he hesitated. “Elric” stood somewhat shorter and had far lighter hair than he had been told to expect, and “Thomas” had long hair and eyeglasses that the cook hadn’t been informed of, both potential hazards in the kitchen. But they had given their names and anticipated stations accurately, so the cook eventually shrugged and led them to the shared room they’d be inhabiting during their employment.

He had no way of knowing that the two men he was actually expecting were lying face-down in a ditch twenty miles from Camelot, their throats cut before they could make a sound.

Once the door shut behind him, Charlie and Shawn dropped their bags on their respective beds, unpacking their tools. Charlie set out each of his blades on his bed, organizing them by size, taking each out and inspecting it for a few moments before wrapping it back up in its protective cloth. The largest was his favorite rapier, which he wiped clean of the blood of the servants whose place they had taken. He wrapped it back up and knelt down to place the sword under his bed.

Shawn hadn’t brought so many blunt weapons; his tools of choice were the ingredients needed to create certain potions, as well as a bow that glowed faintly in the small room.

“Have you seen what I did to this?” Shawn asked with a small, proud smile, turning to show Charlie the bow. “Cuts straight through armor, if you hit it right.”

Charlie picked up the bow and turned it over in his hands, nodding appreciatively. “And you’re plannin’ to march that into the Great Hall, right?” he said dryly.

“Obviously not,” Shawn scoffed, grabbing his weapon back from his friend. “We’re still following the plan, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, returning to his bed. It wasn’t very complicated, at the end of the day. After learning when and where the prince’s food was made, Shawn would slip poison into his dinner tomorrow. Meanwhile, Charlie would hunt down the King.

Simple, but effective. Shawn had done this with Charlie a dozen times before. As brutal as Charlie was with the blade, Shawn was a better infiltrator and was much more skilled with potion-making. Though poison wasn’t Charlie’s preferred method of assassination, sometimes it was just the best option. And Shawn was the only person on earth Charlie actually trusted to do it right.

The two of them reported for duty a few minutes later, following the head cook around the kitchen. Charlie half-listened to the cook, absorbing the relevant information and discarding unimportant details. As the cook rambled on about the details of bread-making, Charlie’s eyes scanned across the kitchen, noting possible entrances and exits, looking for anything potentially dangerous.

His gaze caught on the sight of a short, dark-haired male servant talking in a whisper to a member of the kitchen staff, who nodded and went into the storage room. Charlie narrowed his eyes. There was something different about the boy, whose clothes were slightly finer, more colorful than the plain aprons given to the kitchen workers. He looked on guard, and something about him felt… strange, something Charlie couldn’t quite place.

The boy looked at him and their gazes met. Charlie held it for a split second before looking away. After a few minutes, he glanced his direction again, but the boy was gone.

Later, Charlie went up to the girl who had spoken to him.

“That was Louis,” she said. She was young, and clearly trying to be helpful, trying to make a good impression on the newcomer. “He’s the prince’s personal servant.”

Ah. “Interesting,” Charlie said, and dropped the topic.

Olivia had told him about Louis. In fact, he was the reason they had elected to use poison on Prince Harry rather than brute force. Better to go for something more subtle than to let the prince’s pet sorcerer have a chance at defending him.

Charlie stared towards the door where Louis had disappeared with some amount of disappointment settling in his chest. Poison was the best way to get the job done, but Charlie couldn’t deny that he would have appreciated the challenge. A renowned warrior and a powerful sorcerer? Charlie would cement his place in history for winning that fight.

And he would win that fight.

Who knew. There was still time for things to go wrong.

After he and Shawn were allowed to return to their chambers late that night, Shawn got into bed and fell asleep almost immediately, but Charlie didn’t. He sat awake for most of the night, methodically cleaning each of his knives. Thinking. Preparing. Waiting for the light of the morning.

----------

The first leg of their journey was passed in tense silence, except for the rhythmic drumming of their horse’s hooves and the occasional whisper of warning, as Harry, Louis, and Zayn did their best to avoid being seen while still within Camelot’s borders. Their horses were laden with supplies, and Harry and Zayn had both put on their chainmail, just in case. Night had fallen quickly, and they couldn’t take their horses at more than a trot, though the road they were taking to reach the border was safe and well-worn. They rode through the forest surrounding Camelot, through fields of wheat waving softly in the breeze, and past several darkened villages.

After a few hours, Louis could see something that looked like a black wall on the horizon, darker, even, than the night sky, because it held no stars. It grew steadily larger as they forged on, and soon Louis could make out the tops of trees, standing a hundred feet or taller.

The Darkling Woods.

He shivered, partially from the chill of the night air, but mostly in anticipation. He had never been in the Woods, himself. Only grown up on myths, like every child in Camelot. How much of it was true and how much was fiction was impossible to know.

But the Woods didn’t need myth to be terrifying.

Harry pulled his horse to a stop a mile or so away from the Woods, once they had grown close enough to see the edge of the treeline. They were in the middle of a large, empty field, surrounded by softly rolling hills. Louis and Zayn stopped next to him.

“We’ll camp here for the night,” Harry said, and the other two nodded.

They set up camp quietly, setting out sleeping rolls and starting a small campfire for warmth. Louis took first watch, agreeing to wake Zayn up in a couple of hours, and sat quietly by the fire as his friends drifted to sleep. The adrenaline of the day and the busyness of the past few hours started to settle in the quiet evening. There was no sound except for the low whistle of wind over the hills and the soft crackling of the campfire. Louis tugged his jacket a little tighter around his shoulders and sighed, relaxing for the first time that day. He was glad to take first shift. Glad to feel in control, as he watched over the sleeping figures of his friends. If he needed to use magic to protect them, he could.

A sweet sort of melancholy overtook him as he stared up at the stars, which seemed to shine even brighter than usual in the countryside. He hugged his legs to his chest and took a deep breath.

Eventually, his gaze drifted to Harry’s figure. The prince was lying on his side, his back to the fire, his shoulders rising and falling softly with even breath. His hair, which was growing longer, was tucked behind his ears.

Louis felt a familiar ache in his chest and leaned his head against his knees, letting himself stare a little longer at his friend.

He had been so careful. Keeping Harry at an arm’s distance, despite the fact that every bone in his body wanted to get closer, at almost every moment.

It was for the best, for so many reasons. Daniel, for one, clearly hated Louis, and Louis didn’t feel the need to give him more ammunition against Harry. And besides, Louis was still lying to Harry, every single day.

He had even lied about Excalibur. You didn’t need to have royal blood to take the sword, or whatever bullshit Louis had come up with on the spot. You needed to be Harry. You needed to be the True King of Albion.

No. Until Louis could be honest with Harry about everything, he couldn't let himself get any closer. Yet when Louis let his mind wander in quiet moments like this, he found himself imagining what it would be like to lay down next to Harry. To feel Harry’s arms around him, pulling him close; to press his face into the crook of Harry's neck, to tangle his hands in his hair, no fear or hesitancy in the touch, just comfort and security.

He shivered and hugged himself a little tighter. He looked up at the stars again, reminding himself what was most important right now. It was protecting Harry – keeping him alive. It was protecting Camelot.

It was fulfilling Harry's destiny. A destiny that didn't involve Louis. At least, not in the ways Louis wanted it to.

Louis sat there, lost in his thoughts, for what felt like only a few moments, and was shocked when he suddenly saw faint pink light start to glow over the eastern horizon. He blinked himself alert and realized he had accidentally stayed up all night. He looked down at his feet and saw their campfire had burned down to white ash.

Louis sighed and pulled himself to his feet, stretching the ache out of his limbs. He actually didn't mind having stayed up all night. It was a semi-regular occurrence for him, at this point. And Harry and Zayn needed their rest more than he did.

Though the field looked brighter in the light of early morning, the Darkling Woods were still as dark as night, the impossibly tall pine trees stretching like the parapets of the Camelot castle over Louis's head. Louis couldn’t see more than a few feet into the forest, and he steeled himself for the upcoming day.

The three of them were in for an interesting ride.

----------

Harry was dreaming of his mother.

It was all so painfully familiar. Every word, every image. Nothing ever changed.

And at the end, he heard those sounds again – the music notes that sounded like words, words he had never been able to make out. Every time he had this dream, he felt like he got a little closer, a little nearer to whatever final message it was that his mother was trying to send him.

This time, he could nearly make it out. Nearly hear it. It sounded like –

You can –

And then he was being shaken awake, and he sat up with a little jolt, staring at Louis, who was crouched in front of him.

“Louis,” he muttered, blinking blearily. “Is it my turn?”

Louis kind of squinted. “Um…”

Harry looked around and saw that it was already morning, their campsite lit up pink and orange by the sunrise. Zayn was sitting by the burned-down remains of their fire, yawning.

“Did you stay up all night?” he asked Louis in confusion.

Louis made a face. “It was sort of an accident. Anyway, it looked like you two needed your beauty sleep,” he said dryly.

Harry huffed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pulling himself to his feet as Louis sat down next to Zayn. Aside from the slightly darker circles under his eyes, Louis looked more or less okay. Harry couldn’t help a flicker of worry for his friend, though. He wondered how many times Louis had stayed awake through the night before.

“I don’t think that sleep made me any more beautiful, unfortunately for you two,” Harry said, taking a seat next to Zayn and grabbing for the bag with their food rations. “I feel like shit.”

“Aww, does our little Princess miss his comfy bed?” Zayn snickered, taking an enormous bite of bread and cheese. "You're almost as bad as Louis, complaining about how his little booty is sore from the horse ride."

“Careful, Zayn," Louis warned, "or I’ll have to start repeating some of the things you were saying in your sleep."

“I was not talking in my sleep,” Zayn said defensively as Harry barked out a laugh. "You are fully bullshitting."

“Wanna bet?” Louis said, raising his eyebrows.

“I would bet you one hundred thousand gold pieces I wasn’t sleep-talking,” Zayn said confidently.

“Hmm, then it must have been a little bird I heard last night talking to… Perrie, was it?” Louis said casually, and Zayn’s face suddenly flushed beet red, and Harry laughed so hard he started wheezing as Louis kept going in a high-pitched impression: “oh, Perrie, you’re so pretty, Perrie, I love you so much…”

“Shut up Louis I did not say that!!” Zayn protested, jumping to his feet, and Harry and Louis both cackled with laughter. “Oh, my god. I hate you guys so much. I’m going back to Camelot.”

“No, you’re not,” Harry said, still chuckling and wiping at his eyes.

“Try me.”

It felt good to laugh, and the three kept chatting mindlessly as they finished their breakfast, packed up camp and returned to their horses, heading towards the Darkling Woods as the sun rose higher in the sky.

But they fell quiet as they reached the edge of the forest, looking in.

The path they had taken to reach the Woods had ended. From now on, they’d be going through uncharted territory. The Woods were eerily silent, and the trees were so thick that they cut off almost all sunlight. The three of them paused for a moment, staring straight ahead.

“You guys ready?” Harry asked, turning to look at his friends.

Zayn nodded, pulling himself up bravely. “You know it.”

Louis was staring quietly into the Woods, a strange expression on his face.

“Ready, Louis?”

Louis looked straight at him and nodded. “Ready.”

“Then let’s go,” Harry said, and led them into the unknown.

----------

Camelot had descended into chaos.

“Are things normally like this?” Shawn whispered to Charlie as they made their way towards the kitchen, as per their plan. Around them, servants were clustered in little groups, whispering frantically to each other. Charlie heard someone shouting down the hall.

“No. Something's definitely goin’ on,” Charlie said, trying unsuccessfully to listen in on a nearby conversation.

Suddenly, he caught sight of the kitchen girl he had spoken to yesterday, and he went up to her, tapping her on the shoulder. She whirled and gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“What’s happenin’?” he asked her, motioning generally to the chaos.

The girl looked around them, as though making sure nobody could overhear. “You didn’t hear this from me, but… the prince has disappeared.”

Huh. “Disappeared?”

“A stablehand saw his servant leading a few horses towards the gate last night,” she whispered. “Rumor has it, they’re heading for the Darkling Woods. Nobody really knows why.”

Charlie glanced at Shawn, whose forehead was furrowed. “Thanks for the intel,” he said to the girl, who gave him a kind of confused smile, and then he pulled Shawn back towards their room.

“Alright. Change of plans,” he said as soon as he closed the door.

Shawn looked worried. “Ah… what do you think?” he said in a low whisper. “We take care of the king, and then go for the prince?”

Charlie shook his head with an exhale. “Olivia wants it to be simultaneous, remember? If we only kill Daniel, people’ll start rallyin’ behind Harry. We can’t just cut one head off a two-headed snake and hope it stops squirmin'.”

“So we wait for the prince to return?” Shawn murmured, but the gears were already turning in Charlie’s head.

There was a challenge here, but the challenge wasn’t in Camelot. The challenge was riding away from him, and into the most dangerous place in Albion.

And it was enticing.

“I’ll tell you what we do,” Charlie said, a glint in his eye. “We switch.”

He headed straight for his bed, kneeling to retrieve his rapier from the floor, while Shawn said, “what do you mean?”

“You stay here. You wait two days. That’s how long it’ll take me to catch up with them,” Charlie said, throwing a few things in a small pack. “I’ll kill Harry while he’s far away from the defenses of the castle. And you’ll poison the king. Boom. Simultaneous. And, honestly? Much more fun.”

Shawn sucked in a breath. “You sure about this, Charlie?”

“You doubtin’ me, Shawn?” Charlie retorted, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

Shawn gave him a look.

“I’ll be fine,” Charlie insisted. His voice was quiet and almost casual. “I’m gonna slit the little sorcerer’s throat before he knows what’s happenin’, and then I’m gonna kill the prince and bring back his head on a platter.”

The words were stark, but they were nothing new for the two of them. This was what they did. They dealt in blood.

“Easy as that?” Shawn said with a small sigh.

Charlie grinned sharply.

“Easy as that.”

Chapter Text

The Darkling Woods felt strangely motionless, like time hadn’t actually passed within the forest for a long time. Even the air felt close-knit and still, almost oppressive. At first, the trio tried to keep up their lighthearted banter. But that quickly started to feel wrong, almost offensive, as though they were desecrating something sacred by disrupting the unearthly silence.

They moved slowly. There wasn’t a cleared path, and their horses had to pick carefully over the forest foliage, gnarled roots, and mossy stones. Harry kept getting hit by low-hanging branches, which made the other two snicker. Louis kept his map out the entire time, guiding them past milestones.

The forest quickly lived up to its dangerous reputation. Almost an hour in, the dense trees suddenly gave way to a ravine that was completely hidden until Zayn’s horse was faltering on the edge, scrambling on loose earth. Louis had to jerk his hand up, forcing the ground to stay still for a few seconds longer until Harry could grab the reins of Zayn’s horse and yank them back to solid ground, just as the edge of the cliff gave way into a rockslide.

“Thanks, Harry,” Zayn said, his eyes wide, and they continued on.

A little while later, Harry pulled them to a stop, holding out a hand in warning, as something crashed through the forest in front of them. The trio froze in their place as they saw an enormous wild boar push through the trees, its snout waving in the air. The boar was huge, nearly five feet tall and two hundred pounds, with long, sharp tusks.

It looked their way, and then it let out an awful squeal as it started to race directly towards Louis, crashing through the forest.

Louis pulled his horse back, but his sleep-deprived brain short-circuited – he had no idea how to stop the rampaging beast, and for a second, he thought the thing might gore Daisy with its tusks until two arrows flew through the air and embedded themselves in the boar’s side, making it rear back, crying in pain. Harry knocked back another arrow and let it fly, and the boar fled, running into the forest and disappearing from sight.

Louis looked at Harry with astonishment.

“You alright?” the prince asked, securing his bow on his back.

“Yeah,” Louis breathed.

“Good thing we have Harry here to protect us, huh, Louis?” Zayn said with a faint chuckle. Louis just swallowed.

A few hours later, Louis brought the group to a stop.

“Do you hear that?” he asked.

Through the muffled air, they could hear something that sounded faintly like rushing water. They followed the sound until they came across a wide, shallow river with a steady current, bubbling and frothing over a rocky riverbed.

Louis moved closer to Harry to show him the map. “We go south from here, and then west at the river’s bend.”

“Why are we trusting Louis with the map again?” Zayn sniped from behind them. “He has a hard time navigating to his own room most days.”

“That was one time,” Harry jumped to Louis’s defense. “And only because you kept giving him whiskey.”

“Okay, fair,” Zayn snorted. “But if Louis gets us lost and we run out of food, I know who we’re eating first.”

"Gross, Zayn."

The noise of the river broke the solemn tension a little bit, and as their horses plodded along the riverbank, the three of them fell into easy conversation to pass the time. Louis even found himself enjoying the ride, looking around at the thick forest around them as his horse plodded a little bit behind Harry and Zayn’s. Yet he thought that Harry was still a little quiet, a little serious. The prince seemed lost in his thoughts multiple times, staring at the running water like he was looking for something hidden in the river.

Eventually, the daylight started to fade.

“Should we find a place to camp?” Zayn asked, but Louis peered at his map.

“Let’s keep going just a little longer,” he said. “We should be getting close.”

“Close to what?” Harry said, but only a moment later, their ears picked up on something new. It was the sound of the river magnified a hundred times, a thundering sound that made Harry and Zayn glance at Louis with interest.

The trio picked up the pace, trotting along the river bank. It sloped gently around a dense part of the forest –

And then they were staring at an enormous waterfall, the river thundering and frothing over the rocks at the bottom of a large cliff. Below them spread a huge lake, glittering in the sun that was just beginning to set over the western horizon. There was a small clearing around the lake, with soft grass circling the lake’s sandy beach.

Louis, Zayn, and Harry stood at the top of the cliff, staring at the lake in wonder.

“Okay,” Harry said, nodding definitively. “This is where we camp.”

Their horses picked their way down the side of the cliff easily enough, and the trio dismounted once they reached the grassy clearing, starting to unpack their things for the night. Louis trailed off into the forest to collect kindling for the fire, but when he returned, he realized that the other two weren’t setting up camp at all – they were dunking each other in the water, half-clothed.

“What are you idiots doing?” he shouted at them just as Zayn tackled Harry under water.

Harry came up to the surface, water pouring off of him, shaking his wet hair like a dog. “Louis, get in here!”

“Absolutely not,” Louis said, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not getting all wet right before dinner.”

“Louis,” Harry called playfully, and Louis noticed with alarm that he was starting to move towards him. “I said, get in here.”

“Don’t you dare,” Louis warned, taking a few steps back.

But Harry had made up his mind. He suddenly lunged onto the beach, sprinting up to Louis and scooping him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing. Louis shrieked in protest, hitting Harry’s back with his fists, but Harry just laughed, running towards the lake and tossing him in the water.

Louis came up gasping for air, water trickling into his eyes, and Zayn laughed so hard he accidentally dunked his own head under the surface.

“That is so not fair,” he complained at Harry, who grinned wickedly, swimming towards him.

“Oh, come on,” Harry said playfully. “You love me.”

The words caught Louis slightly off-guard, and he reacted by shoving Harry’s head under, seeing air pockets bubble up as Harry laughed from underwater. Despite the cold of the lake, Louis felt warmth rise up in his chest, and he swam backwards a little bit, unable to deny that it felt good to swim, to stretch his limbs after the long, uncomfortable horse ride.

They got out of the lake to get dry just as the sun truly set, leaving them in the soft light of the evening. As the sunlight faded, they realized that the lake seemed to be glowing with a pale blue light that radiated from its center. Louis reached into the lake and pulled out a stone from the bottom; it had a strange sort of algae coating it that glimmered with bioluminescent light.

“Never seen anything like this before,” he said in wonder, handing it to Harry, who turned the glowing stone over in his hands, inspecting it closely. The three of them were sitting on the beach, looking out over the water.

“Yeah, I gotta admit,” Zayn said from Harry’s left, “this place is really beautiful.”

Louis hummed in agreement, but couldn’t pass up the opportunity: “as beautiful as this Perrie person you were talking about, or…?”

“Shut up, dude,” Zayn grumbled, as Harry choked on a surprised laugh.

“Who is she, anyways?” Louis asked curiously, leaning back on his hands.

“A noblewoman from Northumbria I met a few months ago,” Zayn mumbled, his face going red. “I have a chance, I’m telling you. I’m great with women.”

“Sure you are,” Louis said, and Zayn shot him a glance.

“You should have seen him in school, Louis,” Harry said with a little chuckle. “He was a regular heartbreaker.”

“Oh, says you,” Zayn said. “Dude, you could have had any girl in Camelot, I swear.”

“Whatever,” Harry said dismissively as Louis felt suddenly strange, looking down at his feet.

“I’m not kidding. I don’t know why you never tried with that one girl – what’s her name, Taylor? She was so into you.”

Louis watched Harry out of the corner of his eye, but the prince barely reacted.

“I don’t really get a choice, at the end of the day,” he eventually said, causing both Louis and Zayn to look towards him in confusion. His shoulders kind of tensed at the attention, and he threw the glowing stone in his hand into the lake with a little splash. “Um. I mean. My dad was telling me that… I’ll probably have to marry strategically, y’know? Like, to somebody from another kingdom. Maybe somebody I’ve never even met.”

The words made Louis’s stomach twist, and Zayn gave a low whistle. “Damn, man. That sucks.”

Harry kind of shrugged. “It’s not my favorite thing, but. I guess it’s what you get when you’re in a royal family. You wait until your kingdom really needs an ally, and then you get married. And you kind of… hope… that you like the person you get married to.”

“Still, man. That’s heavy.”

“It’s what’s best for Camelot,” Harry said, the words rolling off his tongue automatically, then hesitated. “Still. I dunno. Maybe one of these days I’ll just tell my old man to fuck off.” He laughed shortly, but the words came out perhaps a bit truer than he intended.

The three of them sat quietly for a little while longer before Zayn hoisted himself to his feet, saying he was going to go look after his horse, which had gotten scraped in the ravine incident from earlier. He wandered away, and Harry and Louis were left sitting on the beach, illuminated by the strange blue glow of the lake.

A strange tension filled the air. They weren’t talking, yet neither of them made a move to leave. Louis snuck a glance at Harry but saw that his gaze was unfocused. He looked lost in his thoughts again.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

Harry furrowed his brow softly and shrugged. “Dunno.”

Louis couldn’t help but snort. “You’re just sitting there with an empty head?”

Harry shot him a look, but he smiled despite himself. He leaned forward, folding his arms over his knees.

Then he said, “what if this is all a waste?”

Louis tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Harry looked conflicted. “You said the book said you have to be a king to take Excalibur from the stone. I mean, I know you said royal blood or whatever, but that sort of sounded like a lie,” he said, and Louis winced. “Well, I’m not a king. I won't be for a long time. So… what if I’m not able to do it?”

Louis took a deep breath. An owl hooted softly from the trees, and the waterfall rushed into the lake. “You’ll be able,” he said.

“You sound so sure,” Harry said, his voice soft.

“Because I am.”

“Why? Do you know something I don’t?” Harry asked wryly, but then Louis hesitated for a second too long, and Harry looked at him quickly. “…Louis?”

Louis’s heartbeat picked up in his chest, and he felt a strange rush in his head. There was something about the moment, the strange tension in the air, the surreal atmosphere of their surroundings, that was pulling him towards honesty. There was something in his head telling him: now is the time.

“I may have left out a few details about what the book says,” he said in a rush.

Harry looked alarmed. “What do you mean?”

Louis picked nervously at his knee. “It doesn’t say you have to be a king to take Excalibur,” he said. His voice rang strangely in his ears – as though he were listening to someone else speak. “It says you have to be the king. The One True King.”

“Louis. What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s – I’m not sure exactly,” Louis hedged, trying to make it sound as though this were new to him, as well. “But I’ve seen other texts refer to it. It’s an old legend, a really old one, about a king from Camelot who… who’s destined to be even greater. A king who will unite Albion into a time of peace.”

There was a long, shocked pause, and then Harry’s face shifted into panic.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me this?” he said, his voice rising. “We need that person to get the sword? Then… then we’re screwed!”

Louis couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his throat. “Harry. I think that person is you.”

“What?” Harry said incredulously.

The words bubbled out of him as if he had been holding them in, like a breath underwater. “I think that’s your destiny. I actually do. I think you probably know it, too – that you have something bigger to do in this life. That you have a purpose.”

The words stopped Harry still, and he stared at Louis in open shock, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Louis felt light-headed, off-balance. Like he was in a dream instead of reality.

“Louis,” Harry said, shifting position so that he was facing him directly. “Why are you saying this?”

The question caught him by surprise and he stopped, fumbling for words. “It’s… what?”

“You’ve obviously been, like, thinking about this,” Harry pressed. His eyes scoured Louis’s face, and Louis’s heart stuttered. “Where did you get all of this? Seriously?”

“It’s… I don’t know,” Louis said. He felt inspected, and the thought panicked him and sent him straight into deflection mode. “It’s just something I… feel.”

Harry’s forehead furrowed. “You’re lying,” he said, and his voice sounded confused. He was stating a fact, not making an accusation. “I can tell.”

Louis felt the instinct to protest rise up, but he didn’t.

“Where are you getting this?” Harry asked again, quietly.

“Harry…”

Louis didn’t want to lie. But what was he supposed to say? It’s written in prophecy, a prophecy that I’ve learned from other sorcerers?

“I don’t think I should tell you,” he said instead.

This clearly shocked Harry. “What?” he snapped, venom entering his voice. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t tell you,” Louis rephrased, feeling guilty, still, and nervous especially, but finding this dodge more palatable than another lie, and far safer than the truth.

“Louis, I’m not joking,” Harry warned. “You better tell me where you’re getting these ideas before I order you to.”

This made Louis laugh slightly, which did nothing to break the tension. “You wish,” he said simply, starting to push himself to his feet.

But Harry caught his arm and pulled him back to the ground, tugging Louis closer so that he was kneeling right in front of him.

“Louis,” he pleaded, and his face was confused, almost betrayed. “You can’t just not tell me. We… we tell each other everything.”

The sentence was so true and so deeply untrue at the same time that it echoed loudly in Louis’s head, and he just stared at Harry, the enormity of the unspoken thing between them growing so heavy in his chest that he couldn’t breathe for a moment.

“Do we, Harry?” Louis finally said, so quietly yet so loudly into the air between them, where there wasn’t very much space at all.

Harry’s eyes widened slightly. His gaze dropped to Louis’s mouth, then down to where his hand held Louis’s wrist.

And then they heard Zayn’s steps coming up behind them.

Harry dropped Louis’s hand and looked away as Zayn said, “hey, guys, are we gonna -,”

He stopped as Louis rose to his feet, heading back towards their camp without a word. “Uh… did I miss something?”

“It’s nothing,” Louis said, his mind buzzing. “I’m going to get some more kindling.”

When he returned, Harry was still sitting on the beach, staring at the glowing water.

----------

The sound of his horse’s hooves thundering against the earth filled Charlie’s ears as he sped across the countryside. His braided hair flew out behind him, and a dark, heavy cape was pinned around his neck. He had ground to make up, and not much time to do it.

The Darkling Woods rose up quickly in front of him, and he stopped near its border, looking around for some sign of the prince and his companion.

He found it about a half mile away – the white ash of a campfire burned into the heath. The unmistakeable remnants of a camp. He crouched and found three distinct indentations in the soft grass of the hill. Harry must have brought someone else with him. It didn't matter. Charlie merely readjusted his mental calculus and returned to his horse.

He worked through the night with the single-minded focus that consumed him during each of his hunts, not stopping to eat or even to rest. Luckily for him, the group was incredibly easy to track, once he found the place where they had entered the Woods. They moved with all the usual grace of a royal party, leaving plenty of footprints and broken branches for Charlie to follow, visible even as the sun set and the night approached.

It was his favorite thing about hunting royalty, Charlie thought as he pushed on through the forest. So used to staring down at everyone from their towers, they were oblivious to danger, thinking themselves immortal. Thinking themselves eternally at the top of the food chain.

By the time they usually realized they were his prey, the hunt was already over.

Charlie didn’t recognize authority. It didn’t intimidate him. In his mind, he sat over everyone, a sword carefully balanced over every other person’s neck. It was up to him when they lived or died. That was true power, not the cheap pageantry of a crown and a castle.

Charlie had decided that Harry’s time was up. And so it would be.

He grinned at the thought, and plunged deeper into the forest.

----------

Louis and Harry didn’t speak and barely even made eye contact with each other for the rest of the night. But in the morning, they went more or less back to normal, as though they had entered a silent agreement not to talk about their conversation.

Harry didn’t feel angry at Louis. More… unsettled.

Louis’s words had shaken something deep inside him. Something that had left him staring up at the stars last night, even after Zayn had taken first shift, and Harry was supposed to be sleeping.

How had Louis known?

How had he known about Harry’s purpose?

That tugging inside his chest, that voice in his head. Telling him, there are greater things in store for you.

He had never known how to name it before, never quite understood what it wanted from him. But now, Louis’s words rang in his head.

A king who will unite Albion into a time of peace.

Could it be true? And if it was… where the hell was Louis getting this? And why wouldn’t he tell him?

The three of them packed up camp and headed west, leaving the path of the river and returning to the dense forest. Louis rode ahead of Harry today, his head buried in the map, and Harry felt his gaze returning to the back of Louis’s head over and over as they travelled. He was the same person Harry had always known. The same kind, dependable, harmless person.

Who was that other person who had taken over him last night? That person who, somehow, knew Harry better than he knew himself?

It filled him with unease, and he disliked the fact that they weren’t talking about it. But there would be time for that, Harry knew, time to unpack what was going on between them. For now, they had a goal in front of them.

(And they had a Zayn, who rode alongside them obliviously, humming an off-tune melody.)

After a while, the forest started to open up, the ground sloping gently downward, and then the three of them were riding through a large valley, with stony cliffs rising up on either side. The grass was soft under their horses’ hooves, with only a few trees branching overhead.

“We’re getting close,” Louis said, and a shiver went down Harry’s spine.

There was something strange about the valley, stranger, even, than the forest itself; there was a sort of electricity in the air that prickled at the back of Harry’s neck, putting him on edge. He kept turning his head to see if someone was watching them, but there was never anybody there.

The valley eventually sloped back upwards and then emptied out back into the forest, and Louis pulled his horse to a stop, frowning at the map. “It should be around here.”

There was nothing especially remarkable in sight; this stretch of the forest looked exactly like every other mile they had crossed over the past day and a half. “Are you sure?” Harry asked Louis, feeling his stomach start to sink.

“I’m sure,” Louis said as Zayn jumped off his horse and started to pick through the nearby forest, peering through the trees. “Look. You see the valley? And here, that’s where we are -,”

“Well, it’s not like this map is scientific, right?” Harry said. “It could be anywhere within, like, a ten mile radius.”

Louis bristled a little. “The map’s been accurate so far. It should be close.”

“Guys?” Zayn said.

“I’m just saying, it’s not very helpful right now,” Harry argued. “Like, the illustration of the sword itself is twice as large as the illustration for the lake, right? So, if you think about it, it could be -,”

“Guys.”

“What?” Harry snapped, before realizing that Zayn was staring through the forest, his eyes wide.

The knight pointed. “Found it.”

Louis and Harry stopped for a stunned moment before dismounting, following Zayn as he pushed through the forest.

They emerged in a small clearing. In the center of a little meadow, dappled with sunlight, stood a large, smooth boulder. Jutting from the stone, exactly as it was depicted on Louis’s map, was a sword.

“Excalibur,” Louis said with wonder, and Harry took a deep breath.

It was one thing believing it could exist, and another seeing it. The sword, though it must have been impossibly ancient, showed no sign of rust or deterioration. The handle was made of gold, finely engraved and embedded with emeralds, and the part of the blade that was visible and not hidden by the stone glinted in the sunlight. It was a remarkable-looking thing.

“Well,” Zayn said, breaking their amazed silence, “let’s give this thing a whirl, shall we?”

Without further ado, he jumped on top of the stone and gave the handle a yank.

The sword didn’t budge. Zayn grunted as he pulled at it, his arms straining, before finally letting go with a gasp of exertion. He turned to Harry, looking unsure.

“I don’t know, man,” he said. “I mean, I know there’s supposed to be magic here, or something, but… that thing’s really stuck in there.”

“Let me see,” Louis said with interest, and got up next to Zayn to tug at the sword. It stayed similarly stuck.

Harry just stood and watched them, feeling some amount of anxiety rise in his chest, as his two friends combined their strength together only to fall away from the handle of the sword unsuccessfully.

“Okay, Harry,” Zayn said, jumping down from the rock. “Showtime.”

Louis climbed down, too, watching Harry with a curious expression.

Hesitantly, Harry climbed up onto the stone, clenching and unclenching his hands a few times. He stood in front of Excalibur’s handle for a long moment.

“You got this, Harry,” he heard Zayn say, but knowing his friends’ eyes were on him just made him feel slightly worse.

You can do this, he told himself in his head. Whatever this is, you didn’t come here for nothing. You can do this.

Harry reached out and grasped the handle. It felt warm under his hands. He readjusted his grip, took a deep breath, and then pulled it towards him.

It didn’t budge.

Dread seized him, and Harry stared at the sword for a second longer, mentally begging it, please, please move.

He pulled it again, and was met with all the flexibility you would expect from a sword stuck in a literal rock.

Harry looked to his side, and he saw Zayn staring up at him, his face mirroring the confusion and worry that Harry felt.

But when he looked at Louis, he saw something different.

Louis looked focused, and calm, and purely confident. The surety in his expression, the knowing way with which he looked up at him, was a sudden reminder of what, exactly, he was here to do. It reminded him of who he was.

Harry turned and drew Excalibur from the stone.

It slid out as easily as if it were simply sitting in a scabbard, waiting to be drawn. Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he held the sword aloft, the blade glinting in the sunlight. He realized that the sword’s glow was not merely a reflection of the light, but was something inherent to the iron itself: the blade seemed to remember the dragonfire it was forged in and shone with its memory.

The sword's handle was warm in his hands, and he felt energy tingle at his fingertips, as though Excalibur were a living thing, and they were meeting each other for the first time. Harry readjusted his grip, and a grin spread across his face. The sword was the perfect heft, its weight practically tailor-made. He swung it down in an easy arc.

This was his sword.

A low whistle pulled him away from his moment of reverie, and he turned to see Zayn staring at him with amazement.

“What do you know,” the knight said, shaking his head. “Just took some royal blood to get the job done. Looks like you got that translation dead on, Louis.”

Harry made eye contact with Louis, who met his gaze unflinchingly, and his heart stuttered in his chest when he remembered the true translation, the one Louis had told him last night.

Louis’s voice was full of pride as he said, “I know I did.”

----------

Louis felt as though he were floating as they made their way back to their horses, Harry inspecting Excalibur with a wondrous expression. He looked like he was born to wield that sword, and Louis could feel the magic energy pouring off of the thing as clearly as he could feel the warmth from the sun on his skin. Excalibur would be an important weapon against Mercia, and Harry was wielding it, and – everything was going perfectly.

They took off towards Camelot, stopping in the valley only briefly to eat a meal before the rest of the journey home. The Woods seemed much friendlier now, much more knowable. Louis let his guard down as they sat on a fallen log to eat, their horses grazing behind them.

“Can I just say, we just completely crushed this mission,” Zayn said, pulling a laugh from Harry. “Louis, the next time you look for some mythic quest in your books, can you find one that’s actually challenging?”

Harry was still chuckling when an arrow sliced through the air and pierced Zayn through his shoulder.

“Zayn!” Louis shouted, shock paralyzing him, as the knight let out a startled cry and fell to the ground. Louis and Harry jumped to their feet, looking around frantically for the source of the arrow.

A second one whizzed right past Louis’s ear and he jerked away from it, scrambling for the shield that he had so confidently stowed away.

“Who’s there?” Harry shouted, hoisting his own shield in one hand and Excalibur in the other. He paced out into the Valley, scanning the surrounding cliffsides. “Show yourself, coward!”

After a moment, they heard the far-off sound of a horse whinnying, and then a figure appeared at the top of the northern cliff, riding a black horse. They watched as the stranger guided his horse down the side of the cliff, coming to a stop at the bottom of the valley, about a hundred feet away from them.

Louis peered at the man, and suddenly his eyes widened. He – he recognized this person, this tall, imposing figure with long hair, pulled back into a braid. He was wearing a thick, dark cape around his neck, and he held a long rapier in his hand. And Louis knew him. He had seen him in – in the castle, a few days before, in servant’s clothing. What was he doing here --?

“Who are you?” Harry yelled. “What do you want from us?”

“My name is Charlie,” the man called back. His voice was low and calm. “Which probably answers your second question.”

The name sent a total shock through Louis’s system, and he took a few steps back. “The Blade?” he whispered, and saw Harry’s eyes widen in recognition. Charlie was a near-mythic figure, half fiction, half reality.

“The assassin,” Harry said, and Charlie dipped his head. “Who sent you?”

“Usually, I wouldn’t say,” Charlie said with a strange little grin. “But, on this occasion… Mercia asked me to send her regards.”

Mercia.

Charlie swung himself off of his horse, taking off his cape and dropping it in a heap to the side. “I’m feelin’ nice, so I’ll make you an offer,” he said, hoisting his rapier. He didn’t hold a shield. “I’m only here for you, Harry. Give yourself up, and I’ll let your friends go. Otherwise, I’ll have to kill all three of you. Which I will.”

Harry scoffed and took a fighting stance. “I’d like to see you try.”

The Blade smirked. “I was hopin’ you’d say that.”

The two of them took off towards each other at the same time, sprinting across the grass, and their blades clashed in the air, Excalibur against rapier. They surged against each other for a moment before pulling back, neither having gained the advantage.

“Harry!” Louis heard Zayn yell, and he turned to see the knight rushing towards them, grabbing his sword.

Without flinching, Charlie held up his free hand and shouted a word – “ástríce” – and slammed Zayn against the cliff with his magic. Zayn's head hit a rock hard, and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Louis moved to try and help Harry, but the prince just threw up a hand in warning – “Louis, stay back! I can take him.”

Charlie grinned, and he shot Louis a sharp look that sent a chill down his spine. “Yeah, stay back, Louis,” he called tauntingly, bringing his rapier down in a vicious arc that Harry parried with a clash. “Wouldn’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

Did he know? Louis stumbled back a few feet, searching frantically for some way to help. When he saw a few roots tangled near the feet of the two fighters, he pulled one up to trip Charlie, but the assassin must have noticed, because he hissed something under his breath and Louis felt something counteract his magic, rendering the act useless.

The Blade got a few good hits against Harry, knocking him back a few feet, but the prince caught himself, pivoting and striking out with Excalibur. He got a slash off against Charlie’s arm, but the assassin barely reacted, spinning and kicking out against Harry’s chest, sending him back a few feet. Charlie slashed his sword lightning-fast towards Harry’s head, and he just barely dodged, stumbling a few paces away.

Frantically, Louis lifted a hand and focused on the handle of Charlie’s sword, making it glow with red-hot heat. The Blade dropped it with a hiss, and turned towards Louis furiously.

“Comin’ out to play?” he asked, and then brought a hand up against Louis, using “ástríce” again.

With Harry’s full attention on him, Louis had to let the spell do its work, slamming him against the cliff. Charlie held him there, pinned against the rocks, for a moment, as the assassin picked up his blade and started to stalk towards him.

And then Harry launched himself in between the two, swinging Excalibur in a wide arc and forcing Charlie to bring his rapier up to stop his attack.

“Leave him alone,” he hissed, leaning into his sword and throwing the Blade back a few steps.

Charlie smirked at him. “Cute.”

Louis felt Charlie's magic disappear and gasped for breath as the two continued to exchange blows, almost totally equal. He had never seen anyone fight Harry like this, with a sort of deadly precision in his every move; he dodged every swing of Harry’s sword and seemed to anticipate his movements, forcing him into the defensive little by little. The Blade’s rapier sliced against Harry's arm, and then a particularly brutal swing just barely nicked Harry’s face, opening up a gash on his right cheek.

Harry stumbled back, grabbing his face.

“They weren’t kiddin’ when they said you were good,” Charlie said, resetting his stance. “If it makes you feel any better about losin’.”

Harry grit his teeth and launched back towards him.

Louis watched them fight with a pounding heart, pulling himself to his feet and looking for some way to help. He tried, again, to yank Charlie’s blade from his hand with magic, but when the other sorcerer felt the tug, he sent him a withering glare. With a grunt of exertion, the Blade lifted a large rock with his magic and sent it hurtling straight for Louis with incredible speed.

Yelping, Louis leaped to the side, but the boulder struck his knee with a crack, sending hot pain shooting up and down his leg. He fell to the ground, gasping in pain, as Harry shouted at the assassin.

“You would attack a defenseless servant like that? You really are a coward,” the prince snarled.

That made something in Charlie’s face shift, and he returned his full attention to the prince. "And you really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Louis clutched at his leg as Harry and Charlie clashed again, but something seemed to have taken over Harry. He fought with abandon, slashing at the assassin and whirling as though he weren’t bleeding from several cuts already, while the Blade was practically unharmed.

His wild energy managed to push Charlie back, put on the defensive, until the assassin was being pushed up against the cliff. For the first time, Louis saw a flicker of fear on the man’s face as one of Harry's slashes sent his rapier flying to the ground, and then Harry lunged for his chest.

Charlie held a hand up and shouted, “ástríce”, trying to push Harry away as he had pushed Zayn and Louis.

But his magic didn't work.

As the spell hit Harry, Excalibur seemed to glow, and then it was like Harry was cutting through a wave of energy as it parted around him, leaving the prince untouched.

The Blade’s eyes widened for one shocked second.

And then Harry ran Charlie through with his sword.

Louis gasped as Excalibur hit true, plunging into the assassin's chest. Charlie made a choking sound and fell to his knees in front of Harry.

Harry pulled Excalibur from the Blade’s chest, who folded over his wound.

“This is Mercia’s best attempt?” Harry spat, his sword and face both dripping with blood.

But then he made a mistake.

With an air of arrogance, Harry turned his back on the assassin, sheathing Excalibur at his side. He took two steps away.

And then Louis watched in horror as Charlie’s sword pierced through Harry’s back and burst through the front of his chest.

Harry’s face morphed into a mask of shock as he looked down at where he had been stabbed, stumbling forward a little and crashing to his knees.

The Blade stood hunched behind him, breathing heavily, holding a hand over his wound. He ripped the rapier from Harry’s body, and the prince cried out once, a loud and piercing sound, before collapsing to the ground.

“NO!”

The scream tore from Louis’s mouth as the world started to spin, blood rushing in his ears. He lurched to his feet and started to limp towards the assassin, his magic flaming to life in his hands, but Charlie muttered one last spell that twisted Louis’s already injured leg and sent him crashing to the ground, his vision going white with pain. Louis clawed himself back to his feet, but by the time he got up, the assassin had disappeared. He was gone.

And Harry, Harry was folded over on the ground, blood pooling from his chest, staining the grass –

“Harry,” Louis gasped, and he lurched forward and fell to his knees next to his friend, panic nearly blinding him, “no, no, no -,”

He pulled Harry onto his back and onto Louis’s lap, looking frantically for signs of life. Harry’s face was ashen and colorless, his eyes closed, but Louis saw that his chest was still rising and falling shallowly. He was still breathing -- he was barely alive.

But Louis couldn't heal him.

“Goddammit, Harry, goddammit,” he whispered, his hands floating over Harry’s face, over his chest, where the fatal wound still bled. He knew how to heal this wound, the way his gran had taught him, if he had time, and medicine – but he had neither. Harry didn’t have much time left at all; he was fading, Louis could feel him fading, his breath was slowing, he was – he was fucking dying in Louis’s arms, and Louis was useless, he was failing him –

“This can’t be happening,” Louis cried, his voice breaking. He gathered Harry up in his arms and pulled him close to his chest, burying his face in Harry’s shoulder, tears suddenly overflowing and streaking down his face. He heard Harry’s faint breath, heard his weak pulse slowing.

And then the thought came to him, clear and strong:

I won’t let this happen.

Louis closed his eyes.

He dove deep down into the well of magic he felt bubbling up inside of him. He pushed past it all, past the words and the spells, past, even, his instinctual knowledge of the elements – he sunk deep into the pure, liquid fire he could feel coursing through his veins when he used his magic, and he brought it out, he grabbed it by his fists, feeling the raw power of it scald him, and he told his magic what he wanted it to do.

“He can't die,” he cried, and his words resounded strangely in his ears, as though he were speaking with two voices, and his magic responded, he won't.

He felt like something was burning through his chest and when he opened his eyes, he saw golden tendrils bursting around him and Harry, wrapping the prince in warm light, settling over his chest; and he saw the wound left by Charlie’s sword start to close up, healing in a way Louis had never done before – in a way Louis didn’t know was possible. He gasped and threw his head back, feeling energy surge through him with searing heat, lighting up every nerve, every cell in his body.

And then he channeled that energy through him, through his hands, as he placed one on Harry's chest and used another to cradle Harry’s head. He pressed his forehead to Harry’s and focused on a single thought.

He won't die. He won't die. HE WILL NOT DIE.

The golden light contracted and then swiftly expanded in one release, like an ethereal exhale –

And then Harry was gasping raggedly for air, color flooding his face.

Louis inhaled, feeling his magic taper off and then leave him completely, and he slumped in bone-deep exhaustion as Harry’s eyes opened, blinking slowly up at him.

“…Louis?” he whispered hoarsely, and Louis choked back a sob. “What happened?”

“The assassin stabbed you,” Louis said, “but it’s okay, it’ll be okay. He ran away. I st- I stopped the bleeding.”

“You saved me?” Harry mumbled, a faint smile crossing his face as his eyes fell closed again. “Wh- who would’ve thought…”

Louis laughed breathlessly, sudden tears falling from his eyelashes.

And then he looked to the side.

And he saw Zayn, crouching only a few feet away, staring at Louis with huge, terrified eyes.

Louis froze. The two of them looked at each other for an impossibly long moment as Louis’s heart hammered in his chest.

Zayn didn’t move at all. He didn’t even blink.

And then he tilted his head towards Harry, asking a silent, all-important question.

Louis shook his head.

Zayn nodded slowly, his eyebrows knitting together. And then he mouthed, later.

Pure relief flooded through Louis’s veins as he exhaled shakily and nodded as fast as he could, mouthing, promise.

----------

Harry was barely conscious, and basically delirious.

They strapped him to his horse, fastening Excalibur to Zayn’s saddle, and started the long trek home right away. Harry was still bleeding, and he needed medical attention and rest.

They rode as long as they could before stopping. They didn’t start a fire, fearful that Charlie might still be lurking somewhere in the woods. Louis rebandaged their wounds: Harry’s stab wound, Zayn’s arrow wound, and his injured leg; and then he and Zayn helped Harry onto his sleeping mat, watching him roll over and immediately fall into a deep sleep.

The two of them stood together for a long moment. Then Zayn paced away from Harry, and Louis followed him, his heart sinking slowly. They stopped about a dozen yards away, out of Harry’s earshot but still close enough to keep an eye on him.

Louis didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know how to start. His pulse hammered in his ears and he clenched his fists, waiting for Zayn’s reaction.

The knight’s face was unreadable as he said, “you’re magic.”

Louis exhaled. “Yeah. I… I am.”

Zayn nodded, his forehead crinkling. “I, uh… I guess I’m probably pretty stupid for not realizing that sooner, huh?”

“No,” Louis said, shaking his head. “Nobody knows. Not even Harry.”

Zayn shook his head. “Dude. How long has this been going on?”

“My whole life,” Louis said, and Zayn stared at him in open amazement.

“Louis.”

“I was born with it,” he whispered, and felt himself start to crack, overwhelmed by physical exhaustion and fear, and he buried his face in his hands for a moment. “I’m sorry, Zayn, I -,”

Suddenly, Zayn was hugging him.

It caught Louis completely by surprise, and a few unbidden tears fell from his eyes as he hugged Zayn back, hearing the knight sigh heavily.

“You could have told us,” Zayn said, his voice low, and he pulled away from Louis. “I understand why you didn’t, but we wouldn’t have seen you any differently. I don’t see you any differently.”

Louis bit the inside of his lip to hold back another wave of tears and nodded. “I just… I couldn’t know for sure,” he said, and Zayn nodded, his face sad.

“When are you going to tell him?” he asked, tilting his head towards Harry.

“I don’t know. I – I just don’t. It’s been so long. I’m afraid he’ll hate me for lying to him.”

“He’s not gonna hate you, Louis,” Zayn said. “Look – that much is obvious, okay? I mean, it seems to me like you’ve been helping him this whole time, right?”

Louis nodded.

“Right. So, I mean – yeah. Look, I don’t know what it’s like to be in your position, but you have to tell him soon. It’s only gonna get worse the longer you wait.”

“I know,” Louis said, his heart sinking. “I know. It’s just -,”

“Just what?”

“My whole job is to protect him,” Louis murmured, staring at Harry’s sleeping form in the darkness. “I’ve been doing it since we were kids. I need to be there to help him, especially now. With Mercia attacking… if he sends me away, I’m… I’m afraid of what might happen.”

And then he turned towards his friend, who was staring at him with concerned eyes. “Please, Zayn. Please, you can’t tell anybody about this. I – I need to tell him myself. Or he’ll never forgive me.”

“I won’t,” Zayn said after a pause, sending another flood of relief through Louis’s body. “But, Louis… you have to tell him soon. He’s not going to hate you, okay? You two… whatever it is, exactly, that you two have, you’re permanent. Harry’s not going to just throw you away.”

Louis bit his lip and ducked his head. “Thank you, Zayn. I hope you’re right.”

“I usually am,” Zayn said, his voice light-hearted, and he reached over to mess with Louis’s hair in a familiar gesture as they started to head back to camp. “By the way. When we get back, I’m getting you, like, fifty drinks. And you’re telling me all the awesome stories you’ve apparently been keeping all to yourself. Because, apparently, you've been a little badass this whole damn time.”

Louis went red, but he felt a genuine grin start to grow across his face. His heightened survival instincts were making it hard for him to fully internalize that he had just told one of his best friends about his magic – and that Zayn was on his side. But the longer he spent thinking about it, the more wonderful the thought became.

“You know what?” he said, a hint of glee in his voice. “That sounds great.”

----------

Harry drifted in and out of consciousness, pulled back and forth on an ocean of exhaustion and pain. When he woke up, he was cognizant of the bloody bandages wrapped around his arms and especially around his chest, but he couldn’t quite remember how they got there. He remembered fighting the assassin, who had fought like a demon out of hell; he remembered falling to the ground; he remembered waking up in Louis’s arms, staring up at his friend’s tear-stricken face.

He didn’t remember how he had survived, or how long they had been traveling home, but he supposed those details were unimportant. And as they continued their travel back to Camelot, which took twice as long due to their collective injuries, Harry started to gain more and more strength, sitting up in his saddle, feeling aware of his surroundings.

Excalibur sat at his side, and he was still alive. Louis and Zayn were injured, but they were okay, too. They had completed their mission.

Now, Harry just wanted desperately to get back to Camelot. He wanted to see his father, who would surely forgive him his disobedience after seeing what the sword could do. He wanted to sleep in his own bed.

Harry had hardly felt more relieved than the moment they finally exited the Darkling Woods, the world opening up to the countryside around them. He took a deep breath and felt like it was the first fresh air he had tasted in days. The trio's spirits were high as they found the main path back to Camelot and started home.

But a few moments later, a figure appeared on the horizon.

There was a dark horse galloping full-speed towards them. An unknown person on its back.

Harry, Zayn, and Louis all tensed immediately. Harry grabbed Excalibur. Zayn grabbed his bow. Louis just peered in the figure’s direction.

Suddenly, his eyes went wide, and he held an arm out in front of Zayn. “Guys, wait. It’s – it’s Liam.”

Zayn dropped his bow in astonishment as the figure grew closer and they saw that it was, actually, Liam, racing full speed towards them.

“Harry!” he shouted as he grew closer. He pulled to a stop in front of them and immediately dismounted. He looked disheveled and frantic. “Harry,” he said, gasping for breath. “I’m – I’m so glad I found you.”

“What’s happening, Liam?” Harry asked urgently, jumping off of his horse along with Louis and Zayn.

Liam looked at him, and the expression on his friend’s face made his stomach twist into an awful knot, his heart dropping like a stone in his chest.

“There was an attack at the castle,” Liam breathed, and somehow, Harry knew his next words before he said them, knew them in the way you suddenly know that something impossibly horrible is about to happen, and there’s nothing you can do but stand there and let it wash over you.

“King Daniel is dead.”

The words rocketed through the still air like cannon shots.

Harry could hardly comprehend what was happening. He just stared at Liam, the words repeating in his head, over and over. The only thing keeping him grounded to reality was the sound of his pulse racing in his ears.

“Harry,” Liam said. “You’re the King.”

Suddenly, he dropped to one knee.

Harry looked down at him numbly. He turned and saw Zayn, the knight’s face pale and shocked, doing the same, bowing his head with a stunned expression.

Across from him, Louis stood upright, looking at him with the same strange expression he had on his face when Harry had pulled Excalibur from the stone. He didn’t look surprised. He looked serious. Steadfast.

Louis dropped to one knee, and everything became real.

----------

Everything else that happened, happened in a surreal, endless haze.

They rode back to Camelot silently, as fast as they could go.

Liam ushered them to the Great Hall. Harry’s arrival – bloodied, but alive – caused a stir with the gathered group of councilmen and knights.

They exchanged stories of assassinations. Harry told the group that the Blade had claimed his attack on behalf of Mercia. The knights told Harry how another assassin had attempted to poison Daniel; when that attempt failed, the assassin had gained access to his quarters, and shot him with an enchanted weapon before fleeing the castle. Louis watched from the sidelines as Harry took in the news with a pale, shaken expression.

Harry was crowned within the hour. It was a subdued, solemn coronation, without controversy. Camelot had been attacked by another sovereign kingdom, villages burned and their king killed. Louis got the distinct impression, as each knight and advisor bent their knee in deference to the new king, that none of them would want to be in Harry’s shoes at that moment.

When the ceremony was complete, Harry was besieged by his advisors, and Louis slipped out of the room to visit his grandmother, partially to see her, and partially to gather medical supplies. When he told her what had happened, his gran placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve already accomplished part of your goal,” she said. “Harry is the king. Now, you have to keep him that way.”

Keep him alive, she meant, Louis thought, as he headed back towards the castle, a basket of fresh bandages and medicinal herbs at his hip. From the castle grounds, he could see that Harry’s window was lit up with light, and he took a deep breath, heading towards the king's quarters.

As he pushed through the doors, he saw Harry sitting on his bed, facing away from him. Harry flinched as the door squeaked open, but when he saw Louis, he relaxed slightly, turning away from him again.

“I have new bandages,” Louis said, placing the basket down on the table. “For your wound.”

Harry didn’t turn. “Thank you, Louis. You can leave them there.”

Louis hesitated. “I can help.”

Harry waved his hand, and suddenly, Louis could see that his shoulders were hunched and shaking.

“Harry,” he breathed, and he rushed around the side of the bed to see that Harry was crying, his face streaked with tears, and Harry crumbled at his voice, burying his face in his hands.

Louis kneeled on the ground in front of him, grabbing his arms. “It’s okay, Harry. It’s okay.”

“The last thing I did was fight with him,” Harry said, and then he was fully breaking down. Louis surged up, holding Harry in his arms, and Harry slumped into him, sobbing into his shoulder. “He – he was disappointed in me. He didn’t think I was ready to be king.”

There was nothing Louis could say, so he didn’t say anything. He just held Harry close, bringing one hand up to stroke the back of his head, running his fingers through his hair.

“What if he was right?” Harry whispered, and Louis pulled back to look him in the face. Harry looked awful, exhaustion and grief carving deep lines into his face. “What if I’m not ready? He – he was right about magic. He must have been. He -,”

“Don’t,” Louis cut him off. “Don't think about that now, Harry, just…”

Harry took a shuddering breath and dropped his chin to his chest. “I don’t know how to do this, Louis, I… I don’t know how to be king. I don’t know how to win a war.”

Louis held onto Harry’s hands with his own. “You'll learn, Harry. You are ready for this,” he said, and he tried to inject every ounce of confidence he had into his words. Tears kept falling from Harry's eyes as Louis continued, “you remember what I said to you, don’t you? You remember what it meant, that you pulled the sword out of that stone. You were born to do this, Harry. It’s your destiny. And you won’t be alone.”

Harry’s hands trembled and he dropped his head again. “I… this is all so much. I just…”

“Right now, you just need to sleep,” Louis said, brushing Harry’s hair out of his face. Harry blinked at him. “You just need rest. We’ll figure everything out in the morning, okay?”

Harry nodded slowly, and Louis stood, but when he started to step away, Harry grabbed his hand, stopping him.

“Louis..." he said, and for a moment, his breath hitched in his throat.

"Will you stay?" he finished softly, his face vulnerable.

There was no way Louis could have said no. He touched Harry's hand as he said, "Of course I will."

Louis started to make his way toward the chair by the window, the weight of the room heavy on his shoulders. He was about to sit down, but before he could, Harry pulled on his arm, his grip unexpectedly strong, pulling him back toward the bed.

Harry’s eyes were uncertain, searching his face as if asking for something more. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, Louis thought Harry might have changed his mind and ask him to leave, or worse, shut him out entirely. But then, Harry shifted over in the bed, creating a space beside him, his voice soft, almost pleading.

"Come here," Harry whispered, his gaze never leaving Louis’s, inviting him in, offering a quiet comfort that Louis hadn’t expected.

Louis hesitated, standing at the edge of the bed, the weight of everything pressing down on him. But after a moment, he climbed into the bed beside Harry, the warmth of the space welcoming but foreign. The sheets rustled as he settled next to Harry, their bodies almost touching but not quite. They stayed there, face to face, their eyes locked in a moment that felt impossibly still.

Harry’s gaze drifted down to Louis’s lips, lingering there before he reached up, brushing a strand of hair out of Louis’s face, his fingers grazing his skin in a gentle, tender motion. Louis gave him a sad smile, a small curve of his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The sadness lingered, heavy, but so was the need to be close, to be with Harry in this fragile moment.

Harry’s fingers traced along Louis’s arm, soft and tentative, like he was memorizing the feel of him, reassuring himself that he wasn’t alone. Slowly, his hand moved to pull Louis closer, wrapping his arms around him, holding him tightly against his chest. Louis could feel Harry’s heart beating under his ribs, the rhythmic pulse calming in a way he couldn’t explain.

But Harry, in his exhaustion and grief, didn’t realize that Louis wasn’t the one who needed protecting. It was always him who had stood watch, always him who would do anything to keep Harry safe. Louis buried his face into Harry’s chest for a moment, his arms holding him just as tightly. He couldn’t protect him from the weight of his destiny, from the loss of his father or the doubts plaguing his mind. But right now, he could protect Harry from the weight of the world, if only for tonight.

Harry, still unaware, pulled Louis closer, holding him as if he needed to shield him from the same darkness that had been haunting him. In that fragile, quiet moment, Louis allowed himself to be held, wrapping his arms around Harry, the weight of everything momentarily forgotten. They clung to each other, finding solace in the warmth and comfort that only they could offer. Slowly, the tension in their bodies eased, and together, they finally drifted off to sleep, the world outside fading away for a while.

----------

When Harry woke up in the morning, the first thing he felt was Louis' warmth pressed against him. Their limbs were tangled together, their noses barely touching, and the steady sound of Louis' heartbeat echoed in his ears. The feeling was strange and comforting all at once, a sense of peace he hadn't known in a long time. It was then that Harry remembered that he asked Louis to stay in his bed; Louis had accepted his request, and they had both fallen asleep like this, so completely entwined in each other that it felt like they were one.

Slowly, Harry shifted, careful not to disturb the moment. He glanced at the window, the soft morning light filtering in, illuminating the castle grounds. The exhaustion from the previous days still weighed on him, but the restful sleep he'd finally gotten had given him a sense of strength.

As he gazed out over the kingdom, the full weight of his situation hit him. He was the king now, and there was a war ahead of him, one that he had to lead them through. He had to be ready. He couldn’t afford to falter.

The sun was rising. Harry was king.

And Camelot was at war.

Chapter Text

Twenty

Things in Mercia were… quite strange.

They had been for a while, Niall supposed, but they were especially strange recently.

The group of sorcerers his mentor, Malcolm, had introduced him to that one time? Telling him they were an elite group of magic users who could help Niall in the future? Well, Malcolm hadn’t been wrong, because they were basically in charge now, calling the shots from what used to be King William’s castle. Olivia, that woman with silver hair and a wild gaze that had intimidated the shit out of Niall – she had the most power, giving orders from the throne.

But Niall wasn’t so happy with how she was running things. Sure, he was glad he could do magic more openly now; it made his chores a lot easier, for one thing, and he had impressed a few girls his age with some of his best tricks. But under the Circle, acceptance of those who could do magic was being matched with outright prejudice against anyone who couldn’t. Nobles without magic had disappeared mysteriously, and good citizens were being removed from their positions, replaced by those loyal to the Circle.

Well, that didn’t sit right with Niall. His best friend, Lewis, who worked in the kitchen in Lord Edward’s castle, couldn’t use magic, but that didn’t make him any lesser than Niall. Niall didn’t like the sudden special treatment he was getting from Circle members, and he especially didn’t like how they talked to Lewis, like he was useless or stupid or something.

He suspected Ed didn’t much like the Circle, either, although they never talked about it. If Niall brought it up, Lord Edward’s eyes would go guarded and he’d change the topic right away.

But they couldn’t avoid the conversation any longer when Niall waltzed into Ed’s chambers one day, holding the boots Ed had asked him to mend, and saw him helping a blond man wrap bandages around a bleeding stranger. The wounded man was hunched over, breathing heavily, and blood dripped from his hands, staining the wooden floor.

“Uh… Ed?” Niall asked, dropping the boots, and Ed looked up at him with a grimace.

“Niall, lock the door, would you?” Ed asked.

Niall turned around numbly, doing so as he heard the wounded stranger hiss in pain.

“Just relax, Charlie,” the blond man said.

Niall’s eyes widened as he looked at Ed. “What is going on right now?”

Handing the bandages off to the other man, Ed grabbed Niall by his arm and dragged him a little bit away. “These are some… old friends of mine.”

“Did that guy say Charlie?” Niall hissed. “As in, The Blade?”

Ed winced. “Ah, well. Um…”

“He did,” Niall said, and then was struck with an even greater revelation. “You’re friends with the Blade?!”

“Like I said,” Ed said, glancing back. “Old friends. Our paths diverged a long time ago.”

Niall shook his head in astonishment. “Well, how the hell did he end up here?”

“It’s a long story, and it’s not important,” Ed said with a sigh. “What is important is what he just told me. Niall, Mercia is going to war with Camelot.”

Niall froze, dumbstruck. “Wh- what? But… why?”

“What other reason? Power,” Ed said grimly. “The Circle wants to take over each of the Five Kingdoms, by force, if they have to. And these two idiot anarchists just assassinated King Daniel.”

“They hired us, Ed,” the blond man said, having overheard them.

“That doesn’t mean you had to say yes, Shawn," Ed snapped, and Shawn shrugged.

“It was supposed to be fun,” Charlie said hoarsely, still folded halfway over.

Ed huffed in exasperation and turned back to Niall, whose eyes were as large as dinner plates, information overloading his system. “Niall, I know you have doubts, like I do, about what the Circle is doing to this kingdom. Shawn and Charlie just like to create chaos, but you and I – we don’t have that luxury. We have people to think of. Everyone in this city is living under my protection. They’re all going to be pulled into a violent, pointless war if we don’t do something to stop it.”

Niall swallowed and drew himself up. “What do we do, Ed?”

Ed’s mouth set into a grim line. He looked back at the two assassins sitting in his quarters. Shawn was tying off Charlie’s bandages, whose breathing had evened out slightly, though his face was still pale, his long hair stained with blood.

“We bide our time, for now,” Ed said. “But I want you to be ready. When the moment is right, we’ll act. And these idiots are going to help undo the damage they’ve caused.”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” Charlie muttered.

“You owe me, Charlie,” Ed said pointedly, and the assassin rolled his eyes.

“He’s not wrong,” Shawn said, smacking Charlie lightly over the head. “You’d be dead if it weren’t for him. We’ll help you,” he said to Ed. “Whatever you need.”

“Fine,” Charlie gritted. “But if I see that royal asshole again, I’m not makin’ any promises.”

“Harry’s the king, now,” Ed said, and Niall remembered, with surprise, that prince from Camelot he had met a few years ago – his servant, who he had befriended at the Tournament. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in excitement as Ed murmured, “I wonder what he’ll do.”

“Ed,” Niall burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. “I think I have an idea.”

----------

If Harry had ever grown tired of hearing the words Prince Harry, he was already a thousand times sicker of King Harry. Only a week into his reign, he felt he had been called by the latter title more times than he had in twenty years of the former.

It wasn’t so much the name itself that bothered him as the way it was being used: to wheedle, to flatter, to coerce. He could see it in the faces of so many of the people who came to him. Everyone who spoke to him wanted something from him, and it was growing more and more difficult to tell who had good intentions and who was just being manipulative.

An aide, bowing in formalistic deference: “King Harry, do you intend to keep the same heads of estate? I have some suggestions, if you don’t mind…”

A blacksmith, twice his age: “King Harry, we’re in need of more help in the armory, may we pull extra hands from the kitchens?”

A knight, spreading his hands over an enormous map: “King Harry, who should take control of the patrols of the outer villages?”

A nobleman, masking fear under a veneer of importance: “King Harry, we need more troops deployed to my fiefdom. We have the kingdom’s most important supply of grain, after all.”

Each face, each request, a puzzle, a balancing act. Harry responded to each in turn, monitoring his tone, monitoring his words, monitoring his decisions, making sure he acted fairly and spoke with confidence, projecting the image of a competent leader that his people needed as Camelot marched steadily towards war.

It was completely and utterly exhausting.

The only people he felt truly safe around these days were Zayn, Liam, and Louis, of course – and those were exactly the people who surrounded him as he stood in the Great Hall on the evening of his seventh night as king, staring, once more, at the map of Camelot that was spread out on the table. It was sprinkled with marks – signifiers of conflict. Mercia had continued their sporadic attacks on Camelot villages, seemingly at random. The assaults had only grown more frequent.

And Camelot had lost every single battle.

“We need to find a way to predict their next move,” Liam was saying, peering at the map through his glasses. “If we can intercept them before they start attacking, maybe we can gain the element of surprise.”

“It doesn’t even matter, though,” Harry said, his brow furrowed in frustration. “As long as they have this endless army of sorcerers on their side, we’re guaranteed to lose every fight.”

“The knights have been getting better at learning how to combat magic,” Louis said. Harry had been inviting him to most of these meetings, giving him more informal responsibility. Although it drew some raised eyebrows from his father’s former advisors, Harry couldn't care less. He trusted Louis’s judgement implicitly. “And Excalibur will help, too.”

“Yes, but I can’t be everywhere,” Harry said. Agitated, he knocked his knuckles against the table a few times. “I’m finally starting to see what my father meant when he warned me about the danger of magic. This is... this is starting to look like a losing battle.”

Zayn’s mouth was set in a grim line, and he absently touched a scar along his jaw he had earned in his most recent skirmish with Mercian sorcerers. “Well… is there a way we can fight back using magic, too? Fight fire with fire?”

“No way, Zayn,” Harry said, shooting him a look.

“Why not?”

“I might as well just go trample all over my father’s grave,” he said, and it was harsh, but true.

Zayn flinched. “Come on, Harry. You disagreed with Daniel about this stuff all the time.”

“Yeah, and then a sorcerer killed him, and another one tried to assassinate me,” Harry snapped. “So. Guess who was probably right.”

It was more complicated than that, and Harry knew it, and didn’t miss the way Louis’s face kind of fell at his words, drudging up old memories.

Harry felt a guilty pang in his chest, but shoved it down. Daniel hadn’t been perfect… but he had always kept Camelot safe. And Harry couldn’t help but feel, with a twist of fear in his stomach, that he was already starting to fail in that regard.

The strained moment was interrupted by the sound of the doors opening, and the four men turned to see the royal guard escorting somebody in. It was an unexpected visit, and King Harry pulled himself up, walking around the table to meet the newcomer.

The stranger was dressed in finely tailored noblemen’s clothing. He had bright, focused eyes, and he seemed to carry no weapons. As he reached Harry, he bowed deferentially.

“Your Highness,” he said. His voice had a measured tone to it. “I am your humble servant.”

“Who are you? Where do you hail from?” Harry asked.

The man rose. “My name is Michael. I come from Nemeth.”

Harry felt Zayn bristle behind him, but ignored the little exchange. “What is your purpose in Camelot?” he asked.

Michael turned back to Harry. “Your Highness, I come with news of an impending attack. An attack from Mercia.”

Harry clenched his jaw. “I thought Nemeth was unwilling to help us in this war.” It had been a sharp blow. Nemeth was Camelot’s closest ally, yet they had closed their doors to Harry entirely.

“Nemeth might be,” Michael shrugged, “but I’m not. I see what these magic users are doing to Mercia. They’re trying to take over. First Camelot, next the world, right? Well, frankly, I’m not interested.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. There was something strange about the man, something he couldn’t quite place. He had this disarming, casual air about him, and there was an undercurrent of danger in the way he acted; he was clearly intelligent, capable, and his gaze was sharp. Yet he hadn’t done anything to disrespect Harry – and certainly hadn’t made any threats. “How do you know about this attack?”

“I’ve been seeing troops mobilizing on the border near Nemeth. Went and talked to a few soldiers, just to see what was up. Turns out, they’re plannin’ on attacking Whiteacre. Two days from now.”

The name nearly punched the breath out of Harry. Whiteacre was one of Camelot’s most important strongholds, a major city close to the kingdom’s border, and an important source of food for the entire country. An attack on Whiteacre would be disastrous.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked, and Michael nodded firmly.

“Listen,” he said. “I’ll be upfront with you. I can lead you to their camp tomorrow, if you want. But I’m not doin’ this out of charity.”

“You’ll be paid well, if what you say is true,” Harry said, and Michael dipped his head.

“King Harry,” he heard Louis say, and when he turned around, Louis’s forehead was furrowed. “Can we talk about this?”

Harry hesitated, then turned back towards Michael. “Give us a few minutes.”

Michael’s gaze had landed appraisingly on Louis, but slid smoothly back to Harry. “Of course,” he said, and followed the guards out of the Hall.

As the doors closed heavily, Harry turned back towards the table. “Well. What do you guys think?”

Liam hesitated. He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell.”

“Whiteacre makes sense as Mercia’s next target,” Zayn said, tapping his fingers against the table. “I mean, it’s believable.”

“What do you think?” Harry asked Louis, whose face was still clouded.

Louis pressed his lips into a thin line. “I don’t know, Harry,” he said honestly. “I… I don’t think I like this guy.”

“Neither do I,” Harry said. His newly deepened sense of paranoia itched at him insistently. But Camelot needed an ally, desperately. “I mean… at least Michael is being honest about what he wants out of this whole thing. Weirdly, I can sort of respect that. If he wants to get paid, we’ll pay him.”

Louis shrugged, though he didn’t look convinced.

“Listen, I’m not totally sold on this, either,” Harry said. “But… do we have any other option? I mean… what happens if we ignore this, and Whiteacre is attacked?”

“We could just fortify the city,” Liam suggested.

“Right, and then we’d lose, just like we’ve lost every other time,” Harry said. “If we want any chance at winning, we need to catch them by surprise. That’s what Michael is offering us.”

The four stood in silence for a moment.

“It’s up to you, Harry,” Zayn eventually said. “Whatever you decide, we’ll be behind you.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? The responsibility would rest with him, ultimately. For the rest of his life.

The thought weighed as heavily on his head as his crown did as Harry paced around the table, sitting on the throne and rubbing his face, thinking.

This was a risk. But it was a risk that could lead to a victory. And Harry needed a win. His knights – his kingdom needed a win. They needed to know that victory was possible.

For a moment, Harry made eye contact with Louis, and his servant held his gaze. It was so different from the way other people looked at him these days. It wasn’t disrespectful, but it wasn’t fearful or fake, either. Louis was actually looking at him. At him. Not at King Harry. And he had that funny expression he got sometimes, that expression that left Harry’s chest with a sort of burning ache. That expression – like Louis had full and total trust in Harry, no matter what.

“Luke,” Harry called out, and the knight, who was standing by the door, stepped forward. “Tell Michael that we’ll take him up on his offer.”

----------

A few hours later, a fire was burning steadily in the hearth in Harry's room, and Louis stood by the dressers, arranging things for the journey tomorrow. His mind swirled as he worked, still trying to digest the events of the day. It was late, already hours after sundown, yet Harry hadn’t returned to his quarters yet; he was busy making his own preparations.

Louis worried about him, and though that was nothing new, it had recently become especially justified. Harry had been saddled with so much, from the instant he became king – nearly unfathomable responsibility. He looked tired all the time, dark circles ringing his eyes. Louis suspected he wasn’t sleeping well, if at all.

It made Louis’s chest hurt. He wished there was something he could do to fix it. He wished he could be more of use in the war, but even with Zayn’s help prompting the idea, Harry had been more closed off to the thought of using magic than ever. There was even a part of him – however small – that wished he could have prevented, or at least delayed, Daniel’s assassination. Because as much as Louis had hated the former king, Harry was obviously haunted by his ghost. He had even refused to move into the master bedroom, unable to face the place where his father had died.

But because he couldn’t do either of those things, he just tried to do as much as he could to take things off of the king’s shoulders. They were small things, usually, but that was meant to be his role as Harry’s servant, anyway.

He heard the doors open and shut, and he looked up to see Harry leaning against the closed door, leaning his head back against it with a sigh. He looked utterly exhausted, lines wrinkling his forehead and the corners of his eyes.

“Are you hungry?” Louis asked.

Harry dropped his head and blinked blearily at Louis, as though he was just now noticing him. “Do you have food?”

Louis pointed at a small tray of bread and dried fruit on the table, and Harry sat down with a pleased sound. Louis closed the dresser doors, then walked towards him, hopping up to sit on the edge of the table, facing Harry. “How do you feel?”

Harry avoided his gaze. “I’m fine.”

He was deflecting, and Louis narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to do that around me, you know.”

“Do what?”

Louis lifted his shoulders briefly. “Act like everything is fine.”

Harry paused, and then looked at him, and Louis held his gaze, his stomach sort of flipping under his stare. He had a strange expression on his face.

“I guess I don’t, do I?” Harry eventually murmured. He dropped his face into his hands, sighing.

Louis waited expectantly. The fire filled the room with warm, orange light, and shadows danced lightly on the walls. Eventually, Harry let his hands fall against the table.

“I have something for you,” Louis said, breaking the tension in the air.

“Oh?” Harry said, and watched as Louis pulled something out of his pocket. It was a small parcel, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a string.

Louis held it out to him. “Happy birthday.”

Harry blinked at the package, and then at Louis.

“Did you forget?” Louis asked with a sort of weary fondness, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

“I… I guess I did,” Harry said numbly, taking the parcel from Louis’s hands.

“You’re twenty,” Louis said. “Two decades. It’s a big deal.”

“I guess it is,” Harry said, turning the package over in his hands. It was very light. The paper was rough, like sandpaper, and the string was tied carefully. The clear care that had gone into it was enough to short-circuit his brain, a bit. It was like looking at a relic from another time.

Louis cleared his throat. “Uhm… you gonna open it?”

“Right,” Harry said, laughing once. “Right.”

He untied the string and unfolded the paper, catching a small trinket as it fell out. It was a small, roughly-cut stone, maybe an inch or two wide, with a semi-transparent white color, a sort of fabric cord running through it.

“What is this?” Harry asked, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s a necklace,” Louis said. “My gran makes them. They, uh – the stones are supposed to have different properties, I guess. Here.”

He motioned Harry up and took the necklace from his hand. Harry stood as Louis unraveled it, and then he looped the necklace over Harry’s head. The stone fell just over his heart.

“White quartz,” Louis said, his face going decidedly pink.

“What… properties does it have?” Harry asked, faintly amused.

“It brings physical strength, and fortune in battle,” Louis said, fidgeting with the necklace and then looking up at Harry. “And protection.”

Harry felt a grin spread on his face, his first genuine smile all day. “Well. Those are some things I could definitely use.”

“Do you like it?” Louis asked, going redder by the second.

“I love it, Louis,” Harry said quietly. “Thank you.” He tucked the pendant into his shirt so the stone rested against his chest. It felt almost warm against his skin.

Louis hummed happily, then rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe the whole kingdom forgot your birthday.”

“I think the kingdom has bigger things on her mind Louis,” Harry laughed, his eyes softening, “Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who actually treats me like I’m a real person. And not just… the king.”

“Zayn and Liam do, too,” Louis said.

“Well, sort of, but… it’s different.”

Louis’s heart faltered in his chest at the words, because he understood them perfectly, and they were dangerous.

The neckline of Harry’s tunic had sort of flipped inside out, and Louis couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and fix it, smoothing his hand over Harry’s collarbone. If Harry shivered a little under the touch, he pretended not to notice it.

“Your chainmail was fixed,” he said instead, pulling his hand away and seeing Harry’s eyes flicker down. “We should make sure it fits tonight, before we leave tomorrow.”

For some reason, his last phrase seemed to alarm Harry, but he nodded after a pause, putting down his food. “Okay.”

Louis went to get the newly-crafted armor. When he returned, Harry was standing near the dresser, his forehead kind of pinched.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” Harry said quickly, and although it was another deflection, Louis let it rest for now. He moved Harry’s arms and started to fit the armor into place, his deft hands making quick work of the task. He felt Harry’s gaze burning into him the whole time and tried to ignore it, keeping his eyes focused on the job at hand. The armor was clearly a perfect fit, even without adjustments; and Louis already had most of it off again by the time Harry spoke.

“I don’t think you should come with me tomorrow,” he said as Louis took off his last gauntlet, and the words were so unexpected that Louis jerked his head up in shock.

“Why not?” Louis asked, his heart jumping in his chest.

Harry bit the inside of his lip. “You’re still recovering from your injuries.”

“So are you,” Louis said defensively.

“But I’ve healed much quicker than you,” Harry said, hesitating: “somehow.”

It was true. Harry’s chest wound had been halfway healed by Louis’s little explosion of magic, and Louis was still limping on his injured leg. But that didn’t matter – certainly not enough to stop him from coming to the battle.

“That can’t be your actual reason,” Louis said, crossing his arms.

Harry paused, and then seemed to try a different angle: “I need someone to stay at the castle. Someone I can trust.”

“Find someone else,” Louis said.

Harry sighed and suddenly his face was sort of annoyed. He said dryly, “what if I just tell you that I’m ordering you to, huh, Louis? What if I just say, I’m the king and I’m telling you so. Is that enough of a reason?”

“Nope,” Louis said simply, turning to put the gauntlet down, because Harry wasn’t being serious. “I’m coming with you.”

“Louis,” Harry said, catching his hand and pulling him back. “Just - listen to me.”

In the flickering, orange light of the fireplace, Louis realized that Harry was worried, his forehead lined, his eyes concerned. His breath caught in his throat as Harry continued:

“You’re my best friend, and – and you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. You actually are,” he said quietly. “I mean – you’re a servant, Louis, yet you keep throwing yourself into these situations like you’re a trained knight. But you’re not a knight, and I can’t protect you in battle. I know you want to come anyway, because I know you want to help defend this kingdom. Which is why I think you should stay here. I need someone I can trust who can stay, who can watch over Camelot while I’m gone. That’s the best way you can help protect this kingdom right now. And – and it’ll keep you safe, too,” he ended, his voice catching a little on his last words.

The sharp ache in Louis's chest stole his breath for a moment, a pang that was both painful and beautiful all at once. He knew Harry meant what he was saying, but Harry had it all wrong. Louis didn’t need to explain everything, not right now, but there was one truth that he had to say before it consumed him completely – a truth that could not wait. Not with Harry standing there, looking at him like he was everything. Like he was the whole world.

"We're different, Harry," Louis whispered, voice low, and Harry's brow furrowed. "We’re different. Everything you do, it’s for Camelot. For your people. That’s rare. It’s incredible. It’s what’ll make you the greatest king Camelot has ever seen. But I’m not like that."

"Louis—"

Louis pressed a hand firmly against Harry's chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under his fingertips, the warmth, the tension. He felt every inch of Harry's skin, every inch of him, even through the clothes. It was impossible to ignore how close they were. How badly he needed this.

“Everything I do... I do for you, Harry,” Louis said, voice steady, but there was a desperate edge to it. Harry’s eyes widened, and Louis felt his heart race in his chest. “I don’t care about anything like I care about you. Not this kingdom. Not even my own life.”

The words felt heavier than anything he’d ever said, and they were the truth. The raw truth.

Trembling, Louis lifted Harry's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his palm. He shut his eyes as he felt Harry's breath hitch, his pulse thundering in his ears. Louis opened his eyes, holding Harry’s gaze, burning with something unspoken, something electric.

“My place is with you," he said, voice quiet but thick with emotion.

Harry’s breath hitched again, his eyelids flickering down to Louis’s lips. Louis's own heart hammered in his chest. His pulse raced, everything in him screaming to pull away, to hold back, but that voice died the moment Harry surged forward, capturing his lips with a searing kiss. Louis kissed him back with everything in him—like his soul depended on it. His hands gripped the front of Harry's shirt, pulling him closer, their bodies crashing against the dresser as Louis’s back hit it, but he didn’t care. Harry’s lips were everything, and Louis needed more, needed all of him.

Harry’s hands roamed, cupping Louis’s face, then sliding down his neck, tracing his jaw, his side, until they found his waist. Louis gasped, a low sound of surprise and want, and pulled Harry closer, kissing him harder, deeper, like it was the last time they’d ever kiss. Harry’s touch was fire, each movement sending sparks across Louis’s skin, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

After what felt like an eternity—a blur of heat and hunger—Harry finally broke the kiss, both of them breathless, their foreheads resting together. In Harry’s eyes, Louis saw his own emotions reflected back at him—raw, unfiltered. The intensity, the want, the fear, all tangled up in a storm of passion.

“Louis,” Harry whispered, voice breaking slightly, and Louis felt his heart swell at the sound of his name, felt every inch of him, aching, longing, for this. For Harry.

Louis’s fingers brushed across Harry’s lips, tracing the outline, feeling the warmth of his skin, the softness. It was enough to make him shiver.

“It’s decided, then,” Louis murmured with a smile, his voice low and teasing. “I’m coming with you.”

Harry’s lips curled into a grin, and he let out a soft laugh, that sound melting through Louis’s bones. Then Harry kissed him again, slower this time, sweeter but no less hungry. The kiss lingered, deepened, as if Harry knew they had all the time in the world now.

His lips traced down Louis’s jaw, down his neck, kissing his skin like it was sacred, sending jolts of warmth through Louis’s body. Every kiss made him feel alive, a sensation so overwhelming it left him weak at the knees. Louis’s hands wandered, pulling Harry even closer, wanting to stay here, in this moment, forever—where everything was perfect, where they were safe, where they could love each other without fear or hesitation.

----------

Louis woke up before Harry did, like normal. But, distinctly abnormally, he woke up curled in Harry’s arms, staring up at his peaceful, sleeping face. And for a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but nuzzle into Harry’s chest, feeling him reflexively pull Louis a little closer in return.

He had stayed with Harry last night – couldn’t bear to leave, especially after Harry told him, in a whisper, about the nightmares that had kept him up for nights on end. They had both slept soundly, safe and warm, and the thought made Louis’s chest light up with a warm glow, a feeling that he thought might never fade.

But it did start to fade, as all good things eventually do, when he saw the sun coming through the windows, and he knew it was almost time for them to leave.

“Harry,” he hummed, and Harry made a low sound of protest in his throat, his eyes still closed. “Harry, we have to get up.”

Harry placed one large hand directly over Louis’s face. “Shut up, Louis.”

Louis couldn’t help but laugh into Harry’s palm for a second before peeling his hand away. “Come on. You have to help me sneak out of the window.”

A low chuckle bubbled up from Harry’s throat, and he opened his eyes, grinning playfully. “Ah. Of course. We can’t let the castle gossipers catch wind.”

But even though it was a joke, Louis’s laugh suddenly stuck in his throat, and his face fell as a storm of cloudy thoughts overtook his mind.

Harry seemed to notice, and when Louis opened his mouth to speak, he propped himself up on his elbow, holding up a finger in warning. “Don’t,” he said softly, raising his eyebrows. Louis closed his mouth. “Don’t overthink it. Don’t worry about anything right now. Okay?”

“But-,”

Harry put his finger on Louis’s mouth, stopping him. “I said don’t,” he said again, a mock-frown on his face. “That’s an order.”

Louis narrowed his eyes as Harry got out of bed, stretching. “We have to talk about it at some point.”

“We will,” Harry said simply, reaching for his traveling clothes and moving towards the partition. “When we get back from the battle.”

The battle. Louis’s chest froze up, the warm glow officially dissipated. He sat up in bed as Harry got changed behind the wooden partition, throwing his nightclothes over the side, and stared into space. In the clear light of morning, his heart sunk for more reasons than one.

Louis had told himself. He had told himself he wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t let himself do this, until he was being honest with Harry – fully honest with him. But now it was too late. He had failed.

So… did he tell Harry about his magic now? Hours before they marched into battle?

Harry would be upset – he knew that much. Even if Harry came around eventually, he would be upset - at least at first. If Louis told him now, Harry would go into battle conflicted, confused. He would probably force Louis to stay in Camelot, unable to trust him.

And right now… everything was okay. And Harry was happy.

He came around the partition, his shirt half-buttoned, and the glimpse of his bare chest made Louis flush, stupidly, even though he had seen Harry half-dressed a thousand times before. Harry noticed and smirked, coming towards him.

“Like what you see?” he asked with a big, cocky smile.

“You’re such an idiot,” Louis said, pretending to push Harry away as he leaned over him. “Stay away from me, you cretin.”

“Oh, come on,” Harry teased. He swooped down and stole a kiss, and Louis couldn’t help but melt into it. They broke apart and Harry’s eyes practically danced.

“Are you gonna be able to control yourself on this trip?” Louis asked, and Harry threw back his head and laughed, which brought back that warm feeling in Louis’s chest and banished his thoughts from earlier. It was like Harry said – they would talk later. Louis would tell him everything, and it would be a hard conversation, but it would be fine. They had time for all of that – they had plenty of time.

“I’ll be fine,” Harry said, mussing with Louis’s hair. “Now, come on.”

When they were both dressed and about to walk out of the room, Harry stopped him, and his face went serious for a second.

“I want you to be careful today,” he said, his gaze flickering over Louis’s face. “I’ll be glad to have you there, but if you get in trouble – just get out of there, okay? Just… keep yourself safe. Please,” he added, softly.

Louis nodded up at him, and he said, “I will, Harry.”

And I’ll keep you safe, as well, he promised silently, and the thought, which was strong enough to spark a flame in his chest on any other day, today started a forest fire.

----------

You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife, if you felt brave enough to bring out any sort of weapon in front of a dozen armed knights of Camelot.

The group of knights rode through the forest silently, following a back path towards the shared border that joined Camelot, Nemeth, and Mercia. Harry rode in front, next to Micheal, who guided them. Louis and Zayn rode slightly behind him, and then came the rest of the knights: Nick, James, Ben, and several older knights who were the most experienced in combat. Micheal had estimated a dozen knights would be enough to take on the small squadron he had seen on Nemeth's border. Liam, and the rest of the guard, had been left to watch over the castle, a genuinely important task.

Although the pure happiness of his past several hours with Louis had left Harry’s chest feeling lighter than it had in months, the reality of the task ahead of him had firmly set in the moment he had stepped foot outside the castle and seen the other knights, fully armored and wielding their weapons. They were serious, their faces dark and focused. Several of them were already scarred and injured from Mercian attacks. Harry himself was no exception.

Before they had left, Harry had turned to speak to them.

“Today is our first and best chance at taking the Mercian army by surprise,” he told them, willing his voice to ring with confidence. “If we win today, we will send them a message, once and for all. That even with their tricks, even with their sorcery and their cowardice, we can, and will, defeat them in this war. I have chosen you all particularly, because you are our strongest and most noble fighters. I know you will serve Camelot well today and make her proud.”

There was a heart-stopping moment where Harry had felt that the men’s faces were blank and unresponsive. If the knights didn’t trust him enough to follow him into battle, the war was already lost.

But then Zayn had stepped forward and lifted his sword in the air. “For King Harry, and for Camelot!” he said, and immediately the other knights stepped forward as well, their shouts ringing out: “For King Harry, and for Camelot!”

Harry exhaled in quiet relief and nodded to them, lifting Excalibur in the air. “For Camelot,” he echoed them firmly, and then they had been off.

“We’re getting closer,” Micheal said, pulling Harry from his thoughts. He looked towards the man from Nemeth, who was as impenetrable as ever. Micheal gave Harry a small smile, motioning around them. “See how the terrain’s changing? That’s Nemeth for you.”

He was right – different from the sloping woods and forests of Camelot, the terrain was becoming rockier, the hills steeper. Nemeth was a mountainous terrain; they must have been getting close to the border.

“And you’re sure you remember exactly where you last saw the Mercians?” Harry asked again.

“I remember perfectly,” Micheal said.

Harry glanced over his right shoulder and caught a glimpse of Louis, craning his neck to look at the tall cliffs that now rose on either side of the path. And for all the confusion and uncertainty that was consuming everything else in Harry’s life, looking at Louis put all those thoughts to rest, leaving his mind peaceful and clear. He knew Louis, completely, and now Louis knew him. After last night, it was like the last piece of the puzzle between them had finally fit into place.

Harry turned back around before he could be accused of gawking, feeling even more focused on the task at hand. They would win this battle, he knew it. And things would get better.

Suddenly, Micheal pulled his horse to a stop.

“Here we are, boys,” he said cheerfully.

Harry looked around in confusion. They were standing in the middle of the road, steep cliffs rising up on both sides. It was completely silent and still, and the knights looked at each other in bewilderment.

“What’s going on?” he asked Micheal harshly. “There are no Mercians here.”

“Aren’t there?” Micheal asked with a grin.

And then a shower of arrows was raining down on their heads.

“SHIELDS!” Harry cried, lunging for his own, and bringing it up just in time – two arrows embedded themselves in the wood, and he turned frantically to see most of the other knights crouching under their own shields, though James took an arrow to the shoulder with a shout.

And suddenly, there were a dozen – no, two dozen, no, fifty Mercian soldiers at the tops of the cliffs, dressed in green and silver, and all of them shouting a war cry as another volley of arrows arced through the sky.

Harry blocked another arrow as he whirled towards Micheal, but the man was already gone. “Damn it!” he screamed, panic threatening to choke him before he pushed it down, turning to his men. “Retreat!” he shouted. “We’ve been ambushed – retreat!”

There was no way to win this fight, no way in hell, Harry knew, as he blocked another arrow; they were outnumbered and cornered in a sort of canyon, sitting ducks, easy targets. He cursed Micheal, cursed himself, cursed the name of every god he could think of as he and the knights started racing back from where they came from, their horses kicking up dust.

Suddenly, he heard someone shout a word in a strange language, and his horse made an awful sound, rearing up on its hind legs and throwing Harry off. He hit the ground hard and his horse galloped frantically away, disappearing into the dust.

“King Harry!” someone cried, the knights pausing, and he shouted, “go, get out of here!”

But it was too late. More sorcerers appeared at the top of the cliff, and the knights who weren’t thrown off their horses were soon clashing swords with soldiers who slid down the side of the cliffs, lunging at them with vicious swings.

Harry scrambled to his feet just in time to block a blow from a lanky, leering man, who flew at Harry like he was possessed. Harry’s mind spun into overdrive as he blocked the man’s advances, using his wicked speed against him as he anticipated his motion, threw a leg forward and sent him sprawling to the ground.

He spun around and saw the other knights clashing with the Mercians – Zayn lashing away two soldiers, Ben falling back under a sword. Everything was dissolving into chaos, and suddenly he saw Nick galloping towards him, miraculously still on his horse.

“What do we do, sire?” Nick shouted.

“Run,” Harry said hoarsely. “Tell everyone – grab who you can and get the hell out of here. Back to Camelot! This is a death trap!”

Nick nodded and spurred his horse forward, disappearing into the dust.

As he watched him go, Harry suddenly felt a strange push at his back, like something was shoving him forward. Turning, he saw a sorcerer standing at the top of the cliff behind him, chanting in that awful language.

Frantically, Harry brought Excalibur up in the air, and -- just like when he had fought against Charlie -- he saw it glow with that internal light, breaking through whatever spell was being cast, and he surged forward, unharmed. The sorcerer looked shocked as Harry scaled the cliff in a few leaps, striking him down and sending him tumbling into the canyon.

Harry looked down, trying to see who was still in the valley. He saw Nick pulling an injured James away – he saw Zayn throwing a soldier off his horse and leaping onto its back, using the vantage point to slash down two more Mercian attackers –

And he saw Louis throwing a soldier to the ground with his shield, plunging his sword into his chest.

His heart seized, and he immediately slid back into the canyon, rushing towards Louis, who heaved for breath, pulling his sword back out.

“Louis,” he said, grabbing his shoulder, and Louis turned wildly, his face pale. “We have to get out of here.”

Louis nodded, but a sudden shout pulled their attention to the cliff.

“He’s here!” screamed a sorcerer dressed in green robes, pointing directly at them. “The king, he’s here!”

And another wave of Mercians raced towards them.

Harry ducked under the swing of one sword and ran the man through easily, shoving him into one of his compatriots and sending them both tumbling. He saw Louis parry a strike with his sword and capably fight another man back, and he turned to slash at another sorcerer, Excalibur glowing as it sliced through her spell. He just had to hope they wouldn’t target Louis –

Three soldiers suddenly rose up in front of him at once, and Harry yanked his shield up, feeling the impact of two, three hits – he stumbled back and nearly tripped over the rocky ground, striking out at the nearest man but seeing him jump away, and then the other one was lunging for his exposed side –

Suddenly, all three of his attackers were flung against the side of the cliff, launched with the same force Harry had seen the sorcerers using on his own men. The Mercians hit the wall hard and fell to the ground, stunned.

Harry whirled around, looking at the tops of the cliffs for who might have done that – was it a misfire, was it intentional? – but he didn’t see anyone. The only person he could see was Louis, who was faltering under the onslaught of two Mercian soldiers, both towering over him by at least half a foot. His stomach lurching, Harry rushed towards him –

But he was too late. He watched, helplessly, as one of the soldiers knocked Louis’s shield to the ground, and the other swung his sword in a vicious arc.

The blade hit true, and Louis hit the ground with a cry, a wound opening up across his chest.

“No!” Harry shouted, and the soldiers turned – but their fates were already sealed.

Harry slashed Excalibur against the first man’s neck and pushed him away, turning to the second and kicking him square in the chest, sending him to the ground. He rushed him and stabbed his blade through his heart.

And then Harry turned and saw Louis curled over himself, clutching his bleeding chest.

“Louis,” he gasped, and was at his side immediately. “How bad is it?”

Louis’s face was pained. “I’ll be okay,” he gasped, but he doubled over again. “Ah – I – need to get out of here -,”

“We’re leaving, now,” Harry said, looking up, but unable to see where the rest of his men were – the dust and chaos were both too thick for him to make heads or tails of what was happening. He had told his men to retreat, and now they had to retreat. “Come on, come on. I’ve got you.”

He sheathed Excalibur, slung Louis’s arm over his shoulders, and pulled him up the side of the cliff, hearing shouts growing closer from the Mercian army, and they limped into the trees, Louis gasping for air. After a few labored strides, Louis tripped and hit the ground, and Harry knelt next to him, freezing for a moment, listening to see if they were being followed.

“They went this way!” he heard a shout from the battleground, and caught sight of a green-robed sorcerer starting in after them.

Immediately, Harry scooped Louis up in his arms and started to run. Louis felt like he weighed nothing at all, though maybe that was just the adrenaline, and Harry crashed through the forest as Louis clung to him. He could hear the sorcerer pursuing them, just a little ways away, and he desperately pushed himself faster.

But as he broke through a line of trees, he realized with a sick jolt that he had run himself straight into a dead end. An enormous, rocky cliff, practically a mountain, rose up sharply in front of him, far too steep and full of loose rocks for him to climb.

Harry turned but the sorcerer was breaking through the trees, as well, and the man threw out a hand, shouting “ástríce!”

Without Excalibur, the spell did its work: Harry felt an invisible force pick them up and throw them towards the cliff face. He slammed into the rock wall, and he and Louis both fell to the ground; Harry rolled to a stop on his stomach, while Louis landed on his back, crying out sharply with pain.

The blow stunned Harry, and as he tried to push himself up, groping blindly for his sword, the world spun dizzily around him, and he reeled back to the ground.

The sorcerer faced them from the top of the hill.

“Finally,” he said, and lifted a hand, chanting, “stanas!”

There was a sound from above him, like a great rumble of thunder, and Harry turned to see an enormous boulder suddenly tumbling down the cliff, picking up momentum as it jumped and bashed against the side of the hill, starting a rockslide that had half the mountain headed directly for their heads.

He didn’t have time to act, didn’t have time to think - so Harry moved purely on instinct. He threw himself over Louis, bracing himself with his forearms on either side of Louis’s head and burying his face in Louis’s shoulder, waiting for the crushing blow.

But the blow never came.

Instead, Harry felt Louis’s hand on the back of his neck – felt Louis lurch forward, using Harry’s weight to pull himself up.

And the sound stopped. Everything stopped. All Harry could hear was his pulse in his ears, and Louis’s breath, as he panted for air.

Harry lifted his head, and he saw Louis trembling, staring straight up, his right arm extended into the air and shaking with effort.

Then he looked behind him, and he saw the boulders were frozen, suspended in mid-air only a few feet above their heads. It was so surreal that, for a second, Harry wondered if time had stopped still.

But it hadn’t. With a gasp, Louis wrenched his arm to the side, and the rocks followed his motion, hurtling towards the Mercian sorcerer. The first boulder crashed into him, crushing him against the tree behind him, and he fell lifelessly to the ground. The rest of the rocks tumbled harmlessly to the ground, rolling to a clattering stop.

Louis collapsed, going limp under Harry, and the two were left staring at each other, frozen for a long, incredible moment.

Harry felt as though he were moving outside of his body as he scrambled away from Louis, pulling himself desperately to his feet and stumbling backwards, staring with wide, disbelieving eyes at – at Louis, Louis, who – who just –

Louis pushed himself up by his hands. He was still bleeding, his face going pale, and he struggled to speak.

“H- Harry,” Louis said hoarsely, reaching out a hand, which made Harry flinch. “I’m – I -,”

He faltered, and then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he folded over, unconscious.

And Harry was left standing there, alone, panting for breath, his world crashing down around him.

There were more sounds coming from the forest, and he jerked his head up. Mercian soldiers – there would be more – they would be looking for him.

It was all too much, too much for him to process. But he knew that they were still in danger, and he knew that Louis was hurt, and he knew –

Well. Those felt like the only things he knew right now.

He ran to Louis’s side. Louis looked so fragile and small, curled around his wound, and Harry’s head hurt with dissonance, because how, how could he reconcile this with what he had just seen, how – how could this be happening --?

He didn’t have time to think about it. He picked Louis up again, and he stumbled back into the trees.

----------

When Louis finally woke up, it was in a panicked burst, as though he had finally come up from underwater. He tore in a breath and shot to a sitting position, immediately feeling a sharp pain spike into his chest. He blinked through the haze of fever and pain, struggling to take in his surroundings.

He was leaning against a tree. He was in a forest. It was dark - evening, maybe? There wasn’t any light.

He had a bandage around his chest. Who had put it there?

Louis heard someone clear his throat and jerked his head up. He realized that, a few feet away in front of him, there was someone sitting on a fallen log, staring at him. His vision blurred, and then focused.

“Harry,” he said, and for a second, he felt relieved.

But the longer he was able to focus on Harry, the clearer he was able to see him, the less relieved he felt.

Harry looked upset - he looked angry. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders were stiff, and he wasn’t making eye contact with Louis. And he had Excalibur resting close to his right hand.

“Where are we?” Louis asked, his head spinning. “Wh… what happened?”

“We’re still near Nemeth,” Harry said. His voice was strange – sort of detached. “We’ve been running from the Mercian soldiers.”

Louis’s breath caught in his throat, and he remembered.

He remembered the battle. The ambush. He remembered defending himself with his sword and shield; he remembered knocking those men away with his magic, when they were about to strike Harry down. He remembered being struck down himself, the sword at his chest, and that Harry had saved him. He remembered – and here things got murky – but he remembered –

His blood ran ice cold in his veins.

Louis saw Harry's mouth twist into a kind of wry, resentful smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you realizing?” Harry asked bitterly, and Louis’s heart sunk like a stone.

Louis just said, “Harry,” in a sort of pleading way.

It made something dark flicker across Harry’s face. “Louis,” he said coldly. “Why don’t you tell me what just happened back there?”

Louis’s heart hammered in his chest. He struggled to sit up a little taller, feeling pain ratchet up and down his ribs. “I…” he exhaled, shaking his head. “It seems like you already know.”

“Yeah,” Harry said harshly. “I do. But I want to hear you say it.”

Harry’s gaze sent a chill down Louis’s spine. It – it reminded him of how Harry looked every time he went on his rants about magic. Every time he talked about how much he hated sorcery.

It twisted a knife straight through Louis’s chest that almost hurt worse than his physical wound.

“It was magic,” he said in a whisper.

There was a long pause before Harry said, “You’re a sorcerer.”

“Yes.” Even though his voice was soft, the admission ran clearly in the eerily silent forest; even the wind had seemed to die down to listen closely to their words.

Harry dug the toe of his boot into the dirt. His jaw worked angrily. “How long?”

Louis closed his eyes.

“How long, Louis?” Harry nearly shouted.

“I was born with magic,” Louis answered, and he opened his eyes to see Harry’s face fall in shock.

“This whole time?” he asked, going totally still. “You’re… you’re telling me you’ve been a sorcerer since -,”

It was like he couldn’t process what he was hearing, and he stood suddenly, shaking his head and pacing away.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

“You’re telling me,” Harry shouted, turning on his heel, and now he was furious – “you’re telling me you’ve been lying to me since the second we met? Since - since we were kids? This – this whole time, you’ve been lying to me.” He laughed, a short, disbelieving sound, and grabbed his head.

“I wanted to tell you,” Louis said, leaning forward desperately. This – this was the worst possible way for this to happen.

“And why didn’t you?” Harry snapped.

“I was afraid!” Louis cried. “Don’t you understand why I’d be afraid?”

Harry stopped for a second, but then he shook his head. “What, Louis? You were afraid of me? You thought I was going to put you to death? Put you up on a pyre? Is that what you thought?”

“No – I - I don't know,” Louis stammered

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Harry hissed, taking a step towards him. “Why didn’t you tell me a year ago? Why didn’t you tell me five years ago? Why -,” and here he stumbled, his voice breaking – “why didn’t you tell me yesterday, Louis?”

It was awful, awful – it felt like something was clawing into Louis’s chest, ripping it to shreds. “I don’t know,” he whispered, and Harry shook his head, his face shuttering closed. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Harry -,”

King Harry stood in front of him, seething, his fists clenched at his sides.

“You’ve been manipulating me,” Harry said, and panic seized Louis.

“No. H- Harry, no. I -,”

“You’ve been lying to me,” Harry shouted, his voice agonized. “What else would you call that? You – I trusted you with everything, I -,” he shuddered, taking a few steps back, turning away so that Louis couldn’t see his face. “God, I’m such an idiot. I’m such a fucking idiot. All this – all this bullshit about destiny, about purpose -,”

“I wasn’t lying about any of that,” Louis said desperately. “Harry, I swear to you, I – I hid my magic from you, but I lied about nothing else. You do have a great destiny, you will be a great king, and – and I am loyal to you, Harry, I swear.”

Harry’s shoulders went rigid as Louis spoke, and when he was done, he turned to look at him. Louis held his gaze, which was full of rage. “You’ve lied about nothing else, huh?” he asked, and Louis grit his teeth. “Fine. Did you know about the Mercian invasions before I did?”

Louis’s blood ran cold, and his split second of hesitation was enough for Harry’s eyes to go wide.

“You did,” he hissed.

“I -,”

“You knew. You’re -” Then Harry froze. “Have you been helping them?”

“No,” Louis said immediately. “No, Harry. Please, just listen to me.”

“Why should I? So you can lie to me again – so you can -,”

“Harry,” Louis shouted, cutting him off. “If you thought I wanted to kill you, wouldn’t I have had a million opportunities to do it? If I wanted to hurt you, wouldn’t I have done it by now?”

Harry stopped short. But his face didn't lose its stormy expression.

“I’ve been helping you this whole time. I’ve been protecting you,” Louis said. “Like – like today. With the rockslide, the – those soldiers, I threw against the cliff. That’s – that’s what I’ve been doing this whole time.”

Harry's jaw worked as he glared at Louis for a long moment.

“Why?” the king asked coldly, and Louis felt his heart plummet. “What is it you want from me, Louis? This whole time - pretending to be my friend, pretending to be this - this helpless servant, when you have more power than any of us. What's your goal here? Seriously. Enlighten me.”

Louis’s breath caught in his chest for a moment. He couldn’t do anything but stare at Harry, distraught at how – at how everything had just come shattering down in a matter of hours.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he breathed, and Harry’s eyes flashed. “I – Harry, it’s – it’s me, it’s still me. I wasn't pretending – I am your friend, and I do care about you, I…” he swallowed. “I l-”

“Stop,” Harry snapped, and Louis did.

Harry stood there for a while longer, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he was trying to decide something. Then he turned around and started to march into the forest.

“Wait -,” Louis cried, but Harry held up a hand.

“I’m not leaving,” he said shortly. “Just…. stay here.”

It wasn't like Louis could do much else as he watched him stalk into the trees and disappear. He folded over himself slowly, burying his face in his hands. But he couldn't even cry. He just sat there in the awful silence, his mind seized with the thought that he had ruined everything.

----------

Harry came back with kindling for a fire and a handful of herbs. He dropped the herbs at Louis’s feet. Louis reached for them – rosemary leaves and chamomile flowers. Medicinal herbs. It surprised him.

“Thank you,” Louis said slowly, and Harry nodded shortly, not meeting his gaze.

Carefully, Louis unwrapped his bandages, inspecting his wound and sucking in a breath. The gash along his chest was angry and red, but although it hurt like hell and made him dizzy to even look at, it wouldn’t be fatal. Especially with these herbs. Louis put them in his lap and crushed them into a paste as best he could before applying them to the wound and wrapping himself up with the new bandages Harry had left for him.

He saw Harry watching him out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked up, the king looked away. He was crouched in front of his kindling, looking annoyed.

“I just realized we can’t light a fire,” Harry said. “The Mercians are still looking for us. The smoke will draw them here.”

Louis swallowed before saying, “I could help with that.”

Harry shot him a sharp glance. “…how?”

Louis leaned forward and focused on the small bundle of twigs Harry had gathered, taking as deep of a breath as he could manage. He reached out a hand and lit a small fire, and then he created a little pocket of air right above the flame that spun the smoke out and dissipated it before it could reach the tops of the trees. He was aware of Harry watching him with wide, astonished eyes, and pulled his hand back.

“I thought you needed to speak to cast spells,” Harry said, his voice wary.

“Usually, you do,” Louis said, wrapping his arms around himself. The fire provided some warmth, but he still felt cold, on a bone-deep level. “I’m, uh. Different. It’s called - elemental. I can cast some spells without speaking.”

Harry’s mouth set in a thin line. He sat back, crossing his arms and staring into the fire.

“I thought I knew everything about you,” he finally said, surprising Louis. “But now I’m realizing I don’t know anything.”

Louis took a shaky breath. “That’s just not true, Harry. You still know me.”

Harry shrugged.

After another long moment, he asked, “how many times have you used magic around me?”

Louis hesitated. “Too many times to count,” he eventually said, and Harry looked up at him sharply.

“What? What were you doing?”

Louis leaned forward, because this was the key, this was everything. “Harry. I only ever used my magic to help you,” he said, and he willed him to see – willed him to hear the truth in his words. “I’ve – I’ve been protecting you this whole time.”

The king’s face clouded. “Protecting me from what?”

At that, Louis couldn’t help but laugh shortly. “You get into, like, five life-threatening events a month, what haven’t I protected you from?”

Harry didn’t laugh.

Louis bit the inside of his lip. He looked for the easiest example. “The bandits. At the lake.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “The bandits…” then they raised in recognition. “When we were thirteen.”

“Yes,” Louis said, his heart racing. “The wind, that knocked the arrow away? That was me.”

Harry opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

“When you were fifteen,” Louis rushed, “and you got sick, and no healer could help? You got better, but nobody understood why? My gran helped me brew a potion, it was in the soup she made you -,”

“She’s magic, too?” Harry asked sharply.

“Yes,” Louis admitted, his heart skipping a beat. “And – and the Tournament. That voice that warned you about the pillager -,”

“That was you,” Harry interrupted, his eyes going wide, and hope rose in Louis’s chest for a brief moment before the king’s face went guarded again. “Louis – I don’t get it. If this is true, why wouldn’t you have told me sooner?”

Louis hesitated and pulled his arms tighter around himself. “I was afraid,” he eventually mumbled. “I… I was afraid of your father, at first, and then… I was afraid you would hate me. I didn’t want you to send me away.”

Something strange flashed across Harry’s face. He didn’t respond – just leaned forward to stoke the fire a little bit.

“Harry,” Louis eventually asked. “Why…”

He stopped.

“What?”

“Why are you helping me?” Louis whispered. “I’m slowing you down. You could be nearly back to Camelot by now. And – and – you obviously don’t want me here.”

Harry bit the inside of his lip, his forehead furrowing. And Louis wondered if he even knew, himself.

“I’m not just going to leave you to die in the forest, Louis,” Harry said. His voice wavered. “You saved my life – I’m not denying that, either. I’ll bring you back to Camelot and… and I’ll figure out what to do from there.”

Louis’s heart sunk like lead. He nodded numbly and pressed his forehead into his knees. He felt so small in that moment, so small and stupid. This had all gone as horribly as it could possibly have gone.

“Just rest, for now,” he heard Harry say. “We have a long walk tomorrow.”

Louis nodded and shifted so that he was laying down, his back to Harry. He wrapped his arms around himself. The silence was awful, and he could feel the space between him and Harry like a physical pressure at his back, and even though it made him feel even more pathetic than he already did, he couldn't help the tears that started to spill from his eyes as he bit his lip to keep himself quiet.

His fever-stricken dreams made him feel like he was on fire.

----------

They moved slowly. Very slowly. Louis was using a stick to support himself as he walked, so that he didn’t have to lean on Harry. But he was still limping, and they were picking through the wild part of the forest, staying off the beaten paths for fear of running into Mercians.

Harry was silent the whole way, walking slightly ahead of Louis and choosing their route. The physical exhaustion of the trek was a good distraction from the guilt and regret gnawing at the inside of Louis's chest. He just focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Late in the afternoon, Harry held out a hand, stopping him.

“Do you hear that?” he murmured, tilting his head.

Louis listened. There were the sounds of birds, the trees rustling in the wind, and –

Hoofbeats.

“Horses,” he said, turning his head, and Harry’s face went pale.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing Louis’s arm. “We have to -,”

There was a crashing sound in front of them, and a Mercian soldier burst into view.

“Here!” Louis heard him shout, and he was galloping towards them, knocking back an arrow in his bow.

Harry drew Excalibur, but before the man was even in range, Louis pushed his hand forward. He threw the man from his horse with a single motion, and the horse came to a stop in front of them, whinnying. Louis grabbed his reins.

Harry stared at Louis in open astonishment for a single second before they heard more shouts, multiplying in the trees around them. Louis whirled and saw, in the distance, flashes of green and silver all around them. They were being circled – they were being surrounded.

“Harry,” he said frantically, and he pushed the horse’s reins into Harry’s hands. “You have to get out of here.”

Harry’s face was stricken. “What?”

“Get on this horse and go,” Louis hissed, “quickly! I’ll hold them off. You have to make it back to Camelot.”

Harry swung up into the saddle on instinct, but he looked conflicted. “Louis -,”

Whatever he was going to say, it didn’t matter, because all of a sudden Louis was being pulled back by some invisible force. He whirled and saw a sorcerer in green robes emerge from the trees, her arm extended, her mouth moving with words he couldn’t hear – and he managed to yank his own hand forward to counter her magic, throwing her back. There were three more soldiers within view, suddenly, and Louis desperately thrust his hands out, sending a wave of magic that threw them off their horses. The action sent a wave of exhaustion through his body, sending him stumbling forward, as more Mercians appeared. And there were too many of them - and there wasn't time.

He turned and saw Harry, watching him with a stricken, pale expression, and he cried, “Go, Harry! Run!”

Another wave of magic pulled him back, and this one was stronger, sending him stumbling to his knees - he tried to bring his hands up but they were suddenly pinned to his side, and he saw two sorcerers stalking towards him at once, a third coming through the trees and slamming him to the ground, the impact sending sharp pain through his ribs. And there were more, soldiers bursting forward, their swords held at the ready, all of them shouting -

Louis twisted his head just in time to see Harry disappearing into the trees.

All the breath left his chest at once, his head clearing. Whether it was in relief or despair, he couldn’t tell.

“It’s the sorcerer!” he heard someone say, and someone else shouted – “remember what Olivia said!”

Something smashed into the side of his head, and Louis fell easily into darkness.

Chapter Text

There was shouting in the town square. A war party, coming through on their way back to the castle. But this one seemed different from the others.

Niall and Lewis paused on the side of the street, watching the Mercian soldiers and sorcerers walk by, waving triumphantly at the citizens of Ed's city.

“What’s going on?” Niall asked a passing soldier.

The man grinned broadly. “We sent the King of Camelot packing,” he said, “and we’ve captured his sorcerer!”

Niall’s eyes widened, and he pushed forward through the crowd a little, even as Lewis protested from behind him. He needed to see, needed to know if it was really –

He broke through the front of the crowd and, in the middle of the war party, he saw two soldiers carrying an unconscious man between them, his feet dragging in the dirt. The man was passed out cold, his head lolling to the side, and he was bleeding, badly, from a wound across his chest. He looked like shit, knocked out and beat-up and familiar, and Niall clenched his jaw.

“Louis,” he muttered.

“Niall,” he heard Lewis say, grabbing his hand from behind. “Niall, we’ve got to go.”

Niall took one last look at Louis, who looked so small and fragile, and then he nodded, turning around and following Lewis back through the crowd and towards the castle. As they went, he explained to Lewis, in a low, hushed voice, what he had seen, and what it meant.

He needed to talk to Ed.

----------

Harry had never been more purely relieved to see Zayn than he was when he entered the Great Hall to see him battered, but alive, and he suspected the feeling was mutual.

“Harry,” Zayn shouted, running towards him and practically tackling him in a hug. Liam wasn’t too far behind. Harry looked disheveled compared to them, having limped directly into the Hall still wearing his dirty, dinted battle armor, while they were in their usual day clothes. They were the only two people around; Harry wondered if they had been talking, strategizing about what to do if he hadn’t returned.

The happy reunion didn’t last long. As Harry was embracing Liam, he saw Zayn’s face fall, the knight searching for someone who wasn’t behind him.

“Harry,” Zayn said urgently as Harry and Liam broke apart. “Where’s Louis?”

Harry hesitated.

Liam’s hand flew over his mouth. “Oh, God – is he… is he gone?” he asked, his eyes suddenly welling up with tears.

Once again, the scene replayed in Harry’s mind. The last he had seen of Louis, he was being swarmed with Mercians, but they weren’t trying to kill him. They had forced him to the ground – restrained him.

(Louis had told him to run. He had told him to run, so that’s what Harry did. He couldn’t be blamed for that. He couldn’t be blamed for the way they had bashed the handle of a sword into his head, even when he was already pinned to the ground --)

“He’s alive,” he made himself say, and Zayn exhaled shakily as Liam’s shoulders slumped. “But he’s been captured by the Mercians.”

Liam furrowed his brow. “Captured?” he echoed. “Why would the Mercians want to kidnap Louis?”

“Who cares?” Zayn said impatiently, suddenly set on edge. “All that’s important is getting him back. If we leave tonight, we could be in Mercia tomorrow. Or we could send a message to their castle-,”

“Stop,” Harry said, holding up a hand. His stomach lurched to think about what he had to tell them. “There’s… there’s something you need to know about Louis.”

He pushed past his friends and walked towards the table in the middle of the hall, placing his helmet down with a solid thud on the surface of the oak, and then pacing around to the other side, his thoughts swirling. Once he was standing opposite Zayn and Liam, he stopped, looking up directly into their confused expressions.

“Louis is a sorcerer,” he said.

There was a moment of shocked, frozen silence before Liam took a small step back, putting an agitated hand on the side of his head. “What?” he asked. “How… how do you know?”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Harry said, feeling that familiar heatwave of betrayal rise up in his chest. “He’s been lying to us for as long as we’ve known him. Since we were kids.”

Zayn just looked stoic. He was staring at Harry with a strange expression.

“Why would he hide that from us?” Liam asked, sounding genuinely hurt.

Harry lifted his shoulders once. “Good question.”

Zayn sighed and crossed his arms.

“Well,” Liam said, still sounding put-off. He took his glasses off and put them back on. Then he said, “well. Okay. So… do you think he’ll be able to get away by himself, then?”

“No way,” Zayn said, as Harry looked at Liam with a furrowed brow. “One magic user against, like, a million? He doesn’t stand a chance. We still need to go back for him.”

Liam nodded firmly. “Right. Well, let’s think this through. Where are the places they could be holding him? My first instinct is the castle -,”

“I don’t think you guys are getting it,” Harry interrupted, his voice coming out harsh. He fought to keep control of himself as he spoke. “We’re not going back for Louis. Louis is a traitor. He betrayed us.”

His friends stared at him in stunned silence, but he elaborated no further, dropping his gaze to the table.

“Harry,” Zayn eventually said, and the patronizing tone of his voice immediately pissed Harry off. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious.”

“Louis is still our friend,” Liam said. “We can’t just -,”

“Louis lied to us,” Harry snapped, his shoulders tensing. “What aren’t you getting about this? He was manipulating us.”

“Come on, man,” Zayn said angrily. “You think Louis has an inch of malice towards us in his entire body?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, spreading out his arms. “Apparently, I don’t know anything about him.”

“Harry,” Liam said in exasperation, as though Harry were the crazy one.

“Why wouldn’t he have told me?” Harry exploded, his voice ringing in the Hall. “If he had good intentions, why wouldn’t he have just told me? We told each other everything.”

“Are you kidding me?” Zayn said, his voice rising to match Harry’s. “Harry, do you remember what you were like as a kid? Every third sentence, you talked about how much you hated magic.”

“Remember when you used to call yourself the killer of sorcerers?” Liam asked uncomfortably.

“Remember when your dad literally executed hundreds of people for using magic?” Zayn said. “Like – dude. Of course Louis wouldn’t want to tell us! He probably thought we’d turn him over to Daniel. He could have been killed.”

Harry's face stung as though he had been slapped. He – he knew he hadn’t been very tolerant of magic, but - “I would have never hurt Louis,” he insisted. “He must have known that.”

“Maybe he didn’t,” Liam said softly.

Harry’s mind was spinning, his thoughts short-circuiting, unable to understand why his friends were treating him like he was in the wrong. Like he was the bad guy. Zayn and Liam had this all wrong, he knew that on a gut level, but his mind wasn’t working right, wasn’t giving him the words to defend the storm of anger and betrayal and hurt that was raging in his chest.

“You can’t just abandon him like this,” Zayn said, his tone measured but clearly angry. “He’s been helping you this whole time. He saved your life.”

But there was something off about those words, something that made Harry look sharply at Zayn. “How do you know that?” he said.

Zayn’s eyes widened slightly, and then his gaze slid towards the floor, and in the second of hesitation where he opened his mouth without saying anything, something clicked in Harry’s head.

“Did you know?” he asked quietly.

Zayn swallowed before making eye contact. “I – I did. Only for the past few days,” he followed quickly, but Harry was already pushing away from the table.

“Get out,” he said, turning his back.

“Harry, I saw him heal you. Charlie killed you, and Louis saved your life,” Zayn argued behind him. “I’m not gonna let you -,”

“I said get out!” Harry exploded, whirling, seeing Zayn’s eyes widen as Liam shrunk back from the intensity of his outburst. “Both of you, leave.”

“Harry -,”

“I am ordering you to get out of this room,” the king shouted, his voice echoing.

Zayn and Liam hesitated for a long moment, glancing at each other and their friend.

But they were subjects to King Harry, first and finally, and when Harry held his ground, Liam bowed his head shallowly and turned to leave, pulling Zayn behind him. Zayn’s stare lingered on Harry for one second longer before he followed Liam out of the Hall.

As the door closed behind them, Harry sat down heavily in his throne. The silence in the room rang in his ears. He took a deep breath, but none of the tension left his body. He felt wound-up, ready to explode.

They didn’t understand. They didn’t understand, because it was different for them. Louis was their friend, but he was more, so much more for Harry, and – and it made everything worse, made him think back on their every interaction with a sense of deep humiliation. He had trusted Louis with everything, and Louis knew that, and the whole time, he had been tricking him, going behind his back. Louis must have thought Harry was either stupid or evil, and the thought of either ached like a blow to his chest that didn’t fade. The fact that Zayn knew – that Louis had apparently trusted him more than Harry – was salt in the wound.

He had thought Louis cared about him. Was that still possible?

(A memory came to him unprovoked, playing in his mind as crystal clear as if he were living it again. Louis, standing in their secret clearing on the castle grounds, his face conflicted, saying, “I’m loyal to you, always -,”)

(And another – of Louis standing in front of him in his room, his eyes dark and devoted, his hands in Harry’s, saying, “everything I do, I do for you,” and the way Harry could tell that – he was telling the truth.)

Harry dropped his head into his hands, trying to ignore the way they trembled.

And then…

And then another thought came to him, slowly - a thought that made him sit up straight in his throne, staring off into space for a moment.

He stood up and left the Great Hall; he discarded his armor and found a change of clothes in his quarters; and then he headed for the woods.

----------

When Louis woke up, he thought, for one disoriented moment, that he was in the dungeons of Camelot; and the thought occurred to him, with a sick, low wrench in his stomach, that Harry might be putting him to death.

But the thought dissipated as his faculties returned. The room was not like the stone-walled dungeons of Camelot. Rather, he was in a sort of small, dark cave, lit only by a single flickering torch on the far wall. Iron bars trapped him in a sort of cell in the far corner, and there were shackles cutting into his wrists, chaining him to the walls. On the far wall was a heavy door, seemingly built into the rock wall.

He was in Mercia, he remembered; remembered Harry turning away from him and leaving him to the soldiers, like he had asked him to. Like he had foolishly hoped he wouldn’t.

Louis pushed himself to a sitting position on the stone floor. Overall, he was in a pretty terrible state. His bandages had stayed wrapped around his chest, but the wound still hurt like hell; he felt weak all over, hungry and probably dehydrated, shivering in the cold, damp air of whatever dungeon he was in.

Fighting down panic, Louis screwed his eyes shut and asked his magic to break the chains –

And then he jerked away, shouting in surprise, as the shackles suddenly burned into his wrists, the iron red-hot. He felt his magic smash into some kind of wall, fizzling out, and he was left gasping, pain shooting up and down his forearms.

The chains didn’t budge.

What. The fuck.

He looked closer at the shackles and saw that there were Old Language letters carved into the iron, a faint glow fading away along with the heat. Experimentally, Louis tried to summon a flame in his hands – but as he did, the enchantments lit up again, making him grit his teeth against the wave of heat flowing down his arms and stopping his magic.

It was painful, and it felt wrong, so wrong, to reach for the magic that was always lingering just under the surface and to have it denied. Without his magic, Louis felt exposed and weak and alone as he curled into himself, staring at the enchantments and trying to think of some way, any way, to get his magic back.

The heavy door to the dungeon opened suddenly, and Louis looked up to see a tall, unfamiliar man in Mercian garb walking through, followed by a familiar face that made him sit up straight, his heart pounding. The man stood back against the wall, and Olivia approached Louis’s cell.

“Nice to see you again, Georgie,” she said. Olivia looked exactly as Louis remembered her – the long silver hair, the strange pale eyes, the unmistakable feeling that she was staring into the very center of him. The flickering torchlight illuminated her face, giving it a sort of wild look.

Louis didn’t respond, feeling his vulnerability in front of her as sharply as he felt the stone wall digging into his back.

“Sorry for all the precautions,” she said, nodding towards the shackles on his wrists. “It’s just, you know. We don’t have that great of a track record, you and me.” She fell into a cross-legged position on the ground right outside of the cell, so that she was on an even level with Louis. A small smile played on her lips.

“What do you want?” Louis finally asked. “Why am I here?”

Olivia raised her eyebrows. “I want what I’ve always wanted,” she said. “I want you to join me.”

Louis scoffed despite himself. “And taking me prisoner is your attempt at recruitment?”

“I don’t want you to think of yourself as a prisoner,” she said, propping her chin up on her hand. “I want you to think of this as… temporary. I’m on your side, Louis, and you’re on mine. The sooner you figure that out, the better for both of us.”

“I’m not on your side,” Louis denied.

“And why not?”

“You’re taking over by force, and I’ve heard the rumors. I remember what you told me. You’re wiping out non-magic users.”

“Only the ones who deserve it,” Olivia said, her eyes lighting up with that ghostly white light for a moment before fading away. A slow grin crossed her face. “And you can’t deny a few of them do.”

Louis’s stomach churned. He pushed himself as far away from her as his chains would allow.

“Listen to me, Louis,” Olivia said. “Once we’ve taken over the Five Kingdoms, magic will be reign over Albion. We’ll be able to live freely, openly. I know you don’t agree with everything we’re doing, but what other option do you have?”

“I’m loyal to King Harry,” Louis responded automatically.

Olivia’s expression darkened. “Still?”

“Always,” he said, feeling the weight of the word.

She shook her head, pursing her lips. “I keep waiting for you to get a little self-respect, Louis. But I’m starting to feel like that might never happen. You just keep trailing behind this royal pain in the ass like a lost little puppy dog. For a person of your ability, it’s embarrassing.”

Louis held her gaze, unimpressed.

“And now he’s left you here to die, and you still won’t go against him.”

It was the first sentence that stung. His shoulders stiffened, and he looked away.

“Whatever you think you have with him – if it’s loyalty or friendship or love – this isn’t that,” Olivia mused, tilting her head to try and catch Louis’s gaze. “They told me what happened. You gave yourself up to protect him. If he cared about you, don’t you think he’d come back for you?”

“He -,”

The words died in Louis’s throat.

He wanted to say, he will.

But in that moment, he wasn’t certain. And that thought made him feel even smaller and more alone than he already did.

Olivia sighed. “Moment of truth, Louis. Your Harry isn’t all he’s cracked up to be. He’s not coming to get you, and he’s not going to restore magic to Albion. He never was. But the Circle can. And we want you to join us. Think it over.”

As she stood to leave, he leaned forward, suddenly desperate. “Wait – Olivia.”

“Yes?”

“I’m – I haven’t eaten for days,” Louis said, and suddenly felt that reality as a sharp pang in his stomach, a sort of numb, persistent ache in his body. “I need food – water.”

Olivia hesitated, then turned to the man standing guard. She said, “some water, but no food.”

She turned back to Louis, who felt himself shrinking, and said coolly, “sorry, Loulou, but I have no interest in keeping you as a pet. You can either decide to join us, or you can rot in here. The choice is yours.”

She muffled the torch on the wall with a flick of her wrist; the door closed behind her; and Louis was left in a cold, silent darkness that wrapped him up and swallowed him whole.

----------

Louis’s grandmother’s house looked exactly like he remembered it. A light flickered in the window of the little cabin, overgrown with vines and plants; the spring garden was newly planted but already showing signs of growth. He had visited this house often as a child, though it had been a while since he made the trip.

He paused outside of the cabin for a long moment, his heart hammering in his chest, before knocking on the door.

It opened nearly immediately. Sylvia stood there, looking… strange. Sad, maybe.

“Your Highness,” she said, bowing her head a little.

“Hi, Sylvia,” Harry said tiredly. “Just Harry, please.”

Sylvia motioned him inside, where he stood for a moment, unsure of himself. Unsure of what, exactly, he was doing here.

“Harry,” Sylvia said, and when he looked up at her, he realized that it wasn’t sadness, but rather fear, that was etched into her face. “Has something happened to Louis?”

Harry realized with a surge what she must have thought of his appearance. “No,” he said quickly, then after a moment of consideration, “well, yes, but he’s alive. He’s – he’s been captured by the Mercians.”

Sylvia took a shaky breath, bracing herself on the back of one of the chairs at her small kitchen table. “Louis is… resourceful,” she said. “I'm sure he'll be alright.”

“He’s magic,” Harry said abruptly. There was no better way to say it. “And so are you.”

For a moment, the light from the flickering candle on the table illuminated Sylvia’s face sharply as she stared at Harry, and he realized that he was talking to a witch. He wondered if he should be afraid.

But Sylvia just said, “he told you.”

Harry’s expression darkened. “I found out.”

Sylvia nodded, scanning his face. “And now you’re here. Why?”

Why? The question sat heavily in the air. Harry wasn’t sure how to answer.

Sylvia seemed to notice that he was lost for words, and she prompted him. “Are you angry with Louis?”

“Of course I am,” he said, feeling that swirl of emotions start up in his chest again. “He lied to me.”

“He did,” Sylvia said simply. “He didn’t want to.”

“Then why didn’t he tell me?” Harry asked, clenching his fists. It’s the question he can’t get over. “I wouldn’t have hurt him. That... that can’t be what he thought.”

Sylvia’s eyes were serious and her voice was soft as she said, “No. I was never certain, but Louis trusted you. Mostly? Mostly, he was afraid that you would hate him.”

The words stabbed.

“He knew what you thought of magic,” Sylvia continued. “And he knew Daniel. He didn’t want to be the person who pitted you against your father. And he was afraid of how you would react when you found out that he had hidden his magic for so long.”

And that - that made sense. It made sense in a way that scared Harry. Because it implied that Louis's silence was his fault. His fault, for hating magic.

“This isn’t fair,” he protested, his defensive instincts kicking in, pacing in the small space of the cabin. Sylvia sat down in her kitchen chair, watching him. “I – I have reason to hate magic. Both of my parents were murdered by sorcerers!” he nearly shouted, spinning towards Sylvia, who didn’t flinch. “Magic destroyed my family, magic is attacking my kingdom. How can I be expected to – to just accept it, just for Louis? How could I not feel betrayed? How could I not be furious?”

“Do you know what happened to Louis’s parents?” Sylvia cut him off, her words suddenly sharp.

Harry pulled up short. “I…”

They had talked about it before.

“They died in the war,” he said, “the war against the sorcerers -,” but then he stopped, his eyes going wide.

Sylvia stood and came towards him. And the pain he saw in her eyes was – was almost too much to bear.

“Your father killed both of Louis’s parents,” Sylvia said, and Harry’s stomach dropped like a stone. “They did harm to no one, and they were both put on the pyre.”

Harry took a step back, feeling the world spin around him. “That… that can’t be true.”

“Why not?” Sylvia asked firmly.

“Because… Louis never – he never said anything,” Harry said, his heart hammering in his chest. “How could he…”

How could he have lived in that castle, serving his parents’ murderer? How could he have defended the crown, knowing what Daniel had done? How could he have hidden that from Harry, when Harry spent most of his life talking about his father like he could do no wrong? How –

“Because he cared about you,” Sylvia said, answering every question in one fell swoop. Harry looked at her with wide, startled eyes, his hands starting to shake. “Harry. I want you to listen to me. You and Louis – your destinies are intertwined.”

“He told me,” Harry mumbled. “He told me about Albion.”

“It’s more than that,” Sylvia said, her head tilting forward. “You are destined to restore magic to this land, Harry. You and Louis. Together. That’s the only way this works.”

“How?” Harry asked, his voice coming out thick with emotion. “Wh- why? Why us?”

She reached out and grabbed his hands, her grip steady where he trembled. As she looked at him, Harry was reminded acutely of Louis – her face a picture of conviction. “You and Louis hold parallel hurt,” she said softly. “Magic harmed you. It did. And your family harmed Louis. If you choose to play by the rules that are as old as Albion, then you’re right. You two have the right to feel angry, and bitter, and resentful towards each other. And if you give into that, you’ll become a part of an endless cycle, Harry. An endless cycle of revenge and retribution for the sins of the past.

“But you – you, Harry, and Louis – you’ve been given the chance to choose. You can choose to end the cycle. You can choose your care for each other over the anger you feel. You can choose your destiny over your hurt, Harry. I watched Louis make his choice many years ago. And he chose you.”

Sylvia’s words struck some chord deep inside of Harry that seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body, ringing in his head. It struck so true that he pulled away, overwhelmed by the torrent of thoughts and emotions her words unleashed.

“I need some time to think,” he said shortly, and he moved past her, heading for the door.

“King Harry,” Sylvia said, and he stopped, his hands curling on the doorframe.

When he turned around, Sylvia’s eyes shone with tears.

“Please,” she said. “Please, bring him home.”

Harry stared at her for a long moment before he left.

----------

Night fell. Harry stumbled over the uneven ground as he walked through the forest, heading back towards the castle. He was exhausted, pushed to his limit, barely aware of his surroundings. Barely capable of processing the thoughts that were crowding his mind. The things Sylvia had said.

The doors to his quarters shut with a solid thud, and Harry was left staring down a dark, cold room. Empty. Old ashes in the hearth. An unmade bed.

He drifted slowly towards his bed, kicking his boots off, shedding his outer layers. He sat on the end of the bed and stared off into space.

He remembered the last time he slept here. He remembered –

It hurt too much. Like a knife in his chest that wouldn’t stop twisting.

With nobody there to distract him, and sleep the furthest thing from his mind, there was nothing left for Harry to do but think.

So he thought. He thought about every time he had derided magic. Talked about sorcerers as though they were vermin – less than human. He remembered the games they played as children; he remembered being the killer of sorcerers. He remembered his father’s mantras, drilled into him through years of repetition. He remembered that look in Louis's eyes. The look he had always attributed to Louis's sensitivity towards magic, but that he now realized was - was fear. And hurt.

And suddenly, his entire perception of Louis flipped on its head.

How did Louis stand it?

How had he stayed by Harry’s side, believing that Harry would have hated him if he knew the truth?

It seemed, to him, to be an impossibility. It just didn’t make sense. He couldn’t fathom – couldn’t imagine what it must have taken for Louis to exist in the same space as Daniel. To stand up to him –

Harry was shaking again, he realized as he brought his hands up, and because he was alone, he finally let the tears that had been building up for the past several days start to flow. He wept into his hands, curled over himself and overwhelmed with what he was finally starting to understand.

It was his fault that Louis had stayed silent. It was Harry’s fault, for hating magic so viciously that Louis had believed Harry didn’t love him more.

Louis, who had stayed at his side. Throughout everything. Who had comforted him, challenged him, cared for him. Who had helped him. Protected him. Never asking for credit. Never looking for power. Just – just doing it because Harry was his friend. Because –

Harry didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve him. He had spent this whole time angry at Louis, in some part, because of his parents - because of what magic had done to his family. But now he knew that Louis had harbored the same pain, and he had chosen Harry, anyway.

And Harry had left him there, with the Mercians, and now Louis was gone.

He had fucked up. Badly.

But with this thought, something finally shifted in Harry. Something finally clicked into place. He scrubbed at his face, feeling his tears slow, and he straightened up in his bed.

A wave of conviction spread through him.

He would fix this. He had to, and he could. He was the King of Camelot. He was Harry – he was Dream – and - and this was Louis.

He would find Louis and bring him back. There was nothing that could stand in his way, now. He owed Louis that much, at least. He wouldn’t abandon him. He would make things right.

But for now, the days of battle and travel and sleep deprivation hit him all at once. He fell back onto his bed and fell asleep almost immediately.

He dreamed of his mother, once again.

And at the end, he saw her coming close. He heard her voice, like bells. That final sentence he could never make out was clear for the first time – clearer than it had ever been before.

Dreams are a form of magic, she had told him once, a lifetime ago.

These words weren’t a memory. They were a message.

His mother leaned close to his ear, and she told him, “you can trust him.”

----------

The fever setting into Louis’s skin kept him from sleeping for longer than a few minutes at a time. The floor of the cave was hard and uncomfortable, his chains preventing him from getting into a comfortable position. He was shivering with cold, yet his skin felt hot and sweaty, and when he pressed a hand gingerly to his chest, he could feel how sensitive the wound felt. Probably infected.

With no small amount of irony, he wondered if his little golden surge of healing magic was something he could use for himself, or if that was a Harry-specific phenomenon.

It didn’t seem to matter. No matter how many times he tried, he couldn’t break past the enchantments on his shackles. Each try left him in an even worse state than the last one, shaking with aftershocks as the chains sent bolts of lightning of pain up his arms. His magic was firmly locked away.

Louis had never felt more powerless, and he had never felt more alone.

He had no real way of knowing the time, but he assumed it was the next morning when the door opened again and Olivia re-appeared, dressed in a dark purple dress that was different from the previous day. This time, she opened up the door to his cell, walking inside and setting down a small glass of water that Louis scrambled to drink. The water barely alleviated the sandpaper-rough feeling in his throat.

Olivia sat down inside the cell, just across from Louis. Her gaze tracked to his shackles, where burn marks had formed in rings around his wrists. “Any luck with that?” she asked, amused.

He glared at her.

She shrugged. “I don’t blame you for trying. If anyone could get out of those things, it would probably be you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Louis muttered, his voice hoarse.

Olivia stopped for a second, evaluating him. “Louis,” she said, leaning forward. “Do you have any idea how actually powerful you are?”

His brow furrowed.

“Have you read the prophecies about your little prince?” Olivia asked.

“Of course I have,” he said.

“Then you know you’re a part of them.”

“Yes.” He had read those sections, naturally. The ‘powerful sorcerer’ who would help Harry take the crown. That was meant to be him.

But the way Olivia looked at him made him think she was talking about something else.

“Do you have any idea that that crazy golden light that swallows you up every now and then?” Olivia asked, her eyes manic and bright.

Louis stayed quiet. The answer was no, but he wasn’t sure he wanted Olivia to know that. He had scoured the books in Camelot’s library, all of his grandmother’s volumes, and he had found nothing. He still had no idea.

Olivia grinned. “Maybe the libraries in Mercia are a little more complete,” she said, guessing his thoughts. She inched closer to him. Louis tried to push himself away but was stopped by his chains.

“You don’t just have magic, Louis,” Olivia breathed. “You are magic.”

Louis stared at her, uncomprehending.

“The energy we all tap into to use magic? The energy that elementals have a stronger connection to? It’s embodied in you, Louis, it’s personified,” Olivia started rambling. Louis wondered how long she had known this, how long she had thought about this conversation. “It’s stronger in you than in anyone I’ve ever seen before. For most people, magic is a tool, but for you, it’s like – it’s like a person, isn’t it? It’s like a voice.”

Louis hesitated, thinking about the strange double voice he heard when he was swept up in the golden light; thinking about the conversations he would have with his magic, asking it to move, to act in the ways he needed it to act – and the way it would speak back. He thought about how lonely he felt now, without that connection – not so much a severed limb as a lost companion.

“Louis,” Olivia said in a hiss, leaning forward, her hands clenching at the fabric of her dress. “Your potential is basically unlimited. Join us. We would use your gift. You would be powerful – celebrated.”

Louis hesitated for a moment, and he considered his options. He would never join Olivia, not really. But if he could convince her to let him out of these chains – if he could reach his magic – maybe he would have a chance at escape.

“Okay,” he said, and saw Olivia’s eyes grow wider. “Okay. I – I want to know more about this. Will you help me?”

“Yes,” she said, suddenly cool.

“Then – then let me out, and I’ll join you,” Louis said, holding out his wrists.

She peered at him for a long moment. “Do you know you’re a terrible liar, Louis?”

“I’m not lying,” he insisted.

“I’ll let you out,” Olivia said, “but not until you prove you’ve had a change of heart.”

His heart skipped a beat. “What do you want me to do?”

Olivia sat back against the bars of his cell, crossing her arms. “Harry’s been a bit harder to get rid of than we initially hoped,” she said, and Louis’s stomach sank. “Well, I suppose you know him better than anyone, hm? So tell me everything. Tell me where he goes, what he does every day. Tell me – if you were going to kill him, where would you do it?”

Louis let out a breath. His foggy, fever-hazed brain scrambled for the right response. If he could lie – if he could say something convincing enough – but his brain wasn’t working right, wasn’t finding anything but the truth. And that – that he couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t give her anything that might actually be used against Harry.

“That’s what I thought,” Olivia said, her mouth set in a straight line. “Nice try, though.”

Louis dropped his head with a shaky sigh.

Olivia looked irritated now. “This is pathetic, Louis. Really. Why can’t you see that your attachment to Harry is holding you back? You could be the most powerful person in the world.”

“You’re the one who wants power here, Olivia,” Louis mumbled. “Not me.”

“What is it you do want, Louis?”

And Louis thought of waking up in Harry’s arms, the sun slanting through the windows, reaching up to touch his face, unafraid –

He was brought back to reality when Olivia sighed in frustration, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “You’re being stupid, Louis,” she said in a lilt. “I’m giving you an out here, and you’re refusing to take it.”

“I’d rather take my chances with Harry than join another Daniel,” Louis said coldly.

And now she was actually angry.

She stood and took a few steps towards Louis, bringing a hand up, and Louis felt a surge of magic push him up against the wall, lifting him up to almost a standing position. The force against his chest sent a sharp stabbing pain through his ribs, and he gasped for air as Olivia towered over him.

“Special or not, you’re powerless now,” Olivia said in a sort of snarl. She traced a finger along his chin, her nail scraping against his skin. “Maybe you should remember that.”

Louis glared at her and tried, once more, to push past the enchantments on his chains, trying to surge forward, to push her away from him – but his magic sputtered out at his wrists as the shackles burned into his skin, and he shouted out at the sharp pain that laced up his arms, all the way up to his shoulders.

Olivia smirked and released her hold on him, letting him fall to the ground.

“Soon you’re going to realize that you don’t really have a choice, Louis,” Olivia said, sending a bolt of dread through Louis’s chest. “You can either join us and choose to use your gift, or you can waste away here. Nobody is coming to help you.”

And she left him in a haze of fever and pain, clinging desperately to a hope that was starting to slip through his fingers.

-----------

Harry woke to the sound of persistent knocking at his door. He sat up from where he had passed out the night before, still fully dressed, and blinked at the door, the early morning sun streaming through his windows.

It was Zayn, wearing his armor and drawing himself up when Harry opened the door. His face was nervous, but resolute.

“Listen,” Zayn said, and started in on a rush of words before Harry could get a word in edgewise. “I’m going to get Louis. I know you’re pissed off at him, and I don’t care if you don’t come with me. But I can’t just leave him out there. And if I have to go against your orders to do it, then I will. I don’t want to, but you’re being—”

“Zayn,” Harry interrupted, seeing the knight wince. “You’re right. And I’m coming with you.”

Zayn’s eyes widened, and he stared at Harry for a long moment, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“That’s a development,” is what he came up with, his shoulders relaxing in a relieved sigh.

“I had a long night,” Harry said wryly.

Before he could explain any further, he saw Liam rushing up the hallway towards them.

“Zayn—Harry—,” he said, breathing hard. “You guys need to see this.”

It was a person, a tall blonde boy, standing in the Great Hall.

He was familiar. Why did he look familiar?

Harry couldn’t place it until the stranger saw him and his face lit up in an enormous, toothy grin. He rushed forward to grab Harry’s hand, the forwardness of his action both surprising and disarming.

“King Harry!” he said in a sort of roar, “what an honor to see you again! It’s been too long, hasn’t it, mate?”

“Have we met?” Harry asked, amused despite himself.

“My name’s Niall, we met at the Tournament a few years back, if you remember,” he said. “I’ve come here from Mercia.”

Harry’s good humor evaporated. He took a step back as Zayn drew his sword. Niall threw up his hands.

“Please, gentlemen, please,” he said, his voice sort of cracking. “Listen, I—I’m here to offer help!”

“Yeah, we’ve had a few offers like that recently,” Harry said, his eyes narrowing.

He could actually see Niall gulp. “Listen,” he said again. “I’m here on behalf of Lord Edward. You remember him? Tall lad, ginger hair?”

Harry did remember him, actually. Remembered sparring against him at the Tournament. “I know Ed.”

“Good, good. Look. Mercia’s been taken over by this group of sorcerers called the Circle,” Niall said rapidly, his words tumbling over themselves. “Well, we’re not huge fans, us. So we were thinking—perhaps we could be of some assistance to you. Y’know, subterfuge from the inside and whatnot. What do you think?”

Harry blinked at him for a moment, his brow furrowing. “You want to fight Mercia from the inside?”

“Basically, yes,” Niall said with a bright grin. “However you think is best.”

Harry glanced at Zayn, who looked seriously skeptical.

“Niall,” the king said. “You… seem to mean well. But I’m going to need some way to know that you’re telling me the truth. We’ve had a few too many stabs in the back recently.”

Niall’s eyes lit up and he nodded. “That’s actually why I came here,” he said. “The Mercians are keeping your servant, Louis, hostage. And I can tell you where they’re keeping him.”

Harry’s attention was suddenly drawn razor-sharp, and he heard Liam gasp. “You can bring us to him?” Harry asked urgently, his heart picking up in his chest.

Niall nodded. “Ed and I don’t think we should help with the rescuing part—at least, not if you want our help in the future—but I can get you there, and… y’know… let you do your thing,” he finished, miming the swing of a sword.

“What do you think, Harry?” Liam murmured, while Zayn said, “listen, Niall, we need some time to think about this,” but Harry had already made up his mind. His gut was telling him Niall was telling the truth. And every other cell in his body was telling him to get to Louis, fast.

“Get me there,” he told Niall, who immediately grinned. “Get me there, and if we really find Louis, then you’ll have earned our trust.”

Niall’s head nodded so fast Harry thought it might disconnect from his neck. “Fantastic,” he said. “Are you ready to leave now?”

“Harry,” Liam said, and Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him around.

Liam looked at him with concern. “Not that I’m not happy about your change of heart,” he asked quietly, “but are you sure about this? You’ll be heading into the heart of Mercia. Camelot still needs you.”

His words gave Harry pause, but after a moment, he just nodded. “And Camelot will still have me,” he said firmly. “After we get Louis.”

“Hell yes,” Zayn said, clapping him on the shoulder. “What do you say, Liam? You coming along for this one?”

Liam hesitated for a moment, but then his eyes steeled in a kind of resolve. “Oh—screw it,” he said, his face going red at the language. “Let’s do this.”

And for a moment, it was like old times, the three of them standing next to each other, united in purpose.

The moment was interrupted by Niall, who inserted himself into their little circle, an oversized grin on his face. “Can’t tell you how excited I am that you’re on our side,” he said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

Harry gave him a skeptical look. “I think you mean, now that you’re on our side.”

“Well, that’s just semantics, innit?”

-----------

They traveled on a narrow, winding route that Niall seemed to know by heart, staying successfully unseen as they went deeper and deeper into Mercian territory. By a few hours into the journey, Harry was convinced of Niall’s trustworthiness, mostly because of the sheer amount of information spilling from Niall’s mouth at every moment.

He said things like, “the Circle is a powerful group of sorcerers,” and “the leader is a woman named Olivia.” He said, “they know about Louis’s magic – and they know about the prophecies about you, Harry. That one, uh, might have been a bit my fault. Sorry.” He said, “they’ve been keeping prisoners in a secret dungeon – a series of caverns hidden in the forest. I’ve been there before, so I know where it is.”

Harry just listened quietly, letting Niall say whatever he wanted, taking note of everything he could. Anything that might end up being useful.

By the time they reached their destination, night was starting to fall. Without Niall, Harry probably would have walked right past it: the dark mouth of a cave, sinking into the side of a hill. They stopped a safe distance away, hidden by the trees.

“That’s the place,” Niall said. His chatter had died down the closer they got. He looked nervous. “I think this is probably where I leave you.”

Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Niall,” he said to their companion, “thank you. Once we return, I’ll find a way to send you a message. You and Ed will be friends of Camelot.”

Niall nodded back at him, his face bright, and then started to guide his horse back into the forest. Before he left, he twisted in his saddle and said, “good luck.”

Harry, Zayn, and Liam dismounted, tying their horses to a nearby tree and looking towards the cave, taking a moment to catch their breath.

“Well,” Zayn said, adjusting his grip on his sword. “Should we do this?”

“I don’t see any reason to wait,” Liam said.

And Harry—Harry just stared at the entrance to the cave, his heart pounding in his chest, thinking that Louis was there. He was close. And he had been held here for days, alone. Thinking about what the Mercians might have done to him sent a chill racing down his spine, an angry flame sparking to life in his chest.

“We move now,” he said, and he unsheathed Excalibur. “We find him, we get out. Understood?”

He saw his friends nodding and turned to them gratefully.

“You two are the best friends I could possibly ask for,” he said quietly. “Thank you. For coming, for—for talking sense into me. For everything.”

Liam gave him a soft smile, while Zayn grinned.

“Someone’s gotta keep you humble,” he said, hitting Harry on the shoulder. “And without Louis, our chief humbler, to lead the charge—”

“I get it,” Harry said with a short laugh, pushing Zayn back.

Liam grabbed his shield, set his shoulders, and said, “let’s do this.”

----------

Louis had no concept of how much time had passed. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his hunger, dehydration, and fever pulling him back and forth on waves of fatigue.

He was going to die, probably. If the infection didn't get him, starvation eventually would. He lay on his side, curled in on himself, trying to get a grip on reality – trying to focus, to keep himself awake. But he was so cold, and his magic was gone.

Even though it made him feel pathetic, he missed Harry. He wished he could see him again. He wished – he wished he had told him sooner. Or that he had managed to convince him, in that short time they had before Louis was captured. He wished a lot of things, but mainly he just hurt, his mind consumed with it, with every place the pain was starting to become too much to bear. For now, he just focused on breathing, in and out, on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

There were sounds coming from outside the door. They barely registered in Louis’s head. Sounds – probably soldiers, maybe bringing some more prisoners?

But as he managed to focus on what he was hearing, he felt suddenly alert. It – it sounded like fighting. It sounded like iron clashing against iron – it sounded like the shout of spells, cut off at once. It sounded like footsteps, running just outside the door. It sounded like a shout –

“Louis?!”

He was awake with a start, and he tried to shout, but his voice stuck in his throat and he coughed instead, swallowing around what felt like cotton in his throat.

“Harry,” he managed, his voice rough, then again, louder: “Harry!”

An awful second passed where he wondered if he had taken too long –

And then the door slammed open, and Harry was there.

He looked wild from battle, blood splattered on his hands and Excalibur’s blade, but he was there, alive, uninjured, fucking beautiful, throwing open the door to Louis’s cell, crossing the space instantly and falling to his knees at Louis’s side.

“Louis,” Harry said, grabbing him by the shoulders. He looked shocked at Louis’s appearance. “Are you okay?”

Louis leaned forward, feeling the world spin dizzily around him. Harry had asked him a question, but he didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know how to do anything other than bring his hands up to touch Harry’s face, gently, disbelievingly. “You came back,” he whispered, his eyes suddenly filling with tears.

Harry grabbed his hand, and Louis nearly sobbed as Harry said, “I should never have left.”

There was a shout at the doorway, and Harry whirled as the Mercian man who had been standing guard ran inside, wielding a sword. Harry grabbed Excalibur and surged upwards to meet him, their blades clashing together – Harry managed to shove the man backwards and smashed the sword out of his hands, ramming him against the wall of the cave and bringing the handle of his sword against the man’s head. The guard fell to the ground, unconscious, and Harry returned to Louis’s side almost immediately.

“Let’s get out of here,” Harry said, grabbing his wrists – Louis tried to hide his wince. “How do we get these off?”

“I don’t know,” Louis said.

“Can you – can you magic them off?” Harry asked.

Louis shook his head weakly. “They’re enchanted – I can’t do any magic.”

Harry muttered a curse and turned, looking around the cave. “Okay – shit. Here goes nothing,” he said, and he pressed Excalibur onto the chain linking Louis’s right wrist to the wall, pinning it between his blade and the ground. With a grunt, he shoved his full body weight forward, and the chain snapped.

Louis pulled his hand up, free, though the enchanted shackle still held tight to his wrist, and Harry moved towards the other chain.

But before he could break it, there was someone in the doorway, and Louis’s heart froze in his chest –

“Look out,” he shouted, pain seizing his arms as his magic instinctively tried to flare up, but it was too late.

Olivia shoved her arm out and Harry was picked up and smashed against the wall, Excalibur clattering to the ground.

“No,” Louis cried as Olivia stepped forward, her magic surging against Harry and pinning him against the wall. Harry struggled, and Olivia’s fist clenched, and he made this awful choking sound, his head thrown back, his throat exposed. Louis saw his face twist in pain –

“STOP,” Louis screamed, yanking against the last, solid chain still holding him to the wall, his magic shorting out in his brain, his wrists searing against the shackles.

“It’s time for this to be over,” Olivia said, staring right at Harry. Her eyes started to glow silver, and she brought another hand up, her magic cracking through the air.

Harry opened his eyes and he looked at Louis.

It was like the ground ripped open beneath him.

Louis felt himself screaming as he doubled over his chains, his magic surging against the enchantments like a flood against a dam.

He was on fire. His lungs were full of smoke, his eyes blinded by golden light.

The enchantments sent pain searing through his arms and straight into his heart, ratcheting through him, but – but their reach was pushed back by the light, overcome –

and then the shackles fell away, snapped apart.

Louis wrenched his arm forward and his magic slammed into Olivia like a brick wall.

She lost her grip on Harry as she was thrown back, her magic crumpled and tossed aside like a scrap of paper. She gasped as Louis stood, unrestrained.

His eyes were the color of molten gold.

“Enough,” Louis said, in those two terrible voices at once. “Enough.”

Harry slid to the ground, a hand around his throat, gasping for air. He watched Louis with wide eyes as the sorcerer brought Olivia closer to him, the witch struggling against his magic mid-air.

“You won’t win this war, Olivia,” Louis said, his eyes alight. “You can’t.”

“Watch me,” Olivia snarled, her face feral.

With effort, she pulled her arms up and severed the connection between her and Louis. And before he could get hold of her again, she was gone – disappeared through the door.

There was a moment where the golden light stayed, hovering silently inside of Louis, and Louis and Harry were left staring at each other, seeing each other truly for the first time.

And then the light expanded and released like a breath, fading away, and only Louis was left. Louis, who was barely conscious, wobbling on his feet.

His knees hit the ground, and he slumped forward, only barely catching himself with his hands. A small whimper escaped his lips.

Harry was at his side in an instant.

“I’ve got you,” he said, catching Louis by his shoulders and guiding him to lean against the bars of the cell. Louis’s face was pale and his eyes were screwed shut, but he was breathing.

“Louis,” Harry breathed, overcome with wonder. Louis’s eyes opened, and a laugh bubbled up from Harry’s throat. “Louis. You’re amazing. That – that was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

A small smile flickered across Louis’s face. “About time you appreciated my talents,” he managed softly.

Harry swallowed hard and nodded. “About time,” he said, and meaning flashed in Louis’s eyes.

“Louis!” came a voice from behind them, and when Harry turned, he saw Liam at the doorway, bloodied but standing, his eyes wide and relieved.

“We have to go,” Liam said, and Harry nodded, turning to Louis.

“Can you stand?” he asked, and Louis shook his head. “I’ll carry you.”

It was even easier than the last time – Louis felt thin, almost frail in his arms. But this time, as Louis leaned his head against his shoulder and Harry followed Liam out, running past the fallen Mercian soldiers and sorcerers they had left in their wake, finding Zayn waiting for them at the entrance with their horses – this time, as Harry secured Louis behind him in his saddle, letting Louis cling onto him from behind as they raced towards Camelot, he knew that he would never, never, leave Louis behind again.

----------

It took Louis three days to wake up.

Harry spent most of the first day hovering around Louis’ grandmother’s house, trying to help her in any way he could. But it quickly became clear he was getting in the way more than he was helping, and she put a kind hand on his shoulder and told him that she could take care of Louis, for now, if he needed to return to the castle.

He took the hint.

He spent most of the second day nervously pacing in his quarters, which still felt cold, empty, and dark, no matter how much light he brought in to fill it up. Luckily for him, the Mercian attacks had seemed to pause for the moment. He was able to hand off temporary responsibility to Nick – who he was learning to put more trust in every day. Nick was a capable knight and a good leader, and when Harry apologized for asking him to take over for a few days, Nick had just smiled kindly and said, “I understand, Harry. Tell Louis I said hello when he wakes up, would you?”

Harry would. Harry would tell Louis a lot of things when he woke up.

On the third day, Harry raced for Sylvia’s house the instant he heard the news. He barged in through the cabin door and then pulled up short.

Louis was sitting on a chair near the fire, fresh bandages wrapped around his chest. He was mid-laugh, his eyes crinkling up at the edges, talking to Zayn and Liam, who had somehow beaten Harry there.

The door slammed open with Harry’s aggressive entry, and Louis looked up at him, his eyebrows raising.

“Well, that was quite an entrance,” he said, grinning.

And Harry—

Harry couldn’t help himself. The relief he felt at seeing Louis awake, alive, happy, was so strong that it pushed him forward. He practically swept Louis up in a hug, picking him up off of his chair, hearing Louis laugh and hug him back, his arms wrapping around Harry tightly.

“Careful,” Sylvia said from her table, and Harry put Louis back down right away, his face going red.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his hands hovering over Louis.

But Louis just rolled his eyes, smiling at him. “I'm fine, Harry.”

Zayn and Liam gave each other knowing looks.

It was so strange, the four of them sitting around the fire. The war hadn’t ended, and they would have to return to that reality soon; but for the moment, the relief of having the four of them together and alive won over their worry and fear, and they talked and laughed like they used to when they were kids.

As happy as Harry was to be with his friends, though, he felt a tugging in his chest. He wanted—needed—to talk to Louis alone, and the weight of the words he had to say sat heavily in his chest. He caught himself drifting out of the conversation, staring at Louis, his forehead softly furrowing.

At one point, Louis caught him, and Harry blinked, looking away in embarrassment. But Louis leaned over and grabbed his hand, making Harry look back at him.

“Later,” Louis said softly, just for him, as Zayn rambled on with some story about his battles with the Mercians. “Tonight.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat, and he nodded.

“I think the lovebirds have tuned out,” he heard Liam say in a faux-whisper, and whipped his head around toward his smirking friends, his face going red.

“That’s—” he stopped awkwardly, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

“What were you saying, Zayn?” Louis saved him—and since when was he the smooth one here? But when Harry looked back at him, he saw a faint blush on Louis’ cheeks, his hands twisting nervously in his lap. It made Harry’s stomach do a stupid, helpless little flip.

They talked for a few hours, and then Sylvia shooed them away, saying Louis needed his rest. Harry, Zayn, and Liam walked back in contented silence, the sun starting to set over the towers and parapets of the castle. Harry said goodbye to his friends at the doors, choosing instead to walk around the grounds of the castle, watching as the day's activities wound to a close. The evening was cool, and the castle was calm, and Harry took deep, steadying breaths as he walked.

He was home. Louis was safe. The war would be fought tomorrow. Tonight, all they had to do was talk.

After a little while, he saw that the windows in his room were glowing with soft light. It was the sign he had been waiting for, and his pulse quickened as he made his way toward his quarters.

When he walked into his room, Louis was there.

He was sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed, staring at his hands. A lamp on the wall was lit, but the evening light in the room was muted, blue shadows hanging heavily over their heads. As Harry came into the room, Louis looked up, smiling softly. But he looked nervous—like Harry.

Harry moved slowly, but with purpose, coming close and then kneeling in front of Louis. Louis looked down at him, his face open and vulnerable, as Harry took his hands carefully in his own, his fingers brushing over the marks on his wrists left by the enchanted chains. Louis’ fingers curled, as if to hide the marks, but Harry brought each wrist to his mouth and kissed them gently, feeling Louis start to tremble.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, looking up at Louis.

Louis’ eyes flickered across his face.

“I hurt you,” Harry said.

“I hurt you, too,” Louis murmured. “I lied to you.”

“But I know why you did,” Harry said. “You only lied because I was cruel. I was blinded by my prejudice, by my father’s prejudice. And—and I shouldn’t have left you. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for what I did, Louis.” His voice broke toward the end, and he dropped his gaze to their joined hands, thinking of the scars the Mercians left on Louis—the way he almost didn’t recover.

But then Louis' hands moved to touch his face, tilting his head up so that he was looking into Louis’ eyes, which were soft but burning. “Then I’ll just have to forgive you enough for the both of us,” he whispered, his thumbs brushing along Harry’s cheeks, lingering.

The words astonished Harry. “I don’t think I deserve that,” he said finally, feeling tears prick at the back of his eyes.

Louis exhaled, shaking his head slightly. Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed Harry again—deeper, more desperate this time, as if trying to push away all the pain, all the lost time, all the battles yet to come. Harry gasped softly into it, his hands instinctively tightening around Louis’ waist, pulling him closer.

Louis’ fingers threaded through Harry’s hair, gripping just a little, just enough to make Harry shudder. When they finally pulled away, their breaths mingled, warm and uneven.

Louis’ forehead rested against Harry’s, his lips slightly parted, his voice barely a whisper. “We can make it up to each other.”

Harry nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped Louis’ face. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” Louis promised, pressing another soft, lingering kiss to Harry’s lips, sealing the words between them.

Harry pushed himself up so he was sitting next to Louis, and then—carefully, so as not to hurt him—he pulled Louis with him toward the head of the bed. They rearranged themselves gingerly, Louis’ arms looping around Harry’s waist, Harry’s chin resting on the top of Louis’ head.

He felt Louis burrow his nose softly into his chest, and this—

This was what he wanted. He would win the war for this, alone. He would throw himself into a thousand battles if that's what it took to keep this safe. To keep him here.

“I love you, Louis,” he whispered, and he felt Louis shift so that they were looking at each other, his eyes shining in the darkness.

“I love you, too,” Louis said. Certain.

Chapter Text

To His Highness, King Harry of Camelot,

I received your letter this morning and have sat down to write a response immediately, which I hope does not too much betray my eagerness. I was glad to hear from you, glad to hear that your friend was recovered safely, and above all, glad to know that we have made an ally in you and in Camelot.

Your words regarding Niall were either far too polite, or otherwise served as confirmation of a long-held suspicion of mine that he reserves his worst for me and me alone. I’m sure he managed to torment you in one way or another, but I am relieved his plan to waltz in the front doors and persuade you of his good intentions actually worked. I was half expecting him to be executed on the spot – a feat I still haven’t managed and would have hardly blamed you for.

I want to be of use to you in the coming conflict, though I think I should make my intentions perfectly clear. I do not consider myself a traitor to Mercia herself, for the Mercia I know disappeared some time ago. It has been taken over by the Circle – a group that has turned Mercia into an unrecognizable shadow of her former self. They are using Mercia as a machine for war, searching for conflict that need not exist.

I wish to help you defeat them, but I will not be party to a type of reciprocal conquest. By the end of this conflict, I hope to restore Mercia to her former self – as her own nation. I also hope to end this war with as few casualties as possible, as I believe you and I both understand that the men people like us conscript to fight our wars – the men who have no power or wealth to gain through the outcome – are yet the most likely to die in battle. I have no interest in needlessly slaughtering my countrymen.

If this aim is agreeable to you, I look forward to your next letter, and will keep you informed of any useful information to which I am made privy.

In solidarity,
Lord Edward of Mercia

----------

The war almost didn’t feel real – like a relic from a time before Harry finally knew about Louis. But it was still coming, as steadily as the spring breeze that swept through the open window. And it gave Louis a similar chill as he moved to shut the window firmly against the wind.

He had never noticed how drafty Harry’s room could be until he spent the remainder of his recovery there – a process which only took a few days, thanks to his gran’s healing magic, which he no longer had to hide. Each day, Harry had returned from his war meetings later and later in the evening, looking harried and anxious. And Louis knew it was time for him to return to the war effort.

Still. Easier said than done. Especially when considering what returning actually meant for Louis now.

His anxiety getting the better of him, Louis turned around and said, “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I think we do,” Harry said, coming out from behind the partition. He was wearing some of his finest robes, his red cloak pinned around his neck, his crown resting on his head in preparation for the war council meeting. He looked handsome, the sun lighting up the colors of his robes and glinting against his green eyes. Louis glanced away in mild embarrassment, still having a hard time believing that he was allowed to do this: to look at Harry this way, to touch him, if he wanted to.

“I could just keep helping from the background,” Louis said, as Harry walked up to him, reaching out a hand to fix the collar of Louis’ simple blue shirt. “Nobody else has to know.”

“What are you afraid of?” Harry asked, searching Louis’ face.

Louis bit the inside of his cheek. “I just know they’re not going to like it,” he said. “At least, not all of them. I don’t want you to have to deal with more problems on my behalf.”

“This is worth it,” Harry said firmly. “Everyone needs to know about what you’ve done, Louis, and who you are. And they need to know that my father was wrong about magic. That things are going to be different.”

His quiet self-assurance fortified Louis, not for the first time, and he nodded.

Then Harry said, “No more secrets. Not with other people, and especially not with each other. Okay?”

Louis met Harry’s gaze and saw the sincerity there. He nodded, hoping that his honesty was coming through as clearly as he said, “No more secrets.”

----------

“Attacks from Mercia have all but stopped in recent days,” Nick said, gesturing towards the map of Camelot still spread across the large round table. Around it stood every Knight of Camelot and a few advisors Harry had retained from his father’s council. At Harry’s side stood Louis, feeling entirely out of place. “The skirmishes at our borders, the attacks on villages – they’ve all halted.”

“Maybe they’re realizing they can’t win,” James said, crossing his arms.

“I don’t see why they would think that,” Liam said, peering through his glasses. “Considering we haven’t actually won any battles yet.”

“Maybe they were set back when we attacked?” Zayn asked with a shrug.

“But we didn’t actually do that much, except for getting Louis out,” Harry said, and Louis felt several gazes suddenly stab into him, like he was an insect being pinned against a board. He fought to hold himself steady. He knew several members of the council held private doubts about why the king had endangered himself to save his servant. They were probably even less pleased to see him at a war council.

“So it’s unlikely they’re retreating,” Nick said, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “Maybe… it’s just the opposite. They’re pooling their troops, getting ready for one major attack.”

“I think you’re exactly right,” Harry said, his forehead creasing slightly. “They know that they can’t keep picking away at us forever. If they’re really trying to take over, they’ll launch a full assault directly on the castle. They’ll try to overwhelm us.”

“Well, if our battles keep going the way they have been… they’ll probably win,” said James, his voice heavy.

There was a moment of solemn silence as the knights stared down the reality of their situation. Harry looked at Louis, who nodded. Now or never.

“This battle won’t be like the others,” Harry said calmly, his voice ringing with characteristic self-confidence. He looked up at each person standing around the table. “This time, we’ll have magic, too.”

The words clearly shocked the gathered group; a few of them started to murmur amongst themselves, while others just stared uncomprehendingly at Harry. Louis made eye contact with Zayn, who raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

“There’s something you need to know,” Harry said. Louis felt his hand on his shoulder, and then he felt the gazes of the council pierce him even sharper than before. “Many of you know Louis as my servant. But he's much more than that. Louis is a sorcerer - a powerful one. And he’s going to help us defeat Mercia.”

There was a moment of shocked silence, and Louis braced himself for their reactions. Despite his knowledge – that he was in the right, that he was here to help, that Harry stood behind him – it took everything within him not to shrink from the situation, from standing up to a group full of nobility, a group that, very recently, had served King Daniel.

“Louis has magic?” Nick asked, his eyes wide.

“I do,” Louis said.

“And he’s used it to save my life many times,” Harry said. "Now, he's going to help save Camelot, too."

“King Harry,” said a man named Elric, an older nobleman who had served many years in Daniel’s court. He had graying hair and wrinkles around his eyes, which narrowed angrily as he took a step forward. “With all due respect, this is an outlandish proposition.”

“How so?” Harry asked.

“Magic is the thing that threatens Camelot most, and your servant is no exception,” Elric said with distaste, sending Louis a disgusted glance. “If he is a sorcerer, then he is no hero. He is a traitor!”

Louis took a breath, preparing to defend himself, but Harry was speaking before he could find the words.

“I know very well what my father thought of magic,” Harry said, and the murmurs in the room went quiet. “It took me many years to understand how wrong he was. Magic is not inherently evil. And neither are sorcerers. Louis has been using his magic in service to Camelot for many years. He has a gift – a gift that will help us survive this onslaught.”

“Magic has been outlawed in Camelot for decades, and for good reason, Your Highness,” Elric argued. “You cannot make an exception just for your servant.”

“Actually, I agree,” Harry said, and Louis jerked his head to look at him. “Which is why, starting today, magic will no longer be outlawed in Camelot.”

It was –

It was shocking, at first, a flood of surprise washing over Louis, and then there was just pure joy, a warm, light feeling that suddenly consumed him. He fought to keep his reaction from reaching his face as he just stared at Harry, whose face was determined, the afternoon sun glinting softly off of his crown. He was beautiful and – and so Harry in that moment.

He was everything Louis knew he could be, all along.

“Harry,” Elric exclaimed indignantly, as surprised whispers broke out again among the gathered group. “You can’t be -,”

“I understand that you may need time and answers to your questions,” Harry said. “Lord knows I needed both before I saw why I was wrong. You, each of you, are allowed to question this decision, but you must do so with the intention of understanding why I am making it. If you cannot reconcile yourself to the idea of magic in Camelot, then you must excuse yourself from my court.”

The words resounded. Elric looked downright furious, his face going red. Several of King Daniel’s former advisors looked similarly unsure, although Louis thought the faces of the knights, who knew both Harry and Louis, looked significantly less disturbed – more surprised than anything.

“Louis,” Harry said, and Louis turned to him. “Tell them what you can do to help.”

Louis stepped up to the table, and although his heart still raced, Harry’s steadfast presence at his side calmed him as he spoke. “There are many protective spells I can place around the castle,” he explained. “These will make it harder for the Mercian sorcerers to attack the battlements. I can also enchant your armor and weapons, to help them withstand the Mercian’s enchantments.”

“You can?” asked James, and Louis was gratified to hear the knight’s tone held more wonder than fear. “That’s been – that would be an enormous help to us.”

“I wish I could have done it sooner,” Louis said, and James nodded slowly in understanding.

“I’ll fight with you during battle, as well,” Louis continued, looking around the table. “But there’s only so much I can do. I’m only one person.”

“Louis,” said Harry, touching him lightly at the elbow. “Tell them about the – the light.”

That took Louis aback. “The light.”

“It seemed to make you incredibly powerful,” Harry said. “Can you summon it on command?”

“No,” Louis said, surprised by this line of questioning. They hadn’t discussed this previously, and talking about it in front of other people felt suddenly vulnerable – like an invasion of privacy. “It’s – I’ve never summoned it intentionally. It just sort of… happens.”

They talked well into the evening before Harry ended the meeting. As Louis walked towards the door, Elric stopped Harry.

“May I request a private word, Your Highness?”

Later, when Elric stormed out, he jabbed a finger at Louis.

“You are a traitorous snake,” Elric hissed.

“You’re wrong,” Louis responded, as Liam and Zayn stepped to his side.

The sound of a sword unsheathing stopped him, and Harry stepped out, holding Excalibur.

“There is a limit to my patience, Elric,” Harry said. “And you just found it.”

“Your father would be ashamed of you,” Elric called bitterly.

Quietly, so only Louis could hear, Harry muttered: “Maybe he would.”

----------

To King Harry,

Your last letter surmised the situation in Mercia precisely. The lack of attacks in recent weeks is not for a lack of resources or desire but instead reflects a tactical maneuver. The Circle is planning a full assault on Camelot soon. And they will bring every weapon, spell, and set of hands they can to that battle. Unfortunately, I have not been told exactly when the assault will take place; the Circle keeps me at arm’s length, as they do for all non-magic nobility. The attack could be within weeks, days, or hours. I wish I could provide you with more certainty.

I was surprised, but happy, to hear of the shift in attitude towards magic in Camelot. I hope this means your friend, the sorcerer, will be able to aid in your war efforts.

I will write again, immediately, if I am to catch wind of the timing of the coming invasion.

In solidarity,
Lord Edward of Mercia

----------

In all their years of knowing each other, Harry had never seen Louis so busy. Or so... happy.

He had a different kind of spirit about him now, as he rushed around the castle, helping wherever he could with the war preparations that were now consuming the entire city. Louis spent hours enchanting the newly forged weapons from the blacksmith, putting protections over armor, and casting wards over the castle battlements, strange words falling from his mouth as easily and naturally as his native language.

Harry had never noticed that Louis had been somewhat muted, somewhat guarded, until he saw the guard fall: saw the absolute light in Louis’s eyes as he talked about new spells and tactics to try. He cast spells in the kitchens so that bread baked faster and helped them stock shelves with little more than a flick of his wrist. When the sun set and it became too dark to work outside, Louis wordlessly created lights that hovered in the air and allowed work to continue.

He was amazing. And it became clear that he didn’t need any help to do what he should, rightfully, have been doing all along. So mostly, Harry left Louis to his own devices, consumed enough with his own preparations: calling upon every lord in his kingdom to join the cause, coordinating shipments of supplies and rations, and finding places for the most vulnerable citizens of Camelot to take refuge, for the time being.

In the evenings, he would come back to his room exhausted, only to find Louis curled in an armchair by the fireplace, still poring over thick tomes, his reading glasses sliding down his nose. Louis would blink owlishly at him, the dark circles under his eyes matching Harry’s, and they’d give each other small, tired smiles. Then they’d talk, for as long as they had energy to talk.

Their time together wasn’t much, but it was enough, for now. Enough for them to feel fortified, grounded. Tied to each other, as everything else was thrown into chaos.

“What are you reading?” Harry asked on the first night, perching lightly on Louis’s armrest. The book in his lap was full of unintelligible scribbles.

“Looking for the light,” Louis answered simply, and that was the answer every night after.

Yet it seemed he was coming no closer.

“There’s nothing like it in anything I’m reading,” Louis said in frustration one night, as they sat across from each other. He looked even wearier than usual, exhaustion weighing heavily on his movements.

“Have you tried just… pulling it out?” Harry asked vaguely.

Louis looked at him in amusement. “It’s not like a rabbit in a hat, Harry. I’m not that kind of magician.”

That sparked a laugh from Harry. Louis could always make him laugh – even now. “You know what I mean.”

“It really isn’t like that,” Louis said, the firelight flickering on his face. “It’s always just… happened to me. I’ve never… well.” He stopped, his forehead furrowing.

“What?”

Louis glanced at him quickly. “When you died,” he said, and hesitated. “When Charlie killed you. I… I guess I sort of summoned it, then. I just told it what I needed it to do. And then it did.”

It was so strange to hear – and Harry couldn’t help but imagine it, with a twist in his chest: imagined Louis huddled over his body, pleading with something he didn’t fully understand to save his life.

“You… talked to it?” he asked, and Louis nodded.

“It’s what Olivia said, too. That it’s like… a person. Or it’s personified,” Louis said, sighing.

“Well, then,” Harry said, tapping his fingers against his knee. “Maybe the two of you need to have a conversation.”

-----------

A conversation. It made Louis laugh to even think about it. A conversation with his magic? A conversation with the energy animating his every step, the spark behind his very life? It was like thinking about having a chat with his blood or his breath.

But when he brought it up to his gran, more out of desperation than anything, she gave him a serious look. And then she gave him a few things to try: a certain type of tea, a candle to light that smelled like something foreign and earthy, and a set of instructions.

“Sit quietly. Light the candle. Drink the tea. Close your eyes and try to talk to it.”

“This is -,” Louis started, but then stopped. Was he really about to call this ridiculous? After everything that had happened?

“It might not work,” Sylvia said. “But it’s worth a try.”

So he did try, that evening, when he knew Harry would be preoccupied with meetings that didn’t require Louis’s presence. He lit the candle on the table, its flickering wick the only light in the room, sat cross-legged at the foot of Harry’s bed, and sipped the cup of tea that tasted like spice and red nettles. It had a bracing taste that seemed to clear out his lungs, letting him breathe clearly.

Feeling sort of silly, he closed his eyes. The room was still and silent around him, and he felt the space like an active presence around him.

“Hello?” he said aloud.

Nothing.

"Hello," he tried again. "It's me, Louis. I'm trying to talk to... the light."

Louis bit his lip and cracked an eye open. Nothing had changed.

He sighed. This is dumb.

But he had to give it a real shot. He had nothing else to do. So he closed his eyes again and let his mind wander.

He thought about the room he was in; thought about Harry, naturally, and how strange it was that everything between them had changed so quickly, and yet felt so immediately natural; like it was always meant to be this way. He thought about the upcoming battle, and how afraid he was that it would take away everything he had gained. He thought about trying to protect Camelot from the onslaught. He thought about summoning the golden light that seemed to have no limit to its power, and as he did, he felt his attention narrow in and spiral down a rabbit-hole of thought. He felt his breathing even out and deepen as he relived the experience of being consumed by that energy – in the cave, in the valley, at the lake. The way he had burned up from the inside each time, like his body could barely contain his spirit. The second voice he heard alongside his, so strange and so familiar all at once –

“Hello,” somebody said.

Louis opened his eyes and gasped.

He was sitting cross-legged in an open black void – Harry’s room gone, the tea vanished, the light extinguished, nothing but a velvet darkness extending infinitely around him. And across from him sat a figure made from pure golden light.

The figure was featureless and nearly impossible to fathom. The vague shape of a human, they were made up of the same shifting, shimmering tendrils of golden particles that Louis had come to expect in moments of crisis. They had no face, ethereal and genderless, and the light pulsed with its own sort of internal rhythm, following a beat Louis couldn’t hear.

“Hello,” Louis said back faintly.

The two of them inspected each other for a long moment. Or at least, Louis had the sensation of being inspected. The figure didn’t actually have eyes, per se.

“Who are you?” Louis eventually asked, feeling nervous.

“You know me,” the figure said.

“You’re… the golden light. I've seen you before. But I don’t know what you are. Are you my magic?”

The figure made a sound that Louis thought could have been amusement. “Not quite.”

Louis hesitated. “Can you please explain? Because I’m… I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know anything about you.”

“It will be difficult for you to understand.”

“I want to try,” Louis said.

They tilted their head forward. When they spoke, their voice was melodic, shifting – impossible to pin down.

“I am an expression of what you call magic,” they said, “but I am not magic itself. Magic is far greater than that. It is everything. It is the rhythm. It is the pulse.”

“The pulse?” said Louis, uncomprehending.

“The pulse of the universe. The heartbeat of reality itself. The driving force behind every living thing, every action, every word. It is the song -,”

The light lifted their hands, and for a moment, Louis heard it –

Like a choir of voices, all joined in one awe-inducing, incredible song, an impossible tangle of voices and heartbeats – (and inside it all, Louis thought he could pick one voice out, could hear – )

The light dropped their hands and the song disappeared, and Louis was left gasping for astonished breath.

“Your connection to the pulse is very strong,” the light said. “Very strong. You understand the balance that must be maintained. For the song to continue. For the tempo to hold.”

“And who are you?” Louis asked again.

“I am a guardian,” they said simply. “When magic is threatened, I safeguard it. When Harry was born, when you arrived, I was summoned, as well. Summoned to protect you both. To ensure the prophecies are fulfilled, and magic is restored to Albion.”

Louis’s heart hammered in his chest. “So you’ll help us in this battle? You’ll make sure we win?”

The light shifted. “I can only do what I can do.”

“But you give me incredible power. Mercia doesn’t stand a chance, if you agree to come when we need you.”

“You must understand, Louis,” they said. “When I express myself through your magic, it gives you great power. But I can only stay there for so long before you are hurt. Mortal humans are not meant to carry this energy for long. You must have felt this, before. Like you’ve been scorched from the inside?”

Louis swallowed and thought about the burnt-out feeling, the exhaustion that usually followed the golden light. “I’ve felt it.”

“I can’t tell you where the border lies,” the light said, their ethereal voice taking on a somber tone. “I can’t tell you how much you can take. I’ve tried to temper myself to avoid hurting you. To come only when you truly need me. But the longer I inhabit you, and the more I do while I am inhabiting you, the likelier it is that your body will not be able to sustain itself. And you will die.”

“And what happens if I die?” Louis asked, his heart sinking. “Will the prophecies fail?”

The light hesitated for a long moment. As though they were trying to be tactful.

“In truth, your destiny is unclear, Louis,” they finally said. “Harry is the one who must live past this battle. Who must live to unite Albion. Your role – to protect him and change his heart – will be fulfilled in this conflict.”

“You’re saying I’m disposable,” Louis said, though his voice was without bitterness. He understood what they meant. If he needed to die to save Camelot, he could, without threatening destiny. Harry would live, and magic would be restored to the land, with or without him.

“I am saying fate is not a certain thing,” the light said. “It is not set in stone; it flows like water over a riverbed. Some of your direction is out of your control; but some is within your power. You should know what you risk in this battle, but you should not see it as inevitable.”

Then the light moved forward, and it brought two hands up to touch Louis’s face. Where their hands met his cheeks, Louis felt a strange, warm tingle, like shocks against his skin.

“When you need me, call me by my true name,” they said. “And I will come.”

And then they leaned closer and whispered a word into Louis’s ear that sent a shiver through his whole body, ringing with meaning.

When they moved away again, they said, “you have done well, Louis. When your time comes, you will be welcomed back into the song.”

Louis felt a rush of air against his face and closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he was sitting in Harry’s room. The only sign that any time had passed was the burned-down candle wick, the cooled mug of tea in his hands.

The light's name rang gently in his head like the sound of wind chimes.

----------

"No," Harry said. "Absolutely not."

Louis felt the knight's gazes shift between the two of them. They stood on opposite sides of the large round table, staring each other down.

"It doesn’t have to be our first option," Louis said. "But it has to be an option."

"It isn’t one."

Louis sighed. "Harry."

The tone of his voice seemed to remind Harry of where they were, and he broke their standoff, glancing briefly around the council. "Let me speak to Louis alone, please."

When the door closed behind the last knight, an exhale escaped Harry’s lips. He took off his crown and set it heavily on the table. They had been in war council for most of the afternoon. Louis’s explanation of what the light had told him was clearly bothering him.

"How likely is this to kill you?" he asked.

Louis bit his lip.

"No more secrets," Harry reminded him.

"I honestly don't know," said Louis. "The light said - it depends. It depends on what I ask it to do, and for how long. But my - a human body isn't meant to hold it. If I use it for something too big... it could just burn me out from the inside. I'd be dead by the time it left."

The words made Harry visibly flinch, and he shook his head. "I want you to promise me that you’re not going to do this," he said.

"I can’t do that."

Harry’s gaze went flinty. "I’d threaten you, if I thought it would mean anything."

Louis just kind of laughed.

"We’re not sacrificing you," Harry said, coming around the table. "We’re not sacrificing anyone, okay?"

"That’s stupid, Harry, and you know it," Louis said quickly. "We’re going to sacrifice plenty of people. You would sacrifice yourself, if you had half a chance."

And Harry hesitated. "Well – maybe. But it’s my kingdom."

"I know," Louis said. "It’s your destiny. It’s mine, too."

Harry wouldn’t take his eyes off him. "Counterpoint," he said, his voice even. "I can’t lose you."

Louis scoffed lightly. "You’d be fine without me."

"No," Harry said, grabbing his hand. "I wouldn’t."

Louis felt something deep and heavy in his chest.

"I love you," he said, and the words felt as shocking and true as the first time he had said them. "But if it comes down to me or Camelot – we both know what the answer has to be."

Harry’s face flashed with something agonized, and he didn’t speak. Because Louis was right. His words weren’t angry or bitter or sad. They were just right. Harry was the king, and his duty was to Camelot. First and foremost. Forever.

"It might not kill me," Louis said, and he didn’t have to fake the courage he felt. This was the right decision. "And I won’t do it unless I have to. But if it comes down to it, I’ll summon the light. Come what may."

Finally, Harry nodded slowly, though it looked like the motion might tear him in two. Then he lifted Louis’s hand carefully to his mouth and kissed it.

"I’m sorry," he said softly. "I’m sorry this is who I am. That… that this is who I have to be."

Louis grabbed his face and looked directly into his eyes and firmly said, "You should never apologize for that."

----------

King Harry,

No news from Mercia, except that the gathering of the Circle’s forces is continuing. I have to believe the attack on your kingdom is imminent.

There is something I must tell you which I hope will not ground our fledgling alliance.

I have in my company a man who has the capacity to carry out nearly anything we require of him. In the coming battle, which seems slanted against our favor, he may be essential. This man has no allegiance except to himself. But he owes me a favor, and in the short term, I trust him to be useful.

The man I speak of is named Charlie. I understand the two of you have a… complicated history.

Yet the strongest plan I can currently conceive of involves him fighting against the head of the Circle – Olivia – perhaps alongside you. Your prowess as a warrior is well known throughout the Kingdoms.

Mercia will not be a snake without its head if Olivia dies – in other words, her death will not be the end of the battle. But her death would decentralize their army. Ridding ourselves of Olivia and winning the battle will give someone else the chance to step in and take power. If Charlie takes on the mantle of killing Olivia, it will allow me to be that person, and I will call an end to the war.

I pray you understand the nature of this request and receive it kindly.

In solidarity,
Ed.

----------

Louis and Zayn found Harry on the castle battlements, looking out over the city of Camelot. Louis could see the conflict on Harry’s face as plain as day. The two of them stood on either side of him.

“We do need their help,” Zayn ventured after a quiet moment.

“He literally killed my father,” Harry said, his grip tight on the wall. “Or at least his accomplice did. And he tried to kill me.”

“Yeah,” Zayn said. “And we really need their help.”

Harry clenched his jaw.

“Do you trust Ed?” Louis asked, taking a different tack.

Harry shrugged. “I’ve never really met Ed. I don’t know if I can trust him or not. His letters are…”

“Pretentious?” said Zayn, with a snort.

A little smile threatened Harry’s stoic expression. “I was going to say eloquent.”

“Same thing, I guess.”

Below them, knights directed citizens around the town square. The storefronts and homes that were closest to the castle were being boarded up, with the hope that as little damage as possible would be done to them during the invasion. Carts with horses loaded up the elderly, the very young, and the frail, taking them to a nearby city, where they would be kept safe for the time being. Every other able-bodied citizen was staying behind to fight and defend their home.

“Do we have a choice about whether to trust him?” Louis eventually asked, and Harry sighed.

“Not really,” he said. “We’re relying on Ed to inform us of the invasion. We’re relying on his sabotage, to cripple the Mercian’s offensive capabilities. And… he’s right. We do need someone to take control of Mercia and stop the war after we win. If Ed kills Olivia, he won’t be able to do that effectively. It’ll be seen as a power grab. Illegitimate.”

“Do you think that’s his goal?” Zayn asked, and Harry shook his head.

“I… I don’t think so. I really don’t,” he said, then stopped. “I don’t really have a reason to think this, but I guess I do trust him. I just don’t trust Charlie.” The name was full of venom.

“I don’t think you have to,” Louis said, and Harry tilted his head towards him. “If you trust Ed, and Ed says Charlie will help in the short-term, that’s all you really need.”

“But can I bring myself to – to fight alongside him,” Harry muttered. “That’s the question.”

Zayn stretched his arms over his head with a little exhale and said, “Well, Harry, man, here’s how I see it. I’d rather see you working with Charlie than straight up dying. You know? So maybe it’s the lesser of two evils here.”

“Zayn’s right,” Louis said. “You don’t have to like him, or forgive him. But if he’s useful, he’s useful.”

Harry nodded slowly. “That makes sense,” he said hesitantly. Then he shook his head. “But if he makes one wrong move, I swear I’ll kill him. And I’ll do it right this time.”

“Just please don’t make me save you again,” Louis said in mock exasperation, making Zayn laugh. “That was exhausting.”

“Yeah, and I don’t want to see Louis get all dramatic again,” Zayn said with a cheeky grin. “It was really embarrassing for him.” Louis leaned over to shove him.

“You’re both idiots,” Harry said, grinning despite himself. “But I’ll do my best.”

----------

Louis was in the armory, placing spells over a new set of arrows so that they would burst into flame when shot, when Liam lurched into the doorway, his face pale.

“It’s time,” he said, and Louis’s heart skipped a beat.

They ran to the Great Hall, their footsteps echoing through the eerily quiet hallways. When they barged in through the doors, the rest of the Knights had already assembled, with Harry standing in front of his throne. In the middle of the crowd stood a short, dark-haired servant boy, who looked properly out of his depth.

“Lewis,” Harry said kindly as he motioned Louis to his side. “Why don’t you tell us again what you said to me earlier?”

The boy – Lewis? – took a deep breath.

“I come from Lord Edward,” he said, his voice wavering. “He received word this morning to report to the castle with all of his forces. The attack is happening tomorrow. They’ll come from the north, and be here by midday.”

His words, though spoken quietly, seemed to ring in the large room, and the group looked around at each other meaningfully.

“Thank you, Lewis,” Harry said. Then he turned to his knights.

“We’ve been preparing,” he said calmly. And immediately, the mood in the room settled into one of quiet determination. “We’ve fortified the castle walls. We’ve gathered our troops. Now, we follow through on our plan. And we defend our kingdom.”

“Liam,” he said, turning. “You’ll make sure the citizens get to safety before returning to fight.”

Liam drew himself up.

“Nick. You’ll go tell the men that we fight tomorrow.”

Nick nodded.

“Everyone else, prepare yourself for what tomorrow brings,” Harry said. If he was afraid, Louis thought, it didn’t show at all in his face. It didn’t show at all in the way he held himself, strong, as though this were nothing but a matter of routine. As if his life, and all of their lives, and the fate of his kingdom, didn’t hinge on the battle to come. “Remember, tomorrow, that although you may fight in my name, you do not fight for me. You fight for this kingdom, for the people who inhabit it. You fight for the existence of a fair and peaceful nation. And you fight for yourselves, for your lives and your futures. I know that each of you will do Camelot proud. Now, go.”

And the knights left, surely, stoically, for their allotted tasks.

Harry then moved towards Lewis, who was staring at him with wide eyes. “Lewis,” he said. “I need you to return to Ed. And I need you to give him this.”

He handed Lewis one last letter – one that had been drafted and redrafted many times.

“That will tell Ed exactly what we need him to do, and when,” Harry said. “It is vitally important that he gets this information. Do you understand?”

Lewis nodded resolutely. “I understand, Your Highness.”

“You’ll have to leave immediately. You won’t have time to rest. Do you need food or water?”

“I have enough,” Lewis said, glancing briefly at Louis. “Niall told me about you, you know.”

Louis felt a spark of fondness. “What did he say?”

“That you were all a bunch of crazy bastards,” Lewis said, with a sheepish grin. “Which is basically the highest compliment you can get from Niall, I think.”

Louis laughed, and Harry mused, “Well, maybe we are. But that makes you one, too, Lewis.”

Lewis nodded, his eyes gleaming. “I’ll get this to Lord Edward safely. I promise.”

And then he left, leaving Louis and Harry standing alone in the Great Hall.

“How do you feel?” Louis asked, and Harry sent him a glance. “You know what I mean.”

“I feel ready,” Harry said, and his voice was still unwavering, his shoulders set firmly. “We’re going to win this, Louis. I know it.”

----------

Later that night, when everyone else was asleep, the dim glow of candlelight that flickered against the stone walls, the atmosphere in the castle’s bedroom was thick with anticipation. Harry, stood close to Louis, their bodies mere inches apart. Despite the chaos of the outside world, here, in this sacred space, everything felt almost serene.

Harry caressed the other’s cheek, guiding his face directly in front of his own. He ran a finger across Louis’s lips, so delicately it was almost like they were made of glass. Louis melted into his touch, closing his eyes.

“Harry—” Louis gasped quietly, “I want to have you tonight. All of you. If something happens tomorrow… I just need to know what it’s like to have you.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked, his voice a deep murmur, laced with desire and an underlying thread of concern. His emerald eyes searched Louis’s, looking for any sign of hesitation.

Louis smiled softly, his chest swelling with affection. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he replied, stepping forward to bridge the gap between them. His fingers gently traced along Harry’s jawline, pulling him down to meet his lips. The kiss was tentative at first; a sweet connection that ignited a fire within them both. As their lips parted, Louis whispered, “Just hold me close.”

“I’ve- I’ve never done-” Harry started

“Me neither.”

Harry moved even closer, if that was possible, wrapping his arms around Louis and deepening the kiss. Their mouths moved together in a rhythm that felt both new and familiar, each kiss pouring out their shared longing. As Harry pulled away slightly, his breath warm against Louis’s skin, he traced a path down to Louis’s neck. Harry pressed soft kisses along the delicate skin, his lips moving with purpose, worshipping every inch he could reach.

“God, you feel incredible,” Harry murmured against Louis's neck, feeling the way Louis shivered under his touch. He could feel the beat of Louis’s heart against his chest, a symphony of longing that made every nerve in his body hum with wanting. “I want to remember all of this.”

Louis tipped his head back, granting Harry access to his throat, a plea encased in trust. “You will,” he moaned, reveling in the warmth of Harry’s mouth and the way he poured every ounce of affection into his actions. “I won't let you forget.”

With a newfound urgency, Harry’s hands found their way to Louis’s waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. They stumbled gently back to the edge of the bed, where Louis turned, pushing down on the soft blankets, his body fully exposed to Harry's eyes.

“I want you to prep me,” Louis breathed, a blush creeping across his cheeks. “I want to feel you.”

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he nodded, desire igniting in his stomach. “Okay,” he said, his voice slightly trembling. He moved to kneel between Louis’s legs, taking a moment to admire the beauty before him. It felt surreal, knowing that this sorcerer he loved, who wielded magic with grace and power, was laying himself bare in a way that felt sacred.

With tender hands, Harry began to stroke across Louis’s thighs, encouraging him to relax. “Just breathe for me,” he instructed gently, before leaning down to press soft kisses onto the inside of Louis’s thighs, eliciting soft whimpers of pleasure. “You’re so beautiful, Louis.”

“Don’t keep me waiting, Harry,” Louis urged, his voice thick with both desire and impatience.

Nodding, Harry's fingers explored Louis, gently tracing against the entrance that he would cherish and claim. He teased at Louis's entrance, working one finger inside slowly, watching in awe as Louis's face transformed with the sensation.

"Just like that," Louis gasped, his hands gripping the sheets as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through him.

Harry added a second finger, twisting and scissoring slowly to stretch him, taking care to pay attention to Louis's reactions. Each sigh and gasp spurred him on, urging him to continue, to draw out every moment.

"You feel so good, Lou," Harry breathed against Louis’s thigh, pressing a kiss to soothe any discomfort. He could feel a heat building within himself, a need that thrummed in time with Louis's pulse. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, please,” Louis breathed, his voice a mere whisper yet filled with undeniable need.

Harry couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at his lips as he positioned himself at Louis’s entrance, steadying himself with a deep breath. "I love you, Louis," he breathed out before he pushed himself inside slowly, pausing to let Louis adjust to him.

Louis arched his back, a mixture of pain and pleasure flooding through him. “More, Harry,” he urged, and Harry complied, sinking deeper until he was fully sheathed within him.

“God, you’re so tight,” Harry groaned, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “You feel unbelievable.”

Louis met his gaze, their eyes locked—each finding solace and love in the other. “Don’t wait. Please. Move.”

With a newfound urgency, Harry began to move, each thrust eliciting breathy moans from Louis that sent jolts of electricity through him. Their bodies met with a delicious intensity, and Harry focused on the rhythm, finding a balance between caution and desperation.

“Just like that, keep going,” Louis urged, moaning. “I’m so close.”

With every thrust, the edge of pleasure grew sharper, and Harry could feel the tension building inside him as he chased their shared release. “I’m so close too,” he gasped, completely lost in the sensation.

“Together,” Louis demanded, and Harry could only nod, feeling the howls of pleasure swell in his chest.

With a final powerful thrust that sent both into bliss, they cried out each other’s names. Harry felt himself spill into Louis, the warmth flooding them both, a sweet release of every emotion that had built between them.

The world outside faded into oblivion as they collapsed together, trembling in the afterglow of their shared intimacy.

“I can’t believe we waited so long,” Harry chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Louis’s forehead.

Louis smiled lazily, his fingers tracing patterns against Harry’s chest. “It was worth every second,” he whispered, content in the warmth of their embrace, the chaos outside momentarily forgotten as they found refuge in each other.

----------

The morning was cool and quiet. The calm before the storm.

They woke slowly, and at the same time, spending a moment just looking at each other, as though they could stay in bed and never rise to face what was coming.

But they couldn’t. So they rose, soon, and got dressed – and then Louis was inspecting Harry’s armor, which sat waiting on its stand next to Louis’s. He had never worn armor before in battle, and was resistant to it even now, but Harry had convinced him into a thin layer of chainmail that would at least protect him from a wayward arrow.

Harry’s hand smoothed over his back, and Louis turned his head.

“Will you help me with this?” Harry asked quietly, his eyes soft.

“Of course,” Louis said, a shiver running down his spine.

His movements were automatic and yet still felt achingly intimate as he started helping Harry into his armor, sliding the chestplate over his head, fastening his gauntlets to his forearms. He thought, maybe, that he must have been doing this the first time he realized he was in love with Harry; the way his heartbeat picked up from the proximity to him, the way he felt every touch so acutely. He still felt those things. He wondered if they would ever go away.

“I’ll have to get someone else to do this for me, after the battle,” Harry said, and Louis looked up at him sharply.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you certainly won’t be a servant anymore, once all this is over.”

The sentence took Louis aback. He supposed he hadn’t thought about that.

“You’re saying you want to replace me?” he said lightly, guiding Harry to turn around so he could lace the knots up his back.

That got a good laugh out of Harry, and Louis had to pause for a moment, smiling to himself, until his laughter stopped shaking his torso. “I mean, you have been slacking on some of your duties recently.”

Louis hummed, finishing the knots and turning Harry back around. For a moment, the ever-present lines of worry and responsibility on Harry’s face had disappeared, and he drank in the sight.

“Even if you get another servant,” Louis said, “I want to do this for you.”

Harry looked at him quizzically. “…why?”

Louis shrugged, and then smiled, as he finished fastening the straps of Harry’s gauntlets. “We can’t have another one of your servants falling in love with you.”

Harry laughed softly. “You’re jealous, Louis.”

“Maybe.”

Louis stepped back to survey his work and found it satisfactory. But before he could call it done, Harry stepped forward, grabbing him by his wrist.

“Let me help you with yours?” Harry said, and Louis stopped short.

“I – you don’t have to. I was just going to do it myself,” he said with a little laugh.

“I want to,” Harry said, and –

It shouldn’t have mattered so much. It shouldn’t have made Louis’s chest feel like it was melting and freezing at the same time. It shouldn’t have made him feel like he was caught up in something dangerous, something he couldn't control. But that was how it felt, as Harry picked up the chainmail and started placing it on him the way Louis had done a million times – as Harry helped fit the simple chestpiece over his head, fitting the armpieces into place and tying the knots, his hands less practiced but still capable and sure.

“How do you even know how to do this?” Louis asked.

“I learned from the best,” Harry said, glancing at him.

“You’re so dumb,” Louis mumbled fondly, the words sounding faint and far away. Overcome by thoughts of how much he loved this man. Fully, completely. It was overwhelming, at times. And this was one of those times.

When Harry was done, he did what Louis had done a thousand times: he stepped back, his eyes running over his work, and he nodded.

“There,” Harry said. “Safe.”

And Louis moved forward, reaching up, his hands sliding up his neck to cradle Harry’s head. Then he pulled him down into a kiss, pouring everything into it and feeling him do the same.

They broke apart, but stayed close to each other for a moment, their breaths mingling. Louis drank everything in. Trying to memorize it.

“You’ll see the other side of this battle, Harry,” he said, sweeping his thumb over his cheek. “I know it.”

“So will you,” Harry whispered, his voice almost breaking. “Promise me.”

Louis just looked at him for a long moment. Then he said, “I love you, Harry.”

“Louis,” Harry said, and pushed forward into another kiss, this one sadder, if just as sweet.

----------

The sun was no more than a pale disc, obscured by soft gray clouds stretched thin like cotton over the sky. The air that hung over Camelot was just as gray, and full of muffled tension, as its people waited for an attack.

There were archers stationed all across the castle battlements, readying their bows and arrows. Outside the castle walls, knights and soldiers stood in their formations, waiting for the signal—waiting for their enemies to appear from the forest. The streets of Camelot themselves were barren and quiet, devoid of the usual life that animated them.

Liam stood with his soldiers—the group of men he had been tasked with leading. He walked through their ranks, talking to each one of them, ensuring they were prepared for what was to come. Zayn stood with his own battalion, his gaze flinty as he stared at the northern treeline.

Harry and Louis rode to the front of the army on their horses, Harry’s red cloak billowing behind him. They stopped to survey the gathered group.

“Here we are,” Louis remarked.

Harry exhaled and nodded. “We’re ready.”

“You have any more wise words left for them?” asked Louis, raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t think there’s anything else I could say that I haven't already.”

Harry turned to look at the forest. From the north, Lewis had said. Once they came through the trees, Camelot would meet Mercia halfway, hopefully to stop them from ever reaching the castle. The archers would rain down arrows from their vantage point on the battlements, while Harry had tasked Ed and his allies with disabling as many of the Mercians’ catapults as they possibly could without being detected.

In many ways, they held the element of surprise that the Circle probably thought was theirs. They knew the invasion was coming and had prepared. And they had the enchantments and spells that Louis had worked so hard on over the past few days, which the Circle probably hadn’t anticipated.

But Harry couldn’t help the dread that pooled in his stomach, and he couldn’t shake the eerie feeling settling in over his head.

“If you need me,” Louis said, pulling Harry out of his thoughts, “you call for me. And I’ll hear you.”

Harry looked at him and nodded. “You, too. If you need me. I’ll be there.”

Louis nodded back.

That was all they could say to each other before they heard Nick shout, “There they are!”

Harry turned and saw them.

It was like a wall coming through the forest, a mass of people and horses and war machines, surging through the treeline, which stood about two hundred yards away from the castle walls. There were hundreds of them, wearing and waving the Mercian colors, green and silver, and when they caught sight of the Camelot army waiting for them, there was a cry that started up from their side, their swords and shields glinting as they were drawn.

Harry unsheathed his own sword and turned to his army, raising his sword in the air.

“For Camelot!” he cried.

“For Camelot!” came the responding cry, louder than thunder.

So it began.

The two armies barreled towards each other, the sound of hoofbeats pounding into the earth and the war cries of the opposing sides filling Harry’s ears. As he flew across the field towards the Mercians, he heard Louis shout, “leothbora,” and ahead of them flew a blinding white light that seemed to swallow up the first few waves of Mercians for just a second. They slowed, stunned, just as the Camelots fell upon them, giving them the advantage—

And then it was the clash of swords, the clang of metal on metal, as Harry launched himself from his horse and towards the first Mercian soldier he could find, a man nearly half a foot taller than him who swung heavily with his sword. Harry ducked it easily and slashed Excalibur against his chest, throwing him to the side. One down—

He caught a glimpse of Louis twisting the arm of a Mercian on his horse with his magic and knocking him to the ground, sending the horse careening away. On his left, he saw Zayn, alight with battle, bringing his sword down in a glowing arc. The Mercian weapons, also glowing with enchantments, no longer had the same crippling effect on the Camelot soldiers—they could no longer cut through their armor, destroy their blades—Louis’s magic was doing its work, giving them an even playing field.

On an even playing field, they could win.

Harry felt courage surge in his chest and he pressed onward, fighting back wave after wave of Mercian soldiers, remembering his promise to Ed and killing as few of them as possible, satisfied with dealing serious blows, sending people packing. A sorcerer threw her hand out towards him and he brought Excalibur to bear, waiting to absorb the spell; but what she threw at him wasn’t magical energy, but a kind of ball of fire, which pushed him back in a wave of heat that scorched his exposed hands. Harry gasped in surprise and rushed forward before she could utter the spell again, running her through with his blade and throwing her to the ground. He hissed and clenched his fists, pushing the pain away with another surge of adrenaline as someone else came up behind him and he had to parry another blow.

Harry lost himself to the haze of battle. His instincts kicked in, his years of training, of preparation, for exactly this moment; he kicked and slashed and blocked and felt momentum carrying him through, relatively unharmed. He saw a catapult, holding a kind of flaming ammunition, fall apart in front of him—Ed’s sabotage, he realized gratefully—but he saw another successfully launch towards the castle walls. He lurched around and saw it slam against the battlements, smashing into the top of the wall and sending a few Camelot archers flying.

“The walls,” he whispered, taking a step towards them, because after all, if the castle was captured, the battle was lost—

But before he could get too far, he saw Louis, racing for the walls himself, throwing out a hand and stopping the damaged section from collapsing even further. Relieved, Harry returned his attention to the battle at hand just in time for him to block a blow from a battleax, held by a leering soldier.

Periodically, he scanned the field for the woman with silver hair—Olivia. He knew he had to find her, had to defeat her, had to decentralize the army, as Ed had put it. But the Mercians just kept coming, dozens and dozens more through the trees, like there wasn’t any end; and Harry found himself suddenly lost in the thick of a battle he was suddenly unsure he could win, fending off several blades at once, seemingly alone—no other Camelot colors in sight.

Harry took a hit against his chest, his armor protecting him from the blade but still knocking the breath out of him, and he stumbled back, pulling Excalibur up to block another hit just in time. He tried to push his attacker back but suddenly felt a heavy weight slam against his side, and he went flying, hitting the ground and turning to see a sorcerer pacing towards him, his hand up, his mouth twisting as he spoke: “drepa—”

Before the spell could be completed, Harry saw the sorcerer’s eyes go wide as a sword suddenly plunged through him from behind, impaling him on the blade. The sorcerer was thrown to the ground—

And Charlie looked down at him, breathing heavily, his face as wild and full of bloodlust as the last time Harry saw him.

The two froze in the middle of the frenzied battle, staring each other down.

Then Charlie extended his hand.

“Reckon that makes us even?” he said, though he didn't look too pleased to be saying it.

Harry grit his teeth but took the proffered hand. As Charlie pulled him to his feet, he said, “We’re not even. Not yet.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed, and then he pushed past Harry, bringing his sword up to parry a blow from a soldier who had run up from behind him.

“You help me with this,” Harry said, “and we’re even.”

Charlie nodded shortly.

He lifted his hand and pushed back a wave of soldiers with another muttered spell, and the two of them forged on.

----------

The walls were crumbling. Louis was doing everything he could, running from spot to spot and pushing the stones back into place, but he was doing nothing more than damage control. And he was losing.

Frantically, he looked around. The Mercians had dozens of catapults set up along their side, some disabled, but others launching flaming stones at the Camelot walls, far stronger than the basic protection wards he had put up.

Louis took a deep breath and focused.

The next time a catapult launched a flaming projectile into the air, Louis threw his hands forward and stopped it, then sent it straight back. The stone crashed into the catapult and destroyed it, shattering it into a hundred pieces.

Louis heard a few whoops coming from the archers on top of the walls. He turned and saw them waving and cheering for him, and couldn’t help but grin.

He took out the rest of the catapults, one by one, until their flaming messes dotted the landscape, giving the battle an even more hellish appearance. He scanned the battlefield but couldn’t find Harry—just saw a mess of red and green colors clashing, metal glinting in the air, and—

And Liam—running towards him—supporting an injured Zayn on his shoulder.

“Louis!” Liam shouted, and Louis raced towards him, grabbing Zayn by his other arm. The knight’s face was pale, and he was bleeding badly, blood dripping from his hands onto the dirt.

“We need to get him to a healer,” Louis said, looking up urgently for the nearest medical tent.

“I’ll be fine, guys, come on,” Zayn said hoarsely, trying to pull himself up and stumbling again with a little hiss.

“You will be fine if you just let us help you,” Liam nearly shouted, though he wasn’t panicking—just moving with urgency. “Louis, I’ll take him. They need you out there.”

Louis turned and saw he was right. Despite the enchantments, despite everything he had done—it wasn’t enough. There were too many sorcerers, and he watched as the Camelot army was pushed back, bit by bit, magic users throwing Camelot soldiers back with little more than flicks of their wrists, advancing slowly but surely.

He let Liam take Zayn away and ran towards the front lines, his mind racing. He had to stop as many of the Mercian sorcerers as possible, but he didn’t know how to—not on any level larger than fighting them one by one, which is what he started with, lunging in front of a Camelot soldier and stopping a sorcerer from knocking him back, twisting the sorcerer’s arm and sending her to the ground. Louis also wasn’t—wasn’t used to fighting like this, not really, wasn’t used to using his magic out in the open, in front of everyone; hadn’t practiced, didn’t know exactly what to do, and sometimes the other magic users got the better of him, knocking him back a few steps, outmaneuvering him just so—

Still, he was able to stem the tide of magic a little bit, enough to let the other soldiers get a few hits off as he froze the other sorcerers in their tracks.

The whole time, he looked for Harry and couldn’t find him.

Harry can take care of himself, he thought, and he’ll call for me if he can’t, and focused on the task at hand.

----------

It could have been minutes or hours later when Harry finally caught sight of her.

“There,” he shouted, and Charlie whirled.

Olivia was hovering a few feet off the ground, her eyes glowing the same silver as her hair, her gray dress billowing below her. A manic grin on her face, she was alight with battle and magic, and she shouted orders to her nearby generals as she knocked back anyone who came close.

“Keep pressing forward!” she shouted, her hands clenching and crackling with energy. “Not even Louis can handle us all at once.”

Harry felt a panicked stutter in his chest.

“You ready?” he asked, and hatefully, he admitted that he was glad to have Charlie there, as the other man brought his sword to bear.

“Let’s go,” Charlie said, and they surged forward.

They must have taken Olivia by surprise, because they were able to rush up behind her, and it wasn’t until Harry was swinging Excalibur through the air that she whirled, stopping him mid-air. Despite Excalibur fighting against her spell, there was a struggle, Olivia grinning down at Harry.

“Hello again, Harry,” she said, the use of his real name taking him by surprise, and then she wrenched his arm to the side.

Harry stumbled away, gasping for air, as Charlie lifted a hand, shouting, “ástríce!”

The spell might have been a drop of water against a hurricane. Olivia shot the assassin an amused look.

“Charlie,” she said, her voice ringing strangely. “And all this time, I thought we were friends.”

She brought a silent hand up, and Charlie suddenly choked, scrabbling at his throat as she closed her fist tightly.

Harry threw himself towards her again and this time made contact, ramming his shoulder into her and knocking her to the ground, where she stumbled, releasing Charlie from her grip. When she turned, the silver in her eyes flickered only slightly.

“You’re stupid to come here without a competent sorcerer,” she said. “And Charlie doesn’t count. He barely knows three spells.”

“Don’t need ‘em,” Charlie said, bringing his weapon to bear.

“Actually,” Olivia said, “you do,” and then she brought her hands up again, one for each man.

With only half her attention focused on him, Excalibur was able to absorb Olivia’s spell this time, and while she sent Charlie flying to the ground, Harry was able to rush her, slashing his sword through the air. She dodged just in time, but Excalibur nicked her shoulder, leaving a dark cut.

Olivia whirled, furious, and threw both of her hands towards Harry; and suddenly it was like gravity was working tenfold against him, dragging him to his knees, a crushing weight preventing him from lifting his arms. He struggled against her grip as she came closer—

This time, Charlie was the one to get a swing off, but this was even less successful than Harry’s attempt; she seemed to sense him behind her and turned just in time, bringing up a piece of the earth in one vicious movement that knocked Charlie's sword away, bashed against his head, and sent him flying to the ground, dazed.

“You really are idiots, both of you,” she snarled, and turned back towards Harry.

A nearby explosion suddenly rocked them both, distracting Olivia enough for Harry to scramble away. A catapult had burst into flames—its projectile somehow turned back onto it.

“That—” Olivia cut herself off with an enraged scream, sprinting towards the flaming weapon. “What’s happening?” she shouted to her soldiers. “Why are these all being destroyed—?”

“Louis,” Harry whispered to himself, amazed, but then suddenly despairing.

He didn’t know how to beat Olivia. He didn’t know how—she was too powerful, more in her element than anyone else on the field. And all around him, he saw the telltale signs of defeat: Mercians, pushing Camelot soldiers back bit by bit, because of the sorcerers—the sorcerers—there were too many of them, and it was too hard to fight back when you couldn’t summon that kind of raw power. Louis was only one person, he could only do as much as he could do—and if they couldn’t push the Mercians back soon, they would take Camelot; it would be lost—

“Louis,” he whispered again, and he hoped that what Louis had said was somehow true—that he could somehow hear him. “We need help.”

----------

Louis heard.

If he didn’t actually hear the words, he could feel the intention behind them. And he could see what was happening with his own eyes.

Olivia was still alive. And so was Harry – he knew that –

But the sorcerers were too powerful. They were fighting a losing battle.

Louis stood in the wreckage of the battle, standing among those who had already fallen, and he looked around him. Arrows flew down like rain, swords flashing like lightning – so many lives lost, already, to a meaningless conflict. A pointless war. A battle that needed to end.

He took a shaky breath. He knew what would end the fighting, but it was something he couldn’t possibly do on his own.

And with a terrifying, dismal ache in his chest, he knew the time had come.

“Louis,” a shout came from behind him. He turned to see Liam, running towards him, a bloodied sword in his hand.

“Stand back,” he said in warning, holding out a hand. Liam paused.

“Is it --,” Liam stopped, his face falling. "Are you doing it?"

“It’ll be okay,” Louis said, unsure if he was lying. “Just stand back, Liam.”

But he didn’t. He crushed forward for a split second, burying Louis in a hug that he suddenly returned, frantically, to one of his oldest friends. And then Liam broke away, stumbling a few steps back.

“If this doesn’t work,” Louis said, “tell everyone – just – just tell them -,”

But he couldn’t think of what to say, so he just nodded, and Liam just nodded back.

And then Louis turned towards the battle, and he took a deep breath.

“Feorhyrde.”

He called the light’s name, and the light came to him.

It was like a switch flipped.

Every other sound suddenly vanished. Louis inhaled, and that was all he heard; the rush of breath in his ears, the pulse in his chest, which was suddenly paired with and drowned out by the sound of another pulse: the sound of a stronger heartbeat, a drum, that swept him up, coming from within and without at the same time.

The golden light was there, around him, consuming him, and he felt himself float several feet into the air, giving him a better view of the battle, which seemed so small and far away already. Louis forced himself to focus through the sheer overwhelm of having the light within him, clenching his fists and feeling the power there.

What do you want me to do? the magic asked.

Louis extended his hands, and he told it.

Stop this. Stop what you can.

The light burst out and expanded from him immediately, flooding over the castle walls, over the battlefield, over the Camelot and Mercian armies, encompassing the entire scene.

Louis closed his eyes, saw the light burning behind his eyelids, and surrendered himself to it.

The effect was almost instantaneous.

The strange golden light which had suddenly swept through the battle didn’t stop the Mercians from attacking – but when the sorcerers brought their hands up and shouted their spells, nothing happened. It was as though they were shouting into a void, throwing a pebble against a mountain.

Their magic simply didn’t work. The golden light had fallen over everything. It was magic - pure magic. And it certainly wouldn’t let it be used against itself.

----------

Harry and Charlie realized this quickly when Charlie tried to bring his hand up to stop a coming soldier, but his spell didn’t work. Harry parried the blow instead, throwing the soldier away, as Charlie stared blankly at his hand.

“Whatever’s happenin’ right now,” he said, “my magic isn’t workin’.”

Harry took one look at the golden light and he knew.

“Now,” he said, his breath catching in his throat. “We get Olivia now! –”

And without a second’s hesitation, the two of them grabbed for their weapons and rushed towards the woman, who was staring at her own hands, her face panicked and furious.

“No!” she screamed, clenching her fists, but no magic came. “This isn’t fair. This can’t be -,”

Charlie ran her through with his sword before she could say another word.

----------

It was the same everywhere. The Camelot soldiers caught on quickly.

The archers restrung their bows, and this time their arrows hit. Swords made contact – soldiers pushed forward.

The Mercian sorcerers, finding themselves defenseless, scrambled back towards the forest, their faces terrified as they took in the sight of Louis, suspended in mid-air, his eyes glowing like molten gold, the light pouring from his chest with no signs of stopping. The soldiers, seeing this, took startled steps back.

“Retreat!” came a shout, as Olivia fell – it was Ed, who motioned the Mercians away, taking his cue perfectly on time. “Fall back! Retreat!”

And the Mercians did – first the sorcerers, terrified and defenseless – and soon the soldiers, finding themselves outnumbered, outmatched, and lacking their usual protection. The Camelot soldiers pushed forward with triumphant shouts, pushing them back from the crumbling castle walls, watching them retreat into the forest.

And on the battlefield, one sorcerer with long, silver hair slumped to the ground, dead.

-----------

Louis, at this point, was almost entirely unaware of what was happening.

The light blinded him, burning into his eyes. He felt it more strongly than he had ever felt anything: the fire in his chest, consuming him, energy expending in a way it never had before – not only enacting his will but taking away the ability of hundreds of others to enact their own –

It was working, and Louis was losing himself to it.

Harry could see him, even from a distance –

He could see Louis, suspended in mid-air, the light streaming out of his hands and from the center of his chest, pouring from his eyes and his mouth. It was getting difficult to tell Louis apart from the light at all, and Harry felt frozen, paralyzed in fear, remembering what Louis had said – that it might just burn him out completely, that he might never come back from it – and Harry had let him –

“Go, already,” he heard Charlie say, and he was sprinting across the field, stumbling over the carnage of battle, unable to see anything except Louis, Louis, who had just saved them all –

The light’s rhythm was overtaking his own, now; his heartbeat bending to the will of its pulse; and distantly, he could hear music – music; it was wild and awful and beautiful, and he gasped, wanting, and needing, to go closer to it.

Distantly, he thought he heard the voice of the light say sadly, I warned you, but he couldn’t think of what it meant; couldn’t think of what he might need to be warned about, anyway; these were all concepts that were so far away, now, so distant and forgettable; and he felt himself drifting closer to the sound of bells –

There was another voice. A voice in harmony, though not in tempo, with the music.

And he stopped.

It was there, again. Closer, this time. Louder.

“Louis!” it said.

That name sounded familiar. He couldn’t quite place it. Was it his name? The light shifted around him.

“Louis!” the voice called again, and he gasped, because – he – he knew the voice. He knew –

“Harry,” he felt himself say, his mouth thick with cotton, and he remembered that he could speak. Remembered that he had a mouth, that he had a body, and limbs, too, though he couldn’t quite – find them –

He felt a hand on his ankle, which brought him crashing back into his body, his body which was burning, like he was on the pyre he used to fear so much. He cried out in pain, the memory of every nightmare crashing back into his head at once. He was living them, now, living them all at once.

But Harry’s voice came to him again – “Louis,” he said, crying out desperately: “come back, please, come back to me.”

And Louis tore air into his lungs.

“Leave me, please,” he begged the light. “I – I want to go back.”

He felt something like a hand against his cheek. It will hurt. It will not hurt, if you rejoin the music.

“I don’t care,” Louis sobbed. And then –

“I need you, Louis,” Harry said, his words cutting through louder, even, than the light’s. “I need you here. Please.”

And there was nothing more important. Nothing. Nothing that could stop him, or tempt him away, from going to Harry.

“I want to go to him,” Louis told the light, and the light said, very well.

It left him in a rush, leaving him burned-out and hollow.

Louis fell from the air like a stone and crashed into Harry’s arms.

Chapter Text

The sun cast golden hues over the land as it began to set, dipping slightly below the enormous parapets and spires of the towering castle that stood grandly at the center of Camelot. Though the day’s work had ended, the activity of the evening had only begun, as people spilled into the streets and onto the castle grounds, talking excitedly amongst themselves.

In the days following the battle, the wounded had been treated—the dead buried and mourned. There were far fewer dead than most had anticipated, miraculously—their numbers cut short by the amazing light that had swept through Camelot in rumors and stories that would soon become myth. Louis had become a legend in his own right. And now, Camelot was safe, its citizens returning to their homes, a buzz of excitement in the air.

Tonight, there was to be a feast.

“A feast,” the head cook complained bitterly amidst the chaos of the kitchen. “Less than a week after the castle was nearly destroyed.”

“But it wasn’t destroyed,” his assistant said with a grin, her hands and apron dusted with flour. “That’s why there’s a feast.”

“Still. King Harry could have given me a little more time to prepare,” the cook argued back, but he wasn’t truly angry. Nobody was. Celebrations were being held across the entire city—across the entire kingdom, really—and the joyous atmosphere was hard to resist.

The war with Mercia was over, and Camelot was safe.

----------

“Woah, woah, woah,” Liam said, rushing across the Great Hall. “Zayn, get down from there. Oh, my goodness.”

“What?” Zayn asked from the top of the ladder, where he was helping pin up decorations on the ceiling. “I’m helping!”

“You literally just got stabbed,” Liam worried from the floor, holding onto the bottom of the ladder as though to steady it.

“I’m already better, Liam,” Zayn said, but when he leaned up a little higher to try and pin the garland, he had to hide a little wince at the stretch in his chest. “Ow. Okay… maybe these healing potions aren’t an instant fix.”

“That’s literally what they told you,” Liam said, but when Zayn reached the ground, he just gave him a small, relieved smile as other people bustled around them, busy with preparations.

“I don’t know if I thanked you,” Zayn said, suddenly looking embarrassed. “For helping me during the battle.”

Liam gave him a look. “Zayn,” he said dryly. “No offense, but you are very dumb if you think you have to thank me for making sure you don’t die. Give me a little credit as a friend, here.”

Zayn laughed and slung his arm across Liam’s shoulders. “I do, Liam. I do.”“Woah, woah, woah,” Liam said, rushing across the Great Hall. “Zayn, get down from there. Oh, my goodness.”

“What?” Zayn asked from the top of the ladder, where he was helping pin up decorations on the ceiling. “I’m helping!”

“You literally just got stabbed,” Liam worried from the floor, holding onto the bottom of the ladder as though to steady it.

“I’m already better, Liam,” Zayn said, but when he leaned up a little higher to try and pin the garland, he had to hide a little wince at the stretch in his chest. “Ow. Okay… maybe these healing potions aren’t an instant fix.”

“That’s literally what they told you,” Liam said, but when Zayn reached the ground, he just gave him a small, relieved smile as other people bustled around them, busy with preparations.

“I don’t know if I thanked you,” Zayn said, suddenly looking embarrassed. “For helping me during the battle.”

Liam gave him a look. “Zayn,” he said dryly. “No offense, but you are very dumb if you think you have to thank me for making sure you don’t die. Give me a little credit as a friend, here.”

Zayn laughed and slung his arm across Liam’s shoulders. “I do, Liam. I do.”

---------

“Can you believe we can’t go to the feast?” Niall grumbled from Mercia.

“I don’t think it would be very proper,” Lewis said cheerfully as he continued washing dishes. The two of them were living in the Mercian castle now; with the Circle effectively disbanded, Ed had taken charge of the country for the time being, and possibly forever.

“Oh, whatever,” Niall said, leaning against the wall and watching Lewis do his chores. “Wasn’t very proper for us to help them, either. Might as well get in on a bit of the fun.”

“Ed has a lot to do here,” Lewis said.

“We aren’t Ed, though.”

Lewis stopped for a second. “That’s… actually a good point.”

Niall stood up straighter and looked at him with a glint in his eye. “We could nick a horse. Be there by supper.”

Lewis looked nervous. “Would… would they let us in?”

“Would they let us in,” Niall scoffed, grabbing Lewis by the wrist and pulling him away from the kitchen, ignoring his little squawk. “Lewis, I’m a personal friend of King Harry. They’ll let us do whatever we damn well please.”

----------

Sylvia was holding her own, private celebration.

Her fire flickered warmly in her hearth, and she hummed as she swept around the kitchen, pulling a loaf of fresh-baked bread from the oven. Her windows were open, her curtains fluttering in the breeze, and for the first time in decades, she used her magic without restraint, nudging the oven door closed and using a small spell to fill the room with the scent of lavender.

While the bread cooled and she waited for her pot of water to boil, Sylvia went into her garden. Her plants were blooming with the spring—yellow marigold and red roses and branches of honeysuckle surrounding her. It was here Sylvia had always felt closest to the earth, and to her magic; here she had always felt closest to her daughter, even after her death.

“If you could see what your son has done,” she said to the breeze, her eyes filling with tears, “you would be so proud.”

The wind knocking against the branches sounded almost like wind chimes.

----------

The Mercian boys made it to Camelot just in time to sneak their way into the Great Hall for the feast, and although Niall did an excellent job of commandeering his way inside, he really didn’t have much of it to do; there was enough commotion and excitement for the two boys to go largely unnoticed.

The Hall had been transformed into an enormous dining room, long tables filling the space that had just recently been occupied with the war table, stacked tall with food, as decadent as any of the King’s feasts. The room was packed with noblemen and civilians alike, knights and servants, all eating from the same tables, sharing wine and stories of the previous days.

Niall and Lewis grabbed plates full of food right away, sequestering themselves to the far corner and watching with amusement as the festivities carried on; musicians played from the opposite corner as one especially loud knight named Nick told the story of the battle to a group of nearby children.

“The magic light stopped the bad sorcerers from attacking,” he said grandly, “and then we fought them back, one by one, until they retreated—and Camelot was saved!”

“The magic light,” Niall scoffed to Lewis. “Give Louis a little credit, here.”

“Have you seen him, by the way?” Lewis asked, scanning the crowd. “Or King Harry?”

“Come to think of it, I haven’t.”

He didn’t have to wonder for long. The doors to the Great Hall opened with the grand sound of trumpets, and every person rose to their feet in roaring applause as King Harry walked through the doors. Standing next to him, limping slightly but alive and smiling, was Louis himself.

Finally, because Ed always knew what Niall was going to do before he could do it, Niall found a letter in his traveling jacket, addressed to King Harry. He delivered it sheepishly that night, watching the king skim it over briefly before smiling and thanking Niall for the delivery. The letter read:

To His Highness, King Harry of Camelot:

The war is over, and our initial reason for correspondence has come to a close.

I hope, however, to maintain our communication. I remember speaking to you briefly about a possible alliance, of sorts; a different kind of governance, less reliant on warfare and inheritance to sustain itself. Perhaps it is time for these old kingdoms to come to an end.

I would like for us to talk about this new system of governance soon. In the meantime, I hope our kingdoms can enjoy a period of peace.

Finally, I thought to inform you that Charlie and his companion have moved on from Albion, in search of new lands to explore—and perhaps to conquer. Though it seems perhaps the two of you found some understanding—I would not want you to live in dread of another unwelcome encounter.

With well wishes, and, as always, in solidarity,

King Edward of Mercia.

P.S. You may keep Niall for as long as you can tolerate him.

----------

The feast stretched well into the evening, the food good and the wine flowing generously. But long after the last drunken celebrators had found their way home – after Harry had found Niall and Lewis an empty guest room for them to sleep in before they returned to Mercia – after the lights had gone out in the castle, leaving it dark and peaceful, there was still one window left alight, two voices left whispering into the shadows.

Harry and Louis were curled up next to each other on their bed, propped up against the headboard. Louis’s head rested against Harry’s chest and Harry’s arm wrapped around his shoulders. The fire was starting to dim in the hearth, and Louis lifted an absent hand to relight it, coaxing the flames back to life. He was still adjusting to the feeling of using magic without the light underlying his movements – but he liked it, in a way; he could feel the limits of his power now, and they felt safe. He was still an elemental; his magic would never leave him.

“Tell me another story,” Harry mumbled sleepily, his hand tangling in Louis’s hair. His fingers traced the line of Louis’s jaw, lingering just a second longer than necessary, like a silent question hanging in the air.

Louis hummed, trying to shake off the spark of warmth that the touch ignited, and gave it some thought, his brow creasing. Then his eyes lit up. “I hit a bear with a rock, once.”

Harry’s forehead crinkled, and he laughed disbelievingly, the sound soft and playful, but something more intense lurking behind it. “What?”

“We were out in the woods,” Louis said. He could still picture it, as clear as day. “Just you and me. You were up ahead of me, and – I stumbled on a great, huge bear, and it reared up and roared, and looked just about ready to gut me -,”

“You’re making this up,” Harry said, his tone fond but with a hint of something else, something warmer, like he was savoring the sound of Louis’s voice.

“I swear I’m not,” Louis said with a giggle, a sound that seemed to curl around Harry’s heart. “I was so panicked I just – magicked a rock up and bonked it in the head.”

This shook a real laugh from Harry, the kind that always made Louis feel warm. “No way.”

“I knocked it straight out,” Louis continued, “and I had no idea what to do. You hadn’t seen anything, so I just – I just left it!”

“You left it in the forest?!”

“What else was I meant to do? How was I going to explain that to you?” Louis insisted, though he couldn’t help but laugh at the memory as well. He had been so nervous at the time, so afraid that Harry would discover what he had done. It was so long ago.

“It feels like a lifetime ago,” Harry murmured, his voice softer now, as if he was savoring this moment more than the tale itself.

“I know,” Louis said, turning his head towards him, meeting Harry’s eyes. His heart gave a small flutter. “So much has changed.”

Harry tilted his head, as though to disagree, but Louis caught the faint flicker of vulnerability in his gaze. “Well. Not that much.”

“Oh, really?” Louis huffed, the tension between them shifting.

“Sure, I mean, there’s the whole magic thing -,”

“Mhm.”

“And I guess it’s a big deal that I’m the king, or whatever -,”

“Just a little.”

“But it’s still just us,” Harry said, his tone thick with affection, his voice a little rough around the edges. “It’s still Zayn and Liam, you know? It’s still just the bunch of us, figuring things out as we go. Having each other’s backs.”

Louis pretended to consider it, but the weight of Harry’s gaze made him hesitate. “Well, when you put it that way…”

“I keep telling you, Louis, I’m always right,” Harry said playfully, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something unspoken, in the way his fingers brushed the back of Louis’s neck as if testing the waters.

“Still,” Louis said, his voice turning softer as he shifted his leg over Harry’s lap so he was sort of straddling him, and they were face to face. The proximity sent a flutter straight through Louis’s chest. “I couldn’t do this to you back then,” he said, his words deliberate, as he leaned in to press a kiss to Harry’s jaw – then another, a bit bolder, against his neck. “Or this,” Louis whispered against his skin, his breath warm against Harry’s pulse. “Or this -,”

“Okay, I get it already,” Harry said, laughing, but it was breathless, his chest rising and falling a little too fast. He pushed Louis off playfully, but not enough to separate them completely. Louis sat back, watching the flush creep up Harry’s neck, a smug smile playing on his lips.

“You are insatiable, you know that?” Harry murmured, his eyes dark with something that made Louis’s heart beat faster.

Louis grinned, his eyes never leaving Harry’s, rolling back into his position, snuggling into his side like he didn’t have a care in the world. “And what’re you gonna do about it, Your Royalness? Tax me?”

Harry laughed again, but there was a dangerous edge to it now, a flicker in his eyes that suggested he might not be so amused for long. “I gave you that fancy Court Sorcerer title, I can take it away…”

But then something in Harry’s tone shifted, and Louis could feel it – something deep and unspoken. He shifted, sitting up a little, pulling away from the warmth of Harry’s side. He couldn’t ignore it anymore, the question that had been gnawing at him, the uncertainty he had buried beneath the surface. The need to voice it, to make sense of what they were, what this was.

Harry immediately noticed the change, the slight tension in Louis’s shoulders, and he sat up too, his gaze sharpening with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid,” Louis said, his voice tight with a mixture of frustration and vulnerability.

“Tell me anyway,” Harry coaxed gently, leaning in closer, his hand brushing Louis’s knee in a soft, reassuring touch.

Louis met Harry’s eyes, his pulse quickening. “No more secrets. Right?”

“Right,” Harry said, but there was a slight hesitance, a flicker of fear in his eyes.

Louis grabbed Harry’s hand, turning it over in his own, and he stared down at their linked fingers. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. “What is… this? Are we a secret?”

Harry hesitated, and Louis could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The weight of the question hung heavy in the air, and it felt like everything had shifted in that one simple moment.

“I don’t want it to be a secret,” Harry said, his voice steady but soft, his thumb tracing circles on Louis’s palm. “I just want this. I want us – together. Is – is that what you want?” His voice cracked just slightly on the last word, and it sent a jolt straight through Louis.

“Of course I want that,” Louis said softly, his heart racing as he leaned in to kiss Harry, gentle and slow, savoring the moment. Harry’s face broke into a luminous grin, but as he leaned forward again, Louis brought up a hand to stop him. There was one final question, lingering in his mind like the last unanswered riddle.

“You told me once that you – that your partnership had to be strategic.” Louis avoided the word marriage, letting the air between them grow heavier with the weight of his hesitation. “I’m basically the worst strategic choice you could possibly make.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Harry said quickly, but Louis pressed on, needing to voice his fear.

“I have no wealth, no power – my family has no influence, I’ll bring you no alliances. I know Ed wants to work with you, but you still have a long road ahead of you in uniting Albion. I – I don’t have any special power anymore, and -,”

The words were like knives, but Louis couldn’t stop them, couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this was… wrong. That his desire for Harry, their love, was a deviation from what should have been.

“This isn't what’s best for your destiny,” Louis said, his voice tight, his gaze downcast, unable to meet Harry’s eyes.

There was a long pause, and then Harry hummed, as if thinking it over, his fingers brushing against Louis’s skin with tender, deliberate slowness. “Maybe.” He brushed his hand up Louis’s arm, making him shiver, then gently pushed him back onto the bed, his weight pressing down just enough to make Louis’s breath hitch. Harry leaned over him, his eyes dark with something that wasn’t just affection, but something deeper, something more raw. “I don’t really care.”

Louis’s heart skipped a beat, the breath caught in his chest. “You don’t?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, as Harry’s hands slid to his face, his thumb gently tracing the edge of Louis’s jaw.

“No,” Harry said, his voice low and certain, his gaze never leaving Louis’s, as if there was no one else in the world. “We’ve given enough to destiny. This... this can be for us.”

And in that moment, with Harry’s lips just a breath away from his, Louis realized that everything had changed.

Chapter Text

Louis took to the role of Court Sorcerer with great enthusiasm. Which was fortunate, because the transition of restoring magic to Camelot was not as easy as Harry had once – perhaps naively – hoped.

He realized this the first time a sorcerer was brought to the castle in chains.

“Your Highness,” said the Duke of Hartford, looking quite proud of himself. “I have caught a sorcerer red-handed!”

Harry looked back and forth from the Duke to the poor man in chains, who looked frightened half to death. “And… what has he done?”

The Duke looked mildly confused, but forged on. “He… he has committed sorcery, Your Majesty!”

Harry stifled a sigh and heard Louis shift from side to side where he stood next to the throne. “Sir… Peter, was it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

“Sorcery has been legalized in Camelot for weeks, now.”

The smile froze on Peter’s face. “Ah.”

“Were you not made aware of this?”

“I admit that I heard rumors of something of the sort,” Sir Peter said, “but I… uh… well. I suppose I assumed they were simply rumors.”

Harry and Louis shared a look.

----------

They decided they needed to go on a little tour of the kingdom. It had been a while since Harry had visited the territories, anyway; it would be a two-birds-in-one-stone kind of trip, both a way for Harry to make clear that magic was now legal and acceptable in Camelot, and a way for the king to reestablish relationships with the various nobles under his rule.

The first city they visited was absolutely miserable.

It wasn’t that Lord Richard was outwardly hostile, per se – he wasn’t that stupid. But if he thought that Harry didn’t catch every derisive comment he made at Louis’s expense, he was dead wrong. Lord Richard looked ready to burn Louis at the stake that evening, given half the chance; he barely made eye contact with him, except to give him a disgusted sort of glance, and refused to shake his head when they first arrived, focusing entirely on Harry, instead.

It grated harshly on Harry’s nerves. Despite Lord Richard’s vocal acceptance of the new magic decree, it was clear that his prejudice against magic hadn’t wavered.

Harry and Louis were given separate rooms to stay in, but the minute they were left alone by Richard’s staff to rest, Harry crossed the hall to sit in Louis’s room with him. Which is where he saw that Louis’s room was basically a dim little closet, without even the necessary materials to make a fire in the hearth. Not that Louis minded – he merely lit his own fire – but “it’s the principle of the thing,” Harry ranted, anger bubbling up in his chest.

“It’ll take time,” Louis said mildly, though when he stood up, he nearly knocked his head on the ceiling, which slanted low over the fireplace.

“This isn’t just hesitancy,” Harry insisted. “This is outright malice.”

“We’ll show him that magic can be helpful,” Louis said. “He’ll come around.”

“We only have a few days here, Louis,” Harry sighed, sitting at the foot of Louis’s bed and then immediately standing back up again. “Are you kidding me? I can feel the springs through the mattress. Next, there’ll be rats in here.”

But Louis was already grimacing, pointing at the corner of the room. “Do dead ones count?”

Needless to say, Louis spent the night in Harry’s room – and for entirely innocent reasons, too.

The room was much warmer than Louis's, and with the fire crackling softly in the corner, the two of them settled into the bed, the tension of the day finally beginning to ease away. Harry moved closer to Louis, pulling the blanket up over them both. The quiet of the room wrapped around them like a cocoon, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Harry felt a little lighter.

Louis turned onto his side, facing Harry, and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his lips. The gesture was fleeting but filled with warmth, enough to make Harry’s heart skip a beat.

Louis’s eyes fluttered shut, his voice barely audible as he muttered, “Love you.”

Harry smiled softly, his heart swelling with affection. He brushed a strand of Louis's hair away from his face, his fingers lightly trailing through the soft strands. Louis’s breathing slowed, his body relaxing as he drifted further into sleep.

Harry stayed awake for a while, looking down at him with a smile that couldn’t be wiped off. He gently played with Louis's hair, each strand slipping between his fingers, the rhythm soothing.

“I love you, Louis,” Harry whispered, his voice full of sincerity.

Louis didn’t respond, but Harry knew he didn’t need to. With the peaceful quiet surrounding them, and Louis curled up beside him, Harry felt a sense of contentment he hadn’t known in a long time.

Eventually, sleep claimed him too, but not before he kissed Louis’s forehead, pulling him just a little closer.

----------

The second day passed much the same as the first. Richard humored Harry, nodding and at least pretending at listening as Harry explained how magic was being utilized across the kingdom: their crops would be fortified throughout the summer, the most recent waves of yellow fever could be fought back handily with healing potions, and everyday tasks were made leagues easier with even one sorcerer to help.

But the instant Louis chimed in or attempted to ask Richard a question, the same look of open contempt would cross his face; his answers became short and curt, and the conversation was finished before it had begun.

Harry, of course, was happy to stand up for Louis – was happy to make clear that Louis was both under his protection and a trusted ally – and Louis was long-suffering. But by the end of the second day, Harry could finally see the treatment wearing on him in the same way it was grating against him. Especially considering they had two dozen stops left on their trip.

“Okay,” Louis said slowly, that evening. “We may need another approach.”

“Yes,” Harry said immediately. Let Louis get abused until other people have a change of heart was a tactic that was growing less and less appealing with every lived second. “Agreed. Completely. Any ideas?”

Louis pursed his lips and brought his legs up onto Harry’s bed, folding them underneath him. “Well… I might.” Then he gave Harry a curious look, as though he was afraid Harry might spook.

“What are you thinking?” Harry asked, suddenly nervous.

Louis opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. “Nothing,” he said. “Give me some time to think it over, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry said. “But we leave here tomorrow, you know.”

Louis sighed and rolled his eyes as he fell back onto his pillow. “This plan will take some time. And I think Richard might be a lost cause, anyway.”

---------

When they retrieved their horses the following day to find Daisy ungroomed and looking practically feral, Harry was inclined to agree with the lost cause assessment. He was also inclined to give Lord Richard a proper dressing-down, in front of his servants and everything, shouting until the man went beet-red in humiliation.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Louis muttered as they left. He looked embarrassed, if slightly pleased.

“Yes, Louis,” Harry said. “Yes, I did.”

They made it halfway to the next town before Louis spoke up again.

“Have you ever felt… especially… magical?” he asked.

Harry looked at him like he had grown a second head.

“Well… have you?” Louis asked nervously.

“What does it mean to feel magical?” Harry said slowly.

“Um,” Louis said. “Well.” His face went slightly red. “Good question.”

Harry twisted slightly in his saddle, trusting his horse to follow the well-worn path. “Why are you asking me this?”

Louis sighed, his hands twisting Daisy’s reins. “It’s the only idea I’ve come up with,” he said. “It’s easy enough for people to dismiss me. I mean – who cares who I am? Sure, you can stick up for me, but there’s still a degree of separation there. It’s one thing to demand loyalty to the crown. But it’s another thing to demand loyalty to me.”

“Okay…”

“But… what if you could do magic? What if you could show everyone that there is no separation between the crown and magic anymore?”

It was such a strange thought that it took Harry a few minutes to process. “Is… is that even possible?” he asked with genuine confusion.

Louis shrugged. “Not everyone can do magic, but many people can, if they’re taught. You just need a spark of magical energy, and – something tells me you probably have some rattling around in there.”

Harry laughed shortly, and then thought about it further.

There was something very deep inside of him that felt afraid of that possibility. Or perhaps repelled by it. But it was a piece of himself he had long since learned to recognize and then question. And the longer he thought about Louis’s suggestion, the more it made sense. He didn’t have to be a sorcerer. He just had to learn enough to be able to show the people of his kingdom how serious he was about accepting magic. It would put weight behind his words.

“So,” he said, turning towards Louis, who bit his lip. “Are you going to teach me?”

The smile that split Louis’s face was surprising – and incredibly endearing.

----------

Lord Gerald of Strafford was far more excited to see them than Richard had been, and he welcomed the two of them into his castle with open arms. Harry and Louis enjoyed a fine evening at his dinner table before retiring to their chambers – and then Louis started digging through his pack, still dressed in the dark blue robes he wore as Court Sorcerer, looking for something in particular.

“There it is,” he said finally, pulling out a thick book.

Harry groaned. “I didn’t realize I’d be going back to school.”

“It’s fun school,” Louis said, collapsing on the floor directly next to him, so that Harry’s right knee bumped against Louis’s left. “It’s magic school.” He set the book down in front of them and started flipping through the pages until he landed on a page with an illustration of a small flame at its center.

“This is one of the easiest spells,” he said, pushing it towards Harry. Harry peered at the page, but it was written in the strange sorcerer’s language – entirely illegible to him.

“I can’t read these letters,” he said, brushing his fingers over the words.

“Oh,” Louis said, as though he’d forgotten that not everyone was bilingual in the ancient alphabet. He scrambled for a blank page and pen and then wrote out a word that he handed to Harry. The paper read, forbearnan.

“Fur-bare-nan,” Harry tried.

Louis’s mouth twisted like he was trying not to smile.

“You can’t make fun of me,” Harry accused, feeling embarrassed. “I’m trying.”

“You’re right,” Louis said, patting his knee, which slightly annoyed Harry. “You need to pronounce the o and the e a little – I dunno, stronger. And put the emphasis on the second syllable. It’s like – fore-byair-nan.”

They practiced a little while longer until Louis was satisfied with Harry’s articulation. Louis seemed jittery, almost giddy with excited energy; Harry tried to match his enthusiasm but felt slightly out of his league.

“Now,” Louis said, “hold out your palm, like this -,” and Harry mirrored his motion, holding his palm up and slightly cupping his fingers. “Then say the spell.”

Harry got nervous and closed his hand into a fist. “You first. Please.”

Louis’s eyes sparkled. “Alright, then.” He took a breath and opened his palm.

“Forbearnan.”

An orange flicker of light immediately sparked to life in Louis’s hand, and Harry stared at it, enraptured at how easily Louis had summoned it. Louis rolled it from one hand to another, a pleased grin on his face.

“Now you’re just showing off," Harry muttered.

“Your turn,” Louis said in response, closing his fist and snuffing out the fire.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to focus as hard as he could. Then he lifted up his palm, staring at it intently, visualizing a flame like the one Louis had just summoned.

“Forbearnan,” he said.

Nothing.

“Forbearnan,” he said, harsher this time, but his hand stubbornly refused to light on fire.

Louis’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re saying it right,” he said. “I think it’s just missing the magic bit.”

Harry scoffed and dropped his hand, suddenly feeling very foolish. “Oh, just that?”

Louis looked guilty. “Don’t get mad, Harry. I’m still learning how to teach this.”

“I’m not mad, I’m just -,” Harry paused and took a breath. He felt frustration rising up in his chest, but it wasn’t at Louis; he reached over and grabbed Louis’s hand, and they sat there for a moment, gathering their respective thoughts.

“I get that it’s probably hard to describe because it’s so natural for you,” Harry eventually said, letting Louis’s hand go and shifting so that they were facing each other more directly. “But what does magic… feel like? To you? I mean – what should it feel like, for me?”

Louis paused before he spoke, and Harry paid careful attention to his expression; noticed the soft lines that weariness had worn into his face. “It is hard to describe,” he eventually said.

Harry tilted his head. “How about you do some real magic? I'm sure forbearnan isn’t exactly heavy lifting for you,” he said dryly, and Louis glanced away modestly. “Do something else, and just… talk. As it happens. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Louis nodded slowly. “Okay. I can try.”

The fire flickered in the hearth and bathed them in a dim orange light as Louis shifted position, drawing himself up a little taller where he sat and taking a deep breath. Sitting cross-legged, he rested his hands on his knees, palms-up and closed into loose fists. The shadows of the room shifted across his face.

And then Louis started speaking – a string of ancient words that Harry couldn’t even begin to visualize. There was an immediate shift in energy in the room, as though the air was folding towards him like a pulled sheet.

Louis’s eyes closed in concentration. He kept speaking, his hands twitching slightly; and then Harry watched as small lights began to appear around Louis. They were pinpricks, at first, and then they grew larger and multiplied; Louis started moving his hands, and the lights followed his movements, swirling out into the dark corners of the room, sticking against the ceiling. Soon, the little lights were as numerous as the night sky; and Harry realized with a sharp inhale that that was exactly what Louis was trying to replicate. The lights were rearranging themselves in the dark room, creating the constellations Harry had memorized as a child, moving in the same strange, unknowable arcs as the stars themselves.

Lost for words, Harry looked to Louis’s face and saw that his eyes were open, watching the lights with the same wonder he felt.

“What does it feel like?” he remembered to ask, his voice nearly hoarse.

Louis looked at him. “It feels,” he said, and then stopped, closing his eyes again, his forehead softly furrowed.

“I can feel everything,” he said then, and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. “I feel… aware, of everything in the room, in a way I’m usually not. I feel the floor I’m sitting on, I feel the air against my skin, it’s… it’s like I’m actually here. I’m a part of the world, not separate from it.”

He opened his eyes. They were dark and reflected the pinprick stars.

“You’re amazing,” Harry said, caught up with the sight.

Louis blinked, then grinned sheepishly. “That’s not the point of this.”

“Still true,” Harry said as Louis lifted his hands to rotate the stars slightly. He shifted closer to Louis so they were looking up at the makeshift sky together, their shoulders nearly touching.

“It’s like a tingle, I guess,” Louis said softly. “It starts in my chest, and then… in my hands,” he said, closing his hands to brush his fingers against his palms. “It’s energy. Focused energy. It requires attention. And you can guide it, once you learn how it works.”

“Attention,” Harry echoed, looking at his own hands, calloused and battle-rough. Wondering if they were even capable of the kind of gentle focus Louis was displaying.

Perhaps reading his thoughts, Louis dropped his hands, though the stars remained suspended close to the ceiling. He turned so that he was kneeling next to Harry and reached out, putting one hand on Harry’s and another gently against his chest.

“It starts right here,” Louis said, pressing into the center of Harry’s chest. “It feels like… walking into the first cold day of fall. Or jumping into water.” He hesitated.

“Like what?” Harry said softly.

Louis hesitated. “Like.”

Then he shifted forward and kissed Harry, very gently.

And—oh—he felt it.

“I think I get it,” Harry whispered.

Louis’s eyebrows lifted. “You want to try the spell again?”

Harry nodded shakily, and Louis sat back, moving his hands away and giving Harry space to sit forward, holding his palm out again.

There was the fear again. That instinctual desire to withdraw into himself. But when Harry felt it, he just thought of the way Louis looked when he was casting his spell; the way his face glowed, like he was in tune with something Harry couldn’t quite understand.

It was beautiful. This was a good thing.

“Forbearnan,” Harry said, and a flame – a tiny, flickering flame – sprung to life in his hand.

He stared at it in pure astonishment. It was nothing more than a tongue of fire, orange and warm against his hand. But it was there, dancing over his palm, clinging to life. And – just like Louis had said – he could feel the energy in his palm, hovering warm and bright.

“You did it,” Louis said, and when Harry looked up, he had never seen him happier. Over Louis’s shoulder, Harry could see the stars start to glow brighter and brighter until they looked like they might burn themselves out.

It was worth losing the flame in his hand to kiss him again. He could always bring it back.

----------

Harry was nervous. He was very, very nervous. He was so nervous that his hands were shaking, which was unlike him. Very unlike him.

“This will either work,” he told Louis, “or I will look like a complete idiot in front of this entire city.” They were standing inside the castle, waiting for Lord Gerald to call them out onto the balcony. They had asked to make an announcement to his people, and hundreds of people were gathered outside, waiting to hear from the king. "And then I will look like a total idiot in front of the entire kingdom, because the gossip will be even worse."

Louis seemed unperturbed, staring at Harry with his usual quiet confidence. “Well, it's a good thing it'll work.”

Harry sighed and gave him a look. “And if it doesn’t, I expect you’ll just go out and – and kiss me until it does, huh?”

Louis kind of snickered. “I mean, if you want me to…”

“No,” Harry said, even though the thought made him start to blush, something he tried to hide from Louis, whose eyebrows were already raising in delight. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

Louis’s tone was smug. “Whatever you say, Your Highness.”

The curtain to the balcony was pulled back, and despite the little jolt in his chest, Harry took a steadying breath and kicked himself into action. He could do this. In... an actually pretty literal sense, he was born to do this.

He took to the balcony, Louis trailing behind him, and raised his hands as the people below him, gathered in the plaza next to the castle, cheered. King Harry grinned down at them, clapping Lord Gerald on the shoulder, who looked pleased.

“I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality,” he said to the people of Strafford, the crowd falling silent so that his words could carry. “Lord Gerald has been a generous host, and I have been glad to see that you have been taken care of through this winter.”

Harry took a deep breath.

“There is a more specific reason I came here today,” he said. “Which is to inform you all of the return of magic to Camelot.”

The silence in the plaza took on a different quality. It was more hesitant, or perhaps more afraid.

“I know you may not believe me when I tell you magic is legal in our kingdom now,” Harry said, holding on to the railing of the balcony. “Perhaps you think I may change my mind, as many rulers have done before. Or perhaps you do not wish to accept the change. I understand these feelings.

“My purpose in appearing here today is to make clear that there is no separation between the crown and magic in Camelot,” Harry said, to scattered whispers. “This is a good thing for our kingdom. You shouldn’t be afraid of it. And if you are a sorcerer, you shouldn’t be afraid to make yourself known. And I’ll show you why.”

Moment of truth. Harry gave Louis one last look before lifting his palm. He thought of the previous night – thought of the feeling in his chest. Thought of Louis’s words.

“Forbearnan,” he said, and the flame appeared in his palm again, bigger this time, and brighter.

Shocked gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd, as many pushed forward to see what was happening up close. Harry saw confusion and fear on the faces of some of the people below him – but he also saw curiosity, and amazement, and even some people who looked overjoyed.

“I could not punish you without punishing myself,” he said to those people – those people who, like Louis, had been hiding all this time. And then he closed his fist, banishing the flame. “And you cannot speak against magic users without speaking out against your king.”

Harry turned to Lord Gerald, who looked astonished, but who dipped his head in understanding. Then he turned back to the crowd and said what he could feel with his whole chest – the wave of change and excitement that he could also feel crashing through the plaza.

“It is a new age in Camelot,” he said.

And Louis could not have been prouder,

----------

The cheers still echoed through the streets of Strafford, the excitement from Harry’s announcement lingering in the air like the embers of his spell. The stars had begun to emerge overhead, winking down at the city as lanterns flickered to life. The night was cool, the wind gentle, as if the entire world was holding its breath.

Harry, however, could hardly hear any of it.

His heart pounded in his chest as he walked beside Louis through the castle’s empty corridors, away from the great hall where Lord Gerald and the nobles had gathered for a feast in their honor. He barely registered the luxurious tapestries on the walls, the soft glow of torches guiding their way. All he could focus on was Louis—his steady footsteps beside him, the way his fingers brushed against Harry’s own as they walked in silence.

“Where are we going?” Louis asked, glancing at him with curiosity.

Harry swallowed, squeezing the small object in his palm. He could still feel the warmth of his own magic pulsing faintly inside it. “You’ll see.”

Louis raised an eyebrow but didn’t question it further.

When they reached the balcony overlooking the city, Harry finally stopped. The view was breathtaking—Strafford sprawled out below them, its streets twinkling with lanterns, the sky above a vast canvas of stars. The moon bathed everything in silver light, casting soft shadows over Louis’s face, illuminating his blue eyes.

Harry took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly as he turned to face him. “Louis,” he said, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than it had been before the entire city.

Louis cocked his head. “Yes?”

Harry had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in his head, but now that it was here, every word he had planned felt inadequate. Instead, he reached for Louis’s hands, holding them between his own.

“I’ve always known my duty,” Harry started, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. “Since the day I was born, I knew I would be king. I knew the choices I made wouldn’t just be my own. They would be for Camelot, for the people, for the future.” He exhaled softly. “But when I met you, I realized there was something I wanted for myself.”

Louis’s breath hitched, his fingers tightening around Harry’s.

“You’ve always stood beside me,” Harry continued, his gaze locked onto Louis’s. “Even when it was dangerous. Even when I doubted myself. You taught me to see magic differently, to see the world differently. You taught me that I don’t have to carry this crown alone.”

Louis’s eyes glistened in the moonlight. “Harry…”

Harry took one more breath, then slowly sank onto one knee.

Louis inhaled sharply, his hands flying to his mouth.

From his pocket, Harry pulled a small, gleaming ring. The metal shimmered faintly with an enchanted glow, a delicate band forged from the very same magic that had once burned in his palm. It was simple, but powerful, a symbol of what they had built together—what they would build in the future.

“I don’t want a throne without you beside me,” Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want a kingdom if I can’t share it with you. I don’t want a life where you aren’t the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night.”

Louis let out a shaky breath, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Harry smiled up at him, his own eyes burning with unshed tears. “So, will you marry me?”

For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then Louis let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You—Gods, you are so—” He cut himself off with a choked sound, before suddenly dropping to his knees too, throwing his arms around Harry’s neck.

“Yes,” he whispered against Harry’s skin, his voice trembling. “Yes, of course, you ridiculous, stubborn, wonderful man.”

Harry barely had time to breathe before Louis was kissing him.

It was a rush—Louis’s hands tangling into his hair, his lips pressing against Harry’s like he was pouring every ounce of emotion into the kiss. He tasted like wine from the feast, warm and intoxicating, but more than that, he tasted like home. Harry melted into it, threading his fingers through the back of Louis’s tunic, pulling him impossibly closer.

Louis’s hands traced down, skimming over Harry’s jaw, thumbs brushing against the stubble there before sliding down to grasp at his collar, as if anchoring himself. The kiss deepened—Louis sighing softly against him, tilting his head to press even closer, his lips soft but demanding. Harry responded in kind, his grip firm, one hand splayed against Louis’s back, the other cupping his face as if he could map out every inch of him with just his fingertips.

The world around them faded—no city below, no kingdom waiting, no stars above, just the two of them in this moment. The warmth of Louis’s breath, the way his lips moved so perfectly against Harry’s, the quiet, desperate sounds he made as Harry kissed him deeper—it was everything.

When they finally broke apart, Louis rested his forehead against Harry’s, both of them breathless, their noses brushing as they held onto each other. Harry could still feel the way Louis’s lips lingered against his own, the ghost of the kiss sending sparks through his veins.

He slipped the ring onto Louis’s finger with steady hands, even as his heart pounded. It fit perfectly, as if it had been meant for him all along.

Louis stared at it for a long moment before looking up at Harry with a smirk, even as a tear trailed down his cheek. “You know,” he murmured, voice still breathless, “you didn’t have to kneel. You’re the king.”

Harry laughed, his chest full of something too big to contain. “For you?” He kissed him again, slow and deep, savoring the moment. “I’d kneel a thousand times.”

Louis hummed into the kiss, smiling against his lips before pulling Harry impossibly closer.

And as Louis kissed him back, the fire in Harry’s chest burned brighter than ever.

Chapter Text

His head in his hands, his gaze fixed on the floor, Zayn spoke with a solemn weight to his words.

“This is it for me,” he said. “It's the end of the line.”

Nick took a seat next to him on one of the several long pews that had been set up in the Great Hall. He looked slightly skeptical. “I think you’re being a little overdramatic.”

“You don’t understand,” Zayn said as a servant hurried past them with an armful of firewood, his head and shoulders covered in the snow that was falling in fat, happy flakes outside the vaulted windows. “Liam gave me one job, and I still managed to mess it up.”

“It’s not that bad,” Nick said weakly. “There can still be a wedding without the wedding rings... right?”

Zayn let out a groan and slumped even lower into his seat.

“Well, okay. Where’s the last place you saw them?”

“I had them with me, I swear. They were right here—”

“Who was here?” came Liam’s voice, and Zayn and Nick both leapt to their feet, whirling as their friend strode up to them, looking harried. Liam’s glasses were slightly askew, his hair sticking up around his ears, and he said, “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, Liam,” Nick said quickly, as Zayn’s face drained of color. “How are you? Is there anything left to be done?”

“Oh, not much,” Liam said with a huff of breath. “All we have yet to do is set up the tables for the feast, get all the food set out, put the musicians in place, set up the bouquets at the altar, and find the priest and make sure he knows his cues. Oh, and we still have to figure out what to do with Lord Eril once he gets here, but as long as he’s not seated near Lady Esther, he should be manageable. So yeah, we’re basically done. Actually, that reminds me—” He looked a little closer at Zayn, who looked close to passing out. “Zayn, are you sure you’re okay?”

Zayn’s voice squeaked. “I—of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You know you’re not the one getting married, right?” Liam said wearily. "Like, we're on the same page about that?"

“He’s just sad he missed his chance with Louis,” Nick said, smirking as Zayn shoved him with his shoulder.

“Very funny. See you guys later,” Liam said, and left them in the Hall. Trusting Zayn with the rings had been a good idea, he thought: it was a task that was important enough that Zayn felt he was contributing, but not so high-maintenance that Liam had to oversee it. He had enough of those tasks already; he turned over his to-do list in his head as he navigated the flurry of the castle, servants and staff members rushing by on all sides, their arms heavy with garlands and bouquets and ribbons for the walls, or carrying trays of food for the feast. It was chaos, but it was working: he had everything under control, he thought, and then he nearly ran head-first into Niall.

“Oi, watch it, man!” Niall said, stumbling back from their collision.

“Niall?” Liam said, sudden panic freezing his heart in his chest. “Guests aren’t supposed to be here for—oh, God. What time is it?” He whirled, disoriented.

“Calm down, calm down, we came here early,” Niall said with a grin. Lewis came up beside him, shaking snow from his brown coat. “Ed thought you might need some help setting up.”

Liam swallowed hard and immediately thought of decorations falling in heaps, pitchers of wine sent spilling over the floor, the Great Hall set completely ablaze—

“I don’t think we need any help, Niall,” he said weakly, just as a shout came from behind him: “Lord Liam, some assistance?”

“Be there in a second,” he shouted over his shoulder, then turned back to the two chaos agents standing happily in front of him. “Is Ed here?”

“Not yet, he’s coming up behind,” said Lewis.

“Why don’t you two,” Liam said, and then paused, trying to think of a single task he could assign them that wouldn’t result in utter disaster.

“Niall,” came a sudden shout, and Zayn and Nick rushed up behind him.

“Thank God,” Liam said quickly. “Zayn, you can watch them, right?” And he disappeared for his duties.

Zayn was grabbing Niall’s arm before Liam was even halfway turned around. “What did you do?”

“What are you talking about?” Niall said, wrenching his arm away. “I literally just got here!” Then he did a double-take, giving Zayn a gleeful grin. “What are you wearing?”

Zayn pulled up short. He had on a kind of vest and a tunic with flowy sleeves—not exactly his standard choice of clothing, and he started to go red as Niall and Lewis failed to hide their snickers. “I—I’m in the wedding party, you know, it’s—it’s customary!”

“Customary,” Niall said with a suddenly serious expression, nodding.

“Shut up, you little gremlin,” Zayn muttered. “If you think this is funny, it’s not. Harry’s gonna have my head on a stick if I don’t find those rings, so just tell me where you put them.”

Lewis’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “You lost the rings?” he whispered, horrified.

“Oh, that is just too good,” Niall said, crossing his arms. “All these adults thinking I’m the one who’s going to wreak havoc, and what have I ever done? Certainly not lost the king’s wedding rings, that’s for—”

“Stop it, all of you,” Nick said, holding up his hands. “The only thing left to do is look for them, right? Zayn, where have you been today?”

The knight ran a distressed hand through his hair. “Um, uh. The kitchen, the cellars, the Hall, Louis’s room—oh, god, what if I dropped them out in the courtyard? The snow will have covered them up by now, I’m screwed, I’m so, so screwed—”

“Don’t think about that,” Nick said. “Niall, search every inch of the Hall, okay? I’ll take the kitchens, Zayn, you go to the cellars, and Lewis—go say hi to Louis and look for them in his room. But don’t let him know what you’re doing, okay? He doesn’t need to stress out about this.”

“Why me?” Lewis asked, his voice a high squeak.

“We’ve been banished, and Louis doesn’t need Niall to antagonize him.”

“Holy shit, you lot really do think I’m just some little demon creature, don’t you? You think I’d antagonize a man on the day of his holy matrimony—”

Zayn made a little motion toward him, and Niall jumped back.

“Team,” Nick said sharply. “We’re not messing this up for King Harry and Louis. Right?”

“Right,” Lewis said immediately, as Zayn and Niall glared at each other.

“Then go,” Nick said, pushing Niall and Zayn by the shoulders until they reluctantly turned. “Go!”

They separated, and Lewis weaved his way through the steady stream of servants, heading up the stairs and towards the chambers. At first, he started to head towards King Harry’s room, then stopped short; Louis would be in his own room, wouldn’t he? But when he reached Louis’s doors, he noted, with some alarm, that what looked to be a wooden plank was placed across the handles to the door, bolting them shut.

Lewis pulled the plank away and opened the door, only to have Louis nearly fall on top of him.

“Lewis!” Louis exclaimed as Lewis caught him, helping him stand. He was slightly disheveled and looked around wildly. “Thank you!”

“Hi,” Lewis said slowly.

“When did you get here?” Louis asked. He looked very nice, dressed in fine clothes with a dark blue cloak fastened around his neck. He also looked like he had been leaning against the locked door up until the moment Lewis opened them.

“A bit ago,” Lewis said, “I wanted to say hello. Um—,” feeling strange: “are you being held captive?”

Louis exhaled through his nose, his mouth a thin line. “Liam locked me up in here to stop me from trying to help,” he said, glancing down the hallway as though he expected his warden to come storming back any minute. “Or maybe to—oh, I don’t know what he was doing.”

“But you’re not being,” Lewis looked for the right word: “converted?”

Louis tilted his head.

“Coerced?” Lewis tried again.

“Oh,” Louis said, smiling in a way that crinkled up the edges of his eyes. “No, no, Lewis, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Okay, good,” Lewis said, relieved. “Congratulations on the wedding, then. Hey, when this is done, does that make you King Louis?”

“Uh,” Louis said, going red, “no, no, that’s. That’s not how it—that’s not important.”

“Okay,” said Lewis with a shrug—and then he remembered his task. “Can I come in?”

“In here?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay,” Lewis said, craning his neck to try and glimpse inside the room. He realized, then, that he had no idea what he was looking for: were the rings just… loose? Were they in a little box? That’s how he had imagined wedding rings, but it wasn’t like he had any first-hand knowledge. And what kind of box? Wooden, or velvet? Or—

“What are you doing?” Louis asked, amused, and Lewis realized he had been staring blankly over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Lewis said. “I just would like… to come inside.”

Louis stared at him. His gaze was neutral, yet it seemed to pierce right down to the core of Lewis’s soul. “What’s going on?” he said sternly.

“Zayn lost the rings,” Lewis blurted out.

“Ah,” said Louis.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but now I feel like I should probably tell you,” he continued in a rush.

Louis nodded. “And he’s sent you here to look for them?” Lewis nodded back, and Louis swept out his arm. “Be my guest.”

As Lewis rushed in and started to look carefully around the room, Louis slipped down the hallway, heading away from the sounds of noise and bustle coming from the Great Hall. The rings weren’t in his room, he knew that much; hardly anything was, really, since Louis had barely stayed there for several months. He wasn’t sure if the missing rings situation should have sent him into a panic, but he didn’t feel panicked. Whether that was because he was responding to the news in a well-adjusted way, or if it was because his capacity to experience any stress whatsoever had been overloaded to the point of malfunction from this whole wedding affair, remained to be seen.

Regardless, if the rings were missing, he should probably tell Harry. That was a reasonable thing to do. That was a reasonable justification to make his way to Harry’s room, and not at all influenced by the fact that Louis’s stomach had been doing twists since he woke at dawn, and he hadn’t been allowed to speak to Harry all day. Not at all.

He stopped in front of Harry’s doors and held up a hand. He didn’t knock.

He felt nervous. Why was he nervous? Suddenly, he moved to fix his hair, to fix his clothes. He looked alright, didn’t he? He picked up his hand to knock again but paused. This was fine, wasn’t it?

Before he could decide, the doors swung open. And—well. It all melted away, for a moment.

Because Harry was there, backlit by the sun coming through his windows, the light glinting off the crown on his head and illuminating the golden flyaway hairs around his head. He was dressed handsomely—a dark green tunic, the neckline exposing just a sliver of his chest, well-fitted dark trousers. His eyes were wide and flickered down, taking Louis in just as Louis stared at him.

Harry took a step back and closed the door in his face.

“Hey,” Louis said in surprise, blinking. “What?”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to see each other,” he heard Harry say. His voice was muffled through the door, but still clear—and he sounded nervous, his voice kind of wavering. “Before the ceremony, I mean. Isn’t it bad luck?”

“Oh,” Louis said, feeling a smile spread across his face. “I dunno. I think that’s usually about the bride. Do you think it matters if it’s just two husbands?”

There was a very long silence from the other side of the door, punctuated by a soft thud against the wood.

“Harry?” Louis said. “Is something wrong?”

“No!” Harry said loudly, clearing his throat. “No. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just… wow. Husbands.”

Louis bit down on his smile, leaning his shoulder against the door. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”

“Never,” came Harry’s vehement reply. “My feet are so warm, they’re, like, hot. My feet are on fire right now, Louis.”

Louis laughed, rolling his eyes fondly.

“Why did you come here? I thought I heard Liam had you locked up somewhere,” Harry said.

“I, uh. I don’t really know,” Louis said. His palms itched; he wished he could just be near Harry, just to hold his hand. “I guess this is all getting a little overwhelming. I’m feeling… nervous. I know it’s dumb.”

Harry sighed. “It’s not dumb. I know what you mean.”

A short pause, interrupted by the shout of someone dropping a metal tray to the floor somewhere down the hall. Then Harry said, “you remember what I told you, right?”

Louis snorted. “Probably a little too late for that,” he said, “but, yes. I remember.”

Months ago, by now. The night Harry had asked him. It felt alive in his memory, like Louis could relive every detail at will. The late summer evening; the meal they had shared, the walk through the courtyard, remembering scenes from their childhood. They had ended up in their clearing, that pile of large, flat rocks they had spent so many evenings on together. Fireflies glimmered around them. It felt like nothing to climb up what had once felt like a mountain, and when they reached the top, the little platform where they had sprawled out as children, Harry had turned to him, his face nervous and brave and lit by the moon.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” he had said, “and I want you to know that you can say no, if you want, and it—and I’ll understand. Because—what I want to ask is—it would be a lot, and it wouldn’t be easy. I—I like what we have, and—and you know that it’s real, that—that I—that it’s permanent. I mean, it’s permanent for me. And—so—we don’t have to, if you don’t want to. That would be okay, I don’t—I don’t think anybody cares, or anybody who matters, anyway, it’s—”

“Harry,” Louis cut him off, grabbing his hands, which were nervously gesturing.

Harry took a breath, looking down. “Um. Wow, it’s just. It’s really hard to say.”

Louis bit his lip. Everything felt focused and real. Time hadn’t slowed or sped up—he felt every second for exactly what it was worth. “What are you trying to say?”

“Would you marry me,” Harry said in a rush of air, “if I asked?”

Louis couldn’t help his exasperated grin as he prodded gently: “Are you asking?”

Harry had nodded, his face going red, and then Louis had said, “yes, Harry. I’ll marry you,” and then they were kissing, each of them smiling too much to do it very well, and afterwards, Louis had said, “that was a slightly terrible proposal, and you’re lucky that I love you too much to tell Zayn about it.”

“I meant it, though—still mean it,” Harry said, pulling Louis back to the moment: the castle, the wedding. “If you don’t want to go through with it, you don’t have to. All that matters is that we're together. We don't need the ceremony for that to be true.”

“It's okay. I do want to go through with it,” Louis reassured him. “I—I’ve got hot feet, too, Harry.”

Harry laughed, low and warm. “Do you.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “This is getting weird.”

“It’s just this one day,” Harry said. The door creaked as he shifted his weight against the wood. “This one stupid ceremony, and we’ll never have to do anything like this again.”

Louis nodded, feeling something flutter in his stomach. “And then we’ll be husbands.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, a smile in his voice. “Husbands.”

A little giggle escaped Louis’s mouth, and he stood up straight. “Well, then. I… guess I’ll see you later.” But before he could leave, he remembered—and said, “By the way… Zayn lost the rings.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Yes, he did, Lewis just told me—”

“He doesn’t have the rings,” Harry said. “I have them.”

Louis furrowed his brow. “Why do you have them?”

“Because I knew he’d lose them.”

Louis scoffed and shook his head. “He is going to be so pissed at you.”

“Zayn is going to be so relieved that he’s not being thrown in the dungeons that he won’t have the time to feel anything else,” Harry said.

At that moment, an entirely disheveled Liam slid around the corner. His gaze landed on Louis, and Louis sucked in a breath.

“Busted,” he muttered.

“Louis,” Liam said, stalking down the corridor, “you better not have opened that door.”

“Now why would I do something stupid like that,” Louis said faintly, and heard Harry laugh.

“Good, because you know that would be bad luck,” Liam said, grabbing him by the arm and ushering him away. “Sorry, Harry,” he called over his shoulder, “you’ll have to be patient!”

“I’m counting down the minutes,” came Harry’s voice before Louis was tugged out of earshot.

----------

Louis only made Zayn stumble through his tortured explanation of how he had lost the wedding rings for a few minutes before telling him that Harry had been holding them the whole time. Harry was only partially right – Zayn had looked utterly relieved for a moment, but that dissolved pretty quickly into muttered threats of treason as he marched towards Harry's quarters.

"You look very handsome," Sylvia told him when he met with her before the ceremony. "Just like your father."

Louis just smiled and kissed her cheek, feeling warmth settle in his chest. "Thanks, Gran."

He left her to take her seat, breathing deeply as he made his way through the halls toward the Great Hall. His heart pounded harder with each step.

Unlike Harry’s proposal – which had been private, perfect, a moment in time taken just for them – the wedding was a grand affair, more for the public’s sake than their own. The entire hall was packed with guests from across the Five Kingdoms, filling the pews in elegant attire. The air was thick with the scent of candle wax and fresh pine, and outside, snow fell in soft blankets, dusting the castle grounds.

Louis barely felt present through the initial moments. The weight of every gaze in the room settled on him, but none of it mattered. Not the golden chandeliers flickering above, not the murmurs of the crowd, not even the slight nervous tremor in his fingers. Because the moment he lifted his gaze and met Harry’s eyes at the altar, everything else fell away.

Harry stood there, dressed in royal emerald and gold, the candlelight catching on his golden hair, his crown glinting above his brow. He looked… breathtaking. His eyes were wide, deep green, and fixed solely on Louis. There was something so raw, so open in his gaze that Louis felt pinned to the spot. The nerves he’d been carrying all morning melted away in an instant.

The priest spoke, but Louis barely heard the words. His world had narrowed to the space between them, to the feel of Harry’s fingers sliding into his own when he finally reached him at the altar. Harry squeezed his hand, firm and grounding.

"You okay?" Harry murmured, low enough that only Louis could hear.

Louis huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Are you?"

Harry’s lips twitched. “Hot feet.”

Louis rolled his eyes. "You're never letting that go, are you?"

"Not a chance."

Louis let out a breath, smiling despite himself, and squeezed Harry’s hand back.

They had settled on vows very easily and very quickly, deciding that everything they needed to say to each other had already been said, and said better in private than in front of a crowd. But standing here now, looking into Harry’s eyes, Louis still felt the weight of it—the quiet, enormous meaning behind the simple words.

The priest turned to Harry first. "Do you, Prince Harry, take Prince Louis to be your husband, to cherish and honor for all your days?"

Harry's fingers tightened around Louis’s. His voice was soft, steady, and certain when he spoke.

“I accept you as my own.”

Louis exhaled, warmth curling in his chest. The words settled over him, familiar and solid. He felt them like an anchor, grounding him, holding him in place in the best way.

The priest turned to him next. "And do you, Prince Louis, take Prince Harry to be your husband, to cherish and honor for all your days?"

Louis smiled, the answer sitting easy on his tongue. “I accept you as my own.”

Harry’s lips parted slightly, like he was hearing the words for the first time, like they were something delicate and precious, a gift to be cradled.

Then came the rings.

Zayn, despite his dramatic grievances, handed them over without a word (though he shot Harry a glare that clearly said this isn’t over). Harry took Louis’s hand, sliding the silver band with its emerald stone onto his finger. It was cool against his skin, fitting perfectly.

Louis took Harry’s hand next, brushing his thumb lightly over his knuckles before slipping on the gold band with the embedded sapphire. He heard Harry exhale as he did.

A heartbeat of silence stretched between them, heavy with something unspoken, something huge and infinite and entirely theirs.

The priest smiled. “You may kiss.”

Louis barely had time to react before Harry was pulling him in, his hands warm and certain as they framed Louis’s jaw, fingertips pressing just enough to keep him close. Their lips met, and the world seemed to slow, everything else fading into a distant hum.

At first, the kiss was soft, tender—a quiet promise sealed between them. But then Harry tilted his head, pressing in deeper, and Louis felt a rush of heat flood through him. His hands found their way to Harry’s waist, pulling him closer, until there was no space left between them, only warmth, only them.

Harry’s lips moved against his with a kind of urgency, like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say aloud into the kiss—the years of knowing, the weight of everything they'd been through, the relief of finally, finally having this moment. Louis felt it all, felt himself melting into it, into him.

A sharp whistle from the crowd, coming from Zayn's direction, barely broke through the haze, but it made Harry smile against Louis’s mouth. Louis huffed a quiet laugh before chasing his lips again, kissing him once, twice more, slow and deep, like he never wanted to stop.

The cheers swelled around them, a roaring wave of celebration, but Louis barely heard it. His world had narrowed to Harry—his hands, his lips, the way he was smiling into the kiss like he was the happiest man alive.

And maybe he was. Maybe they both were.

----------

What else? There was the feast, and far too many people, until all their faces blended together, and it was all Louis could do to keep his head lifted up and a polite smile on his face. Plenty of food, and plenty of wine, to make it all tolerable.

There were standouts among the guests, of course: Liam, who they thanked profusely for managing to pull everything off without a hitch; and King Ed, who was always an entertaining guest, and who stole a mandolin from the court musicians to play them a song of his own composition. Louis was charmed and Harry may have seemed a bit threatened, and it was all very funny.

Many hours later, the party did not seem to be winding down, and Harry and Louis sat quietly at their table, watching their wedding guests get drunker and drunker. Zayn was now singing some kind of sea shanty with Nick, while Liam watched on in thinly veiled disdain.

“Do you think they’ll notice,” Louis muttered quietly, “if we ditch our own feast?”

Harry pondered the thought, stroking his chin. “It’s an interesting proposal, my love,” he said, grinning as the unexpected pet name put a blush on Louis’s face. “What would you have us be doing instead?”

“I have a few ideas,” Louis said, his gaze flickering down as he gently bit his lower lip. He laughed as Harry took his turn to flush, and then—because he could, because he was allowed to—he brought a hand up to cup Harry’s face, gently curling his fingers against his cheek.

“Improper,” Harry chided playfully.

“You’re my husband,” Louis pouted.

“Still improper.”

“Oh, I’ll show you improper—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Harry said, catching Louis’s straying hand, and a laugh bubbled up in his throat. Harry pressed a conciliatory kiss to the back of his hand, and Louis hummed, leaning over to rest his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“I have to admit, you two are starting to look slightly miserable,” came a voice, and Zayn collapsed in the seat next to Louis, slinging his arm over the back of his chair.

Louis sat up and said, “That’s a very rude thing to say to someone on their wedding day.”

“Hey, I think I’m being pretty nice, considering how close I was to committing treason a few hours ago,” Zayn said with a raised eyebrow at Harry.

“Watch it, Sir Moron,” Harry said, taking a sip of his wine.

“Zayn,” Louis said, leaning over. “I think we’re, uh, ready to get out of here. Do you think you can, I dunno—make some kind of distraction? Make it easier for us to make a quick exit?”

Zayn shook his head at him, narrowing his eyes. “This is all I am to you. I’m a little monkey you get to go do things for you when you’re too lazy to do them yourself.”

Louis crossed his arms. “You know it’s treason to insult me, now, too?”

Zayn groaned as Harry cracked up, drawing attention to their table again. Zayn stood. “You know what, fine. This is my wedding gift, from me to you. And don’t expect anything else.” But before he left, he paused and said, “And, uh, you guys know I’m… really happy for you. Even though you both make me sick,” with an accusatory punch of his finger. “I’m still happy for you.”

“Thank you, Zayn,” said Louis.

“Now get to work, little monkey,” Harry said, laughing again as Zayn subtly flipped him off.

“What do you think he’ll do?” Louis asked Harry, watching their friend return to his table and whisper something into Niall’s ear.

“Probably something stupid,” Harry said, pushing his plate away. “And perfect.”

“We have very good friends,” Louis said.

“We do,” Harry murmured.

And a few minutes later, when Niall and Zayn staged some kind of tussle that accidentally caused an entire table to collapse, throwing excess wine over a dozen people's laps, it was a chaotic end to the evening—and the perfect cover for the two guests of honor to slip away through the back door, laughing like they were kids again, hand in hand and stumbling into the hallway.

The door had barely shut behind them before Louis found himself pressed against the cool stone wall of the hallway, breath stolen from his lungs as Harry’s lips crashed into his. The celebration still roared on in the Great Hall behind them, but out here, it was just the two of them—just the heat of Harry’s body against his, the scent of wine and warmth on his lips.

Louis gasped as Harry’s hands slid down his sides, firm and desperate, gripping at the fabric of his wedding clothes like he wanted to tear them away. “Impatient, are we?” Louis murmured, but his words melted into a groan as Harry’s mouth trailed down his jaw, teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of his throat.

“You have no idea,” Harry rasped, his voice thick with want. His knee slotted between Louis’s legs, pressing against him, and Louis let his head fall back against the wall, his breath hitching.

“Fuck,” Louis whispered, his fingers threading into Harry’s curls, tugging just enough to earn a sharp inhale from his husband. That sound alone sent a spark straight through him, a fire that burned hotter when Harry’s hands gripped his thighs and lifted him with ease.

Louis barely had time to react before his legs instinctively wrapped around Harry’s waist, his back pressing harder against the wall. The new position brought them flush together, their bodies aligning perfectly, and Louis let out a breathless laugh. “Show-off.”

Harry grinned against his neck. “I’m your husband. I have to impress you.”

“You already have,” Louis murmured, his lips brushing against Harry’s cheek before he turned his head and captured his mouth in another deep, desperate kiss. Their tongues met, slow and teasing, a battle neither of them wanted to win.

Harry shifted, grinding against Louis, and Louis moaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating between them. Harry groaned in response, his grip tightening as he pulled away from the wall, carrying Louis effortlessly through the hallway.

Louis clung to him, one hand tangled in his curls, the other gripping at his shoulder. “You’re not going to drop me, are you?” he teased, breathless.

Harry laughed, the sound dark and low as he tightened his arms around Louis. “Never.”

And then they were at the door to their chambers, Harry kicking it open without hesitation. He strode inside, not breaking the kiss, and Louis barely registered the door swinging shut behind them before he was being lowered onto the bed, Harry’s weight settling over him, warm and solid and completely his.

Louis gazed up at him, his lips kiss-swollen, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Harry smirked down at him, eyes dark and filled with something that made Louis’s stomach flip.

“Happy wedding night,” Harry murmured, brushing his lips over Louis’s once more, softer this time, lingering. Smiling into the kiss, he let his fingers drift down Louis’s side, grazing over the fabric of his shirt as he whispered, “Let’s get these clothes off.”

“Please,” Louis breathed breathlessly, his hands moving to the buttons of Harry’s shirt, deftly working them open one by one. With each button unfurled, his fingers grazed over Harry’s skin, sending sparks of desire dancing across both their bodies.

“You look so beautiful in this light,” Louis said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Harry chuckled softly, the sound warm and affectionate. “You’re the one who’s stunning,” he countered, leaning down to press a fervent kiss to Louis's mouth before pulling away to admire him. His fingers continued their journey, moving down to grasp the hem of Louis’s shirt, slowly tugging it upward.

“Help me with this,” Harry smirked, and together they lifted it over Louis’s head, tossing it aside carelessly. Harry leaned back slightly, his gaze devouring Louis—the smooth expanse of his chest, the slight rise and fall as he breathed, the enticing curve of his waist.

“You’re absolutely breathtaking,” Harry whispered, running a hand gently across Louis’s chest, feeling the warmth radiate from him, "My husband. All mine."

The touch made Louis shudder slightly, his eyes flickering with desire, "Yours forever."

Louis reached for Harry’s waist, fingers instinctively moving to the fastening of his trousers. With nimble fingers, he unbuckled the belt and slid it through the loops, letting it fall to the floor, pushing Harry’s trousers down just enough to expose his hips.

As the last remnants of clothing fell away, leaving both Harry and Louis naked beneath the soft glow of candlelight, vulnerability and anticipation hung in the air like an electric current. Their bodies lay intertwined on the bed, the warmth of their skin igniting an intensity neither had ever experienced before.

Louis leaned in, capturing Harry's mouth with his own, threading his fingers through the soft curls at the back of Harry’s neck. The kiss deepened, becoming a fervent exploration of lips and tongues, every brush stoking the flames of their desire.

In the shared intimacy of their first moments as husbands, Harry’s hands began to roam. He delicately traced the contours of Louis's back, feeling the strength beneath his fingers, the slight curve of his spine igniting a fire of passion. Louis responded in kind, his own hands mapping the muscles of Harry's chest, the smoothness of his skin beneath his fingertips sending sparks through him.

Harry pulled back slightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let’s make this memorable,” he said softly, and before Louis could respond, Harry leaned down to press soft kisses along the length of Louis's neck. He lavished attention upon the sensitive skin, sprinkling lingering kisses that quickly turned into playful bites, leaving hickeys as gentle marks of possession. Each one made Louis gasp, the sound filling the room with an intoxicating energy.

“Harry,” Louis breathed, his voice a mix of surprise and pleasure, pushing his head back to give Harry greater access. “You’re going to make me lose my mind.”

“Good,” Harry smirked, his breath warm against Louis’s skin before he continued his trail of kisses across Louis's collarbone and down to his chest. He paused, taking a moment to admire the way Louis’s chest rose and fell, each breath a symphony of desire.

With renewed fervor, Harry took one of Louis's nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue gently around it before nipping playfully. Louis writhed beneath him, his back arching in response, a breathy moan escaping his lips.

“Please, more,” Louis begged, lost in the waves of pleasure crashing over him.

Harry moved lower, trailing kisses down Louis’s torso, the path marked by wet, lingering touches. He marked his territory with tender hickeys, each kiss a declaration of love and possession, a promise sealed with the heat of their shared passion.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Harry murmured, looking up at Louis, who lay spread out for him, a picture of desire and trust. The sight sent another rush of heat through Harry’s body.

In response, Louis wrapped his legs around Harry's waist, drawing him closer, creating friction that made both of them gasp. Skin against skin, their bodies intertwined in a dance of heat and passion, they began to grind against each other. The warm sensation of their skin sliding together heightened every sensation, building an undeniable urgency that wrapped around them like a heavy blanket.

“Just like that, yes,” Louis panted, his hands finding Harry’s back, nails digging in slightly as he urged him on. Their movements became a rhythmic pattern, a language of love spoken without words amid the soft rustle of the sheets.

As they moved together, kissed deeply, and marked each other with exquisite pleasure, time seemed to stretch. The outside world faded, leaving only the two of them—two souls intertwined, bound by love and desire.

Feeling the tension build between them, Harry slowed for a moment, his forehead resting against Louis’s, breathing in the shared warmth. “Do you want me to—”

“Please, Harry. I want you. I want all of you right now,” Louis said, urgency underscoring his request.

"Turn around," Harry commanded, his green eyes becoming clouded with lust.

Louis complied, rolling onto his front and burying his face into the pillows. He arched his back, offering himself up to Harry, who wasted no time running his hands down Louis’s spine.

With a firm grip, Harry roughly grabbed him from behind, his palm coming down in a sharp smack against Louis’s skin. The sudden sting sent a thrill through him, and before he could stop himself, a breathy moan of excitement escaped his lips.

With deliberate slowness, Harry slid a single finger down, pressing against Louis, feeling him part slightly. The sigh that escaped Louis's lips was intoxicating, and it urged Harry on. He gently pushed the digit inside, taking his time to let Louis adjust to the sensation.

“Just relax,” Harry murmured, his voice low and soothing.

Once Louis’s body embraced the intrusion, Harry began to move his finger, curling it in a way that sent electric sensations racing through Louis. He watched as Louis’s expression shifted from concentration to pleasure, his body responding eagerly to every movement.

Harry added a second finger, working them in tandem, thrusting carefully as he continued to seek that sweet spot. Each flick of his fingers was met with a gasp or moan from Louis, encouraging him to keep going, to explore the depths of what they could share together.

“You feel amazing, Lou,” Harry whispered, his free hand caressing Louis’s cheek, grounding him amidst the waves of pleasure.

He flexed and curved his fingers, finding the right angle to connect with Louis's sensitive walls, watching as Louis's back arched in response, pushing down against Harry’s hand as if urging him to go deeper. The tension in the air thickened, their breaths mingling hotly, creating a symphony of intimacy.

After a few moments of teasing with two fingers, Harry decided to introduce a third. He took his time, allowing Louis’s body to stretch and adjust, always watching for any signs of discomfort. But all he received were loud, delighted responses that urged him on.

“More, Harry, please,” Louis begged, his voice husky with need.

With a gentle but steady rhythm, Harry thrust his fingers deeper, stretching Louis just the way they both craved. The sensation of being filled by Harry sent waves of pleasure coursing through Louis, and he couldn’t help but rock his hips to meet each thrust, chasing the euphoric edge with every movement.

“Just like that,” Louis gasped, his voice filled with longing. “Just don’t stop!”

Harry kept his focus, curling his fingers and finding that perfect spot with practiced ease, coaxing cries of pleasure from Louis with each skilled movement. He relished the way Louis responded to him, the way their bodies communicated—everything felt electric and alive.

“Are you close?” Harry asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from Louis's lips, to draw him further into the warm cocoon of their shared ecstasy.

“Yes, just… don’t stop,” Louis panted, his body trembling under Harry’s deft fingers.

With the urgency rising in the room, Harry intensified the pace, his fingers working tirelessly as he helped Louis reach that blissful release. The energy they shared felt like magic, a culmination of love and trust forming around them as Harry continued his rhythmic thrusting.

With one final push against that sweet spot, Louis cried out, his body clenching around Harry’s fingers as he reached his peak, waves of pleasure washing over him.

“Harry!” he moaned, his voice echoing in the intimate space, as Harry felt him pulse and flutter around his fingers, urging him to ride out the aftershocks.

Breathless and panting, Harry slowed his movements, extracting his fingers slowly, careful not to lose the connection they had just forged. As Louis came down from his high, Harry leaned over to kiss him softly, capturing the taste of ecstasy and love on his lips.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked quietly, brushing a thumb across Louis's cheek, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort.

“I’m more than okay,” Louis replied, a satisfied smile breaking across his face. “That was amazing.”

"Good," Harry murmured, his lips brushing against Louis’s in a teasing kiss before pulling back, a smirk playing at his lips. His voice was low, filled with promise. "But I’m nowhere near finished with you yet, Lou."

As Louis's breathing returned to a more even pace, Harry rose up, positioning himself behind Louis. He leaned forward, taking his time to guide the tip of his cock into the warm, inviting space between Louis's cheeks. The sensation was intoxicating, and Harry felt a rush of excitement as he began to push forward, slowly claiming Louis's body as his own.

The initial thrust was gentle, but as Harry found his rhythm, his movements became more deliberate and intense. Louis's back arched in response, his head dropping back in abandon as Harry's thrusts sent waves of pleasure crashing through him.

Harry's hands roamed over Louis's skin, tracing the curves of his body as he continued to move inside him. The sound of their skin filled the room, a primal symphony of love and desire.

But Harry wanted more. He wanted to see Louis's face, to feel their eyes locked on each other as they made love. So, with a gentle nudge, he guided Louis to roll over onto his back. The pillows cradled his head and shoulders, propping him up in a comfortable position as Harry climbed on top of him.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other. The intensity of their gaze was almost palpable, a living, breathing thing that wrapped around them both. Then, with a soft smile, Harry leaned down to capture Louis's lips in a kiss.

As their lips touched, the world around them melted away. There was only the two of them, lost in the depths of their passion.

"Harry-" Louis moaned loudly, "More. I need more."

As Harry's thrusts became more forceful, more insistent, Louis's body seemed to writhe beneath him. His hips arched upward, meeting Harry's with a primal, almost animalistic intensity.

The air was electric with tension, the atmosphere thick with desire. Harry's hands grasped Louis's hips, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh as he pulled him closer. Louis's eyes fluttered closed, his face twisted in a mask of pleasure, his lips parted in a silent cry.

He clung onto Harry's muscular arms, using this as an opportunity to gain control. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he flipped them over, so that he was on top of Harry.

The sudden reversal sent a thrill through both of them, and Louis's laughter echoed through the room as he began to bounce up and down on Harry's cock.

Harry's hands grasped Louis's hips, holding him in place as he thrust upward to meet him.

As they moved together, their bodies became one entity, a single, pulsing mass of flesh and desire. They were lost in the heat of the moment, consumed by the all-consuming passion that drove them forward.

And then, in a final, shuddering release, they came together. Harry's cock burst forth inside Louis's body, filling him with a rush of pleasure that seemed to never end. The sensation was intoxicating, a deep, raw joy that seemed to course through every cell of their being.

As they lay there, entwined and spent, the world around them slowly came back into focus. They were aware of each other's breathing, the sound of their hearts pounding in their chests. And in that moment, they knew that they were one. They were two souls bound together by a love that would last for eternity.