Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Immortality was a difficult thing.

For some entities, it meant simply a long life. Almost a human life, stretched thin.

For others it meant having a life thread that would just loop around. So once they die, they would just start again and get reborn and reborn. Until the end of time.

For other beings again it meant, that they would stop aging once they reached their prime.

But even with all those differences they had one thing in common. They couldn't die. Wheater of old age, stabbed, poisoned or burned. They would not die.

Depending on their way of life they would just get reborn, come back from death healed up or just hang on barely.

The worst aspect about the whole immortality business was, that most entities did not realize their nature until they should be dead. Those moments of realization were always tragic.

Not a single Immortal discovered without tragedy. A tragedy that carved its way into the bones. An ache that would never heal, no matter how long one lived. A pain that was inflicted upon a realization.

◇☆◇

Merlin was having a bad day.

Oh scratch that, he was having the worst day. And it was only morning, even before breakfast.

He just had to get through the rest of the day and tomorrow would be better, he told himself for at least the sixt time today.

Gaius had woken him up, just a little after midnight. He wanted Merlin to learn how to cook the a very specific potion. Which had to be brewed during the night, when the moon was the highest.

And after that he had asked Merlin to pick some herbs, which were best picked before sunrise. Merlin hadn't listend as Gaius told him about the why, something about the blossoms closing after sunrise and them necessarily beeing open for usage? Or some thing like that.

When he had gotten back, he was already late for Arthurs breakfast. When he hurried down towards the kitchen he had stumbled into a new serving girl, knocking her off balance and scattering the food on her tray all over them and the floor. After apologizing and helping her clean up, he had arrived at the kitchen.

Finaly grabbing something for Arthur and hurrying back up. Arthur had already been awake, trying to dress himself.

Merlin grinned as he watched Arthur trying very hard to get his head into a sleeve.

"Oh now I finaly see the royal grace. It is truely wonderfull", Merlin teased.

"MeRlin, get over here and do your job for once. Where the hell have you been?"

Ah, so Arthur was in a bad mood. Fantastic.

Merlin sighed dramatically as he helped Arthur into the right sleeve, tugging the fabric with more force than strictly necessary. Arthur swatted his hands away and muttered something about “incompetent servants” under his breath, but Merlin only smirked.

Once Arthur was dressed and halfway satisfied with his appearance, he sat down to eat. Merlin leaned against the table, arms crossed, as Arthur tore into the food he’d brought.

“You know,” Arthur said between bites, “if you ever actually tried to be efficient, my mornings would be considerably less frustrating.” “Oh, forgive me, sire,” Merlin replied with mock sincerity, “for thinking that maybe your grace at dressing yourself would spare me the trouble.”

Arthur shot him a glare that could have curdled milk, but Merlin only grinned wider.

By the time they made their way down to the training grounds, Arthur’s irritation had shifted into something more mischievous.

The knights were already gathered, weapons in hand, ready for another grueling morning. Arthur’s eyes gleamed as he turned to his servant.

“Merlin,” Arthur announced loudly enough for the knights to hear, “today you’ll be helping in training.”

Merlin blinked. “Helping… how?”

“As a target, of course.” A round of laughter rippled through the knights, and Merlin’s stomach dropped. “What? No, no, no, no—that’s not fair!”

“Oh, but it is,” Arthur said cheerfully, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward. “Consider it… character building.”

“More like bruise building,” Merlin muttered, glaring at Arthur as he was handed a wooden shield that was far too small to be of any use.

Arthur raised his voice again, addressing the knights. “Right, men! Today we’ll practice precision strikes. Merlin will provide a moving target. Try not to hit his head too hard, I wouldn't want him to turn into an even bigger moron."

The laughter doubled, and Merlin groaned. He lifted the tiny shield half-heartedly, already imagining the bruises he’d have by evening. “Go on, Merlin,” Arthur said with a grin that was far too pleased. “Let’s see how fast you can run.”

It felt like hours until Arthur finaly declared the end of practice.

Heading back to Arthurs chambers to draw him a bath and get him dressed for his council meetings, Merlin could feel something amiss.

He couldn't quite place the feeling of uneasiness, so he carried on. Deciding to look into what ever was going on after getting Arthur ready.

Well, he didn't get the chance. When ever did things go according to his plan?

As soon as Arthur had setteled into the warm water, the door was thrown open. Three man in armor stood in the door and a woman with a dark cloak. She raised her hands, ready to cast a spell.

Arthur scrambled out of the tub, trying to reach his sword. He would be too late.

Merlin just knew that the spell the sorceress was about to cast would be deadly. And Arthur had no chance to evade the spell.

No chance at fighting her or her companions. But he would see if Merlin was to cast magic. There was no way he wouldn't.

There was no possibility of not revealing himself and Arthur surviving this.

He had a split second to make a decission. He raised his hand on instinct, felt his magic pulsing in his finger tips. Ready to be chaneled and used. His eyes turned the telling, glowing gold they always did.

"Gwrthrychion syrthia, nerth yn fy llaw!"

A sudden gust of wind shot through the chamber, as if the room itself had held its breath only to release it all at once.

The enemies were hurled backwards out of the doorway, crashing into one another before sprawling across the corridor. The door slammed shut behind them, as though pushed by an invisible hand.

Arthur was standing still, unmoving as if he was a statue. Staring with wide eyes where the attackers had been just a heartbeat ago. He turned around, slowly.

Looking at Merlin as if he was a wild animal, about to pound him. He slowly took a step back. And another one. His hand extened slowly to grip the handle of his sword, unsheathing it.

His eyes never left Merlin’s. The metal grating againat each other was the only sound in the chamber.

Merlin’s breath hitched. His magic still thrummed at his fingertips, hot and restless, but his body was trembling.

He wanted to tell Arthur that everything would be alright. That he would never harm him, that he only uses his magic for him. That he was destined to protect Arthur. Looking at Arthur, who was so clearly frightend and ready to fight, none of what he thought of got out.

He had dreamed of telling Arthur. Sometimes he would forgive him, sometimes he would be killed and sometimes sentenced to burn at the stake. But in all his fantasies he was always the one to decide to reveal himself.

But nothing made it past the lump in his throat.

"Arthur, please, I—” The words cracked as they left him, tears stinging his eyes. He reached out, desperate.

Arthur flinched, ever so slightly.

And then his gaze flicked past Merlin’s shoulder. His eyes widened further, horror blooming in them—before something hard and cold slammed into the side of Merlin’s head.

White pain exploded, the chamber spun, and as he fell to his knees he caught one last glimpse of Arthur: sword drawn, eyes filled with fear, disbelief and betrayal then the darkness swallowed him.

Chapter Text

Loving someone is hard work.

It does not matter whether you love a friend, a partner, or family.

Loving is an active and conscious choice. Falling for someone, liking them — that comes unbidden, without thought. But love? That is deliberate.

To love someone means, at times, to forgive. To bend, to be patient. But it should never mean breaking yourself. Trying something new, stretching the edges of your comfort, can be beautiful — even necessary. Yet surrendering who you are, or betraying what you believe, should never be the cost of love.

•♡•

Time seemed to slip through Arthur’s fingers like sand.

The council chamber blurred before his eyes as reports droned on — grain stores, border patrols, repairs to the western wall. Arthur nodded when expected, gave clipped answers, signed parchments where his steward pointed. But none of it stayed with him. Every word slid off his mind like water off stone, because the only thought pounding inside him was Merlin.

Merlin, sitting in the dark of the dungeon.

Merlin, eyes glowing gold.

Merlin, who had lied to him every single day.

Arthur clenched his jaw until it ached. If he let himself breathe too deeply, it felt as though he might choke. He had known Merlin was hiding something — of course he had. The late errands, the inexplicable vanishings, the way he always seemed to know more than he should. Arthur had thought… had hoped… that the secret was simple. That Merlin was hiding feelings, the same way Arthur had been. That his blushes and evasions meant love unspoken. Not this. Not magic.

Not the one thing Arthur had been raised to hate and fear.

How was he supposed to get over this? Merlin wasn’t just his manservant. He was his friend. His confidant. His other half.

He couldn’t let this slide; this wasn’t something he could turn a blind eye to. But he also couldn’t bring himself to sentence him to death. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t hesitate. This was Merlin.

His Merlin. The clumsy but cheeky man who absolutely refused to leave his side. The one who was with him every step of the way. The one who waited outside his chambers after his father’s death. The one whose opinion he valued above anyone else’s. The one with the old and wise eyes. With the golden eyes.

Oh God, he would have to tell Gwen. Gaius. The Knights of the Round Table. He would have to—

„The reports have shown a massive improve— Sire? Is everything alright?“ One of his advisors looked at him worriedly.

Arthur hadn’t noticed that he had hidden his face in one hand, clutching a goblet with the other so hard that his knuckles whitened.

„Yes, I— uhh. I need to—“ Startled, Arthur stumbled over his words. Deep breaths. He was a King. „The council is dismissed. I need to talk to my knights in an urgent matter. We will resume this meeting tomorrow.“

His advisors stared at him, but began collecting their papers, mumbling to each other. Only his trusted knights remained, looking at him with puzzled expressions.

Arthur stood up, not able to keep still any longer, and began pacing behind his chair. Finally the door closed after the last lord had left.

He turned to his knights, his hands clasping the table, the wood digging into his skin. He looked at every one of them.

Leon was steady as stone, the first knight Arthur had ever truly trusted. His loyalty was quiet but unwavering, his word as firm as the blade at his side.

Gwaine lounged back in his chair, but there was no mistaking the fire in his eyes. Beneath the bravado, he was sharper than he let on, and he wore his heart openly, reckless in love and loyalty alike.

Elyan leaned forward, elbows braced on the table — always a man of action before words. His sense of justice was keen, and his temper, once lit, burned fierce and fast.

Lancelot carried himself with a calm dignity that no title could ever bestow. He was a man of quiet strength, whose every choice was guided by compassion.

Percival sat broad-shouldered and silent, his very presence a wall of protection. He spoke little, but when he did, his words carried the weight of mountains.

Arthur’s grip tightened on the edge of the table as he looked at them — his knights, his friends, his family. And now he had to shatter their world with a truth that still ripped him apart.

„Merlin has magic.“

The words felt jagged in Arthur’s throat, as though speaking them made them real in a way his mind still refused to accept. The chamber went silent. Not a breath, not a shuffle of armor — just the stunned stillness of men who had faced death countless times, but had never heard this.

Leon blinked first. His brow furrowed, his voice careful, as if testing the truth of it. „Sire… are you certain?“

Elyan straightened in his chair, disbelief flashing across his face. „Merlin? Our Merlin? That fool can barely carry a sword, let alone wield sorcery.“

„No,“ Percival rumbled, quiet but firm. „He wouldn’t deceive us like that.“ His huge hands clenched against the table, as if ready to crush the thought itself.

Lancelot’s eyes softened — sorrow as much as understanding. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t ask how Arthur knew. He only lowered his head, avoiding Arthur’s eyes.

He knew. Of course Lancelot knew. He was only Arthur’s knight second; first, he was Merlin’s friend.

Anger surged through Arthur. Not only had Merlin lied to him — one of his knights had known about it.

It was Gwaine who broke the silence fully, half-rising from his chair. His voice was raw, stripped of its usual humor. „Magic? Sire, we all know Merlin. He can’t wield a sword to save his life. How could he learn magic? Or even why? He wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t. I know he—“

He cut himself off, jaw tight.

Arthur’s chest constricted. He could see his own doubt, anger and worry mirrored in them. If anyone had told him this yesterday, he wouldn’t have believed it either.

„I saw him. With my own eyes. His eyes burned gold.“

The silence that followed was heavier than any battle Arthur had ever fought.

„Where is he?“, Lancelot braved to ask, still not raising his eyes.

Arthur’s shoulders sank and he fell back into his seat. „He’s in the dungeon. I don’t— I haven’t decided what to do with him yet.“

Lancelot nodded.

Elyan stood up. „I need to find Gwen. She shouldn’t hear this through castle gossip.“ He hesitated. „Sire, I know your judgment will be as fair and just as any other. But please, don’t ignore all his good deeds.“

Arthur only nodded, trying to squash his bubbling feelings.

He didn’t lift his gaze as the other knights left the chamber, quietly talking to each other. Lancelot declared that he would inform Gaius. Leon took Gwaine and Percival to the training field to let out their emotions.

Apparently the news had already spread, because nobody entered the chamber, leaving Arthur to brood over his feelings and the choice he had to make.

It was already dark when he stood up suddenly.

He needed to talk to Merlin. Nobody but him could answer his questions. Nobody could help him navigate this.

Arthur didn’t pay attention to his surroundings as he more or less ran towards the dungeon. He didn’t care that a king shouldn’t run, or what anybody thought of him now.

He came to a stop in front of the guards, taking a deep breath and steadying himself. Then he strode further, coming to a halt in front of the currently only occupied cell.

Chapter Text

Change itself is neither good nor evil.

It is a river, flowing where it must, uncaring whether it drowns a village or nourishes the fields.

To one it is loss, to another salvation.

We are the ones who give it weight, calling it blessing or curse.

What seems like betrayal may hold the seed of truth.

What feels like the end may be the beginning of something greater.

Change is merciless in its certainty — yet in its cruelty lies its mercy.

》♧《

Merlin's wrists were hurting and he felt exhausted to the bone.

He could feel the cold iron shackles suppress his magic. It felt as if his whole body had gone numb and was prickling from the blood flow. Every breath he let out felt like he was exhaling his magic, his energy, his life.

The point, that the guards had fixed the shackles to the ceiling of the cell and shortened them so far that he barely touched the ground on tiptoes, didn’t help at all.

He felt like one of the dead pigs in one of the butcheries, ready to be processed.

The only positive thing about this whole arrangement was, that by now he couldn't think too much about his trial and sentence.

Silver linings. Or something like that.

The first few hours he expected Arthur to come to his cell and yell at him.

Then he started hoping that he would come down to question him.

Maybe Arthur would give him a chance to explain everything.

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell him of all his deeds, good and bad. He wanted to tell him about his father and being a dragonlord. He wanted to tell him of his regrets.

By now he just wanted to see Arthur. He wanted to tell him of his feelings. Look into his eyes one last, private, time.

When he heard someone running towards the dungeon, he lifted his head and tried looking at the door.

As the steps came to a sudden stop he held his breath. Listening intently for anything, a voice of whoever came to see him. The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat and some water dripping slowly onto hard stone.

The door opened quickly, as if whoever opened them had just pushed them open to get it over with. Into the corridor in front of the cells walked Arthur.

Merlin sucked in a new breath and marveled at him. Arthur had always been beautiful. The broad shoulders, the golden hair, his intense blue eyes. But right now, in this dirty, cold and wet dungeon, he looked eternal. Like he was a god only walking among the mortal souls of this realm.

"Arthur, I-"

"Merlin-"

They started at the same time, stopped and just stared at each other. Each one searching the face of his beloved for answers to their questions.

A soft smile danced on Merlin's lips. Arthur looked exhausted and tired.

"I would bow to my king, but it is a little difficult at the moment", Merlin tried to diffuse the situation.

Arthur gaped at him, blinking slowly, seemingly questioning if Merlin really chose this moment for jokes.

Then he turned around and left again.

"Arthur, I'm sorry! Wait! Please...", Merlin panicked, quieting down towards the end.

He had had one chance to tell Arthur all the things that were always at the tip of his tongue. And he ruined it. Why did he have to make such a bad joke in a moment like this?

God, he was angry with himself. He-

Just a heartbeat later Arthur returned with a set of keys. He let himself into Merlin's cell and walked slowly towards Merlin.

He searched Merlin's eyes for an answer to an unasked question. Merlin tried to show as much of his emotions as he could. Whatever Arthur was looking for seemed to be found. He stepped closer, steadying Merlin with a warm hand on his stomach before opening the locks at the ceiling. He slowly guided Merlin down, held him when Merlin stumbled. He helped him walk to the far end of the cell, lowering Merlin into a seating position on the ground.

And secured the chains to a hold on the wall. But he left it long enough so that Merlin could even move around a little bit.

After that he left the cell again, closed the door and stood there with his back to Merlin.

"In such a time where I am in dire need for advice, the one person I want to ask is the one I need advice on. I don't- I don't care about anyone else's opinion enough to matter now. And I don't know what- what to do now. With you. With myself", Arthur scrubbed his hand over his face at his own admission. He took the few steps, before he slid down the other wall, facing Merlin.

They just stared at each other for a few moments.

"Please Merlin. Tell me what I should do. Make a joke. Disrespect me. Be you.", Arthur pulled his legs close, resting his head on his knees. "Please tell me, my eyes betrayed me."

Merlin's throat closed and he had to swallow a couple of times, to gulp down the lump that had formed. His eyes stung with unshed tears. His magic flared up slightly, trying to reach out to Arthur. His Arthur, being so vulnerable as he had never seen him.

Merlin shook his head: "I'm so sorry Arthur you had to find out this way. I just didn’t- I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to- I needed to save you. I need you to be alive and well. My magic, I- It is just for- just for you."

Merlin choked on his words. Letting his tears flow down his face, he stared at Arthur. He needed to see him, even if Arthur was hiding his face in his legs.

"I was born with magic. Even before I could walk I could make things float around. My mom, she hoped I could learn to control it under Gaius. And I did! I learned!

And now I- I just use it for you. To keep you safe. To make you happy. To keep your fire going in the winter. To keep your bath the perfect temperature. To make you comfortable.

I just wanted to make you happy. I'm- I'm so so sorry", he was full on crying by now. Choking on his tears and sobbing.

"I want you to be happy. I need you to be happy. I-", he was sure he would die anyways, so why not admit his biggest secret? "I love you Arthur. I-"

Arthur let out a strangled sound, trying so hard to stifle his own sobs. A king didn’t cry, he needed to be above this.

Arthur's hand raked through his hair. Feeling the cold metal at his fingertips. He gripped his circlet, pulled it from his head and stared at it.

"You are an idiot, Merlin."

"Oi!", Merlin interrupted.

"Shut up and listen to me for once in your life, will you?

If I wasn't King, was just Arthur, I would run away with you. Have a farm somewhere far away. Spend our days together. Watch the stars and us grow old. Learn every facet of your magic, every inch of you. Love you like you deserve it.

But I can't.

I am not merely Arthur.

I am King of Camelot.

I knew you were hiding something. I had hoped that it was just feelings, that you couldn't act on.

God above, I hoped you were just respectful of our standings.

Should have known you don't care for that."

At that Arthur laughs slightly, even Merlin chuckled a little. The words warmed Merlin's heart enough that he could forget his cold shackles for a few moments.

"If you have magic. Possessed it since birth...

Then my father couldn't have been entirely right. Maybe not all magic is bad and corruptive.

You used it for me. Not against me. You didn't even fight, even though you have to know, what this all ends in.

You can't be rotten and evil. You aren't. I know you.

I still can't just pardon you, you know that as well as I do.

I know that I need to work on the laws regarding magic. But what you did was still illegal.

Especially since you committed treason, as you are part of the royal household and neglected to tell me about your abilities."

Merlin was sure, the other one could hear his heart break. Not for himself, no he had made peace with death. No, it broke for Arthur. He wanted to tell Arthur, that it was alright. Have him look in his eyes and see no hate or anger. He inhaled deeply, opening his mouth to let his thoughts out.

Arthur shook his head. His eyes trained firmly on his crown. If he would look up to Merlin, look into his eyes, he was sure he would break. He would cry and break him out. Run away together. It sounded so nice, but he just couldn't.

Merlin's jaw snapped shut.

The King sighed heavily before putting his crown back on his head. He stood up and kept his head down.

"You will have a fair trial on base of the active laws. Tomorrow at noon you will be judged. I'm sorry Merlin", he finally willed himself to look up and look at Merlin. He was staring back at him. So openly full of love and acceptance.

Arthur forced himself to turn away and walk out of there. He handed the keys back to the guards and slowly ascended to his chambers. He had to write a few laws and decrees.

Chapter Text

Sorrow is a weight that settles into the chest, pressing down with a gravity that refuses to yield.

It coils through the limbs, slowing each movement, bending the spine, making every step feel heavier than the last.

It tastes of iron and salt, of nights too long and words left unsaid.

It is both a shadow and a fire — a hollow emptiness that burns from the inside, unseen yet undeniable.

Breathing becomes an effort, a reminder that the body cannot escape the mind, and the mind cannot escape the body.

Tears carve silent rivers down the cheeks, but the ache remains beneath, in the bones, in the marrow.

Sorrow is a teacher of fragility, showing the limits of endurance, yet in its depths, a strange clarity waits.

It strips away pretense, forcing honesty with oneself, revealing truths one would rather ignore.

Even when it feels infinite, sorrow ebbs and flows, leaving traces of understanding in its wake.

And though it crushes, it also reminds us of what we hold dear, of the love and light we fight to protect.

>♤<

Merlin’s legs felt heavy as he was dragged by the two guards. They had wanted him to walk but the cold iron, the freezing stones below him and no food had made sure he couldn't. He wasn't even able to stand on his own.

As he was dragged to the throne room where trials were usually held, he marveled at the inside of the castle.

He had appreciated it very little while he had lived and worked here. Now, with the realization that this could very well be the last time he walked here, he looked at everything. He wanted to absorb every little detail. Tuck them into his brain, commit it all to memory.

The trio came to a halt in front of the heavy wooden doors. One of the guards standing in front of them knocked his partisane against it.

William.

His name was William, Merlin remembered. He was relatively new. His little sister was working in the kitchen.

He tried not looking at Merlin, the same as any other servant they had passed on the way.

The door swung open from the inside and Merlin was dragged inside. The council, King and Knights were gathered up front. In the back were spectators; townspeople, servants and a few nobles.

The two guards dragged him into the middle of the room. In front of the spectators, before the council.

Where they just dropped him rather unceremoniously.

He faltered like a bag of vegetables.

Enraged mumbling broke out behind him.

He looked up to Arthur and tried to convey his acceptance of whatever was to come.

Arthur looked away. "Get him a chair", he ordered calmly.

Two serving boys hurried to get a small chair to Merlin and help him onto it.

When the two of them had retreated back into positions, Arthur looked around, addressing all of them:

"We have gathered here for a trial and an announcement.

As the announcement is directly linked to the trial, we shall begin with that.

As of today, wielding magic will no longer be illegal."

Arthur ignored the yells and whispers that broke out after his announcement and kept talking with a calm and measured voice.

Merlin stared up at him with an open mouth.

"To some people having magic is as natural as breathing. Not every magic is sought out and learned. A lot of sorcerers and sorceresses are born with it. They do not have a choice. They can only learn to control and wield it.

Magic isn't inherently evil or good. It is a tool, just as a sword. It can kill and shed blood. But it can also protect and heal.

We shouldn't judge people for things they can't control, but for their actions.

Having magic is legal in Camelot.

Using it to commit other crimes is still forbidden.

Any trial based on magic will be revisited as far as possible.

Which brings us to the second part, the trial.

Merlin of Ealdor is accused of treason.

By keeping crucial information and illegal activities from the King as a directly connected person to the royal household.

How do you plead, Merlin?"

Merlin’s surprise sobered up pretty quickly. Magic was legal. Treason still not that much.

"I have magic. And I did not tell anyone about it. It was revealed as I was protecting my King against an assassination", he said with his head high, staring into Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur lowered his head.

"So you admit to being guilty of treason."

Lord Vayren, one of the oldest on the council and the best versed in the laws, stepped forward. He was a kind and calm man, who had never really had a problem with magic but had been too valuable that Uther could have gotten rid of him.

His calm and deep voice carried through the air: "Merlin of Ealdor. You are declared guilty of treason against Camelot, her King and her people. You will be sentenced to death at the stake for your crimes. The sentence will be carried out immediately."

He took a step back and bowed.

The hopefulness and lightness Merlin had felt at the announcement of legalizing magic vanished instantly.

Dread and fear settled in his stomach.

Burning at the stake.

Now.

He looked to Arthur, the knights. His friends. They all stared at the ground. Faces unreadable.

Gaius stood to the side, crying, holding onto Gwen.

Merlin wanted anyone to look at him. Anyone. Please? He just got sentenced to death. One of his family had to look at him. Right?

Apparently not, as the two guards from before gripped his arms tight and yanked him out of his seat.

They more or less carried him down to the courtyard. Merlin refused to even try to stand.

Sure, he could magic his way out of this. But what would be the point? Arthur wouldn't even look at him.

He was bound onto a stake on top of a pyre. His pyre. It felt unreal, to think this.

The guards stepped down. Merlin started looking around frantically. He had to at least try to escape. He had to do something.

He stilled as he saw who was carrying the torch towards him.

Arthur and Merlin locked eyes and they both saw the love, dread and regret they each felt. It was unfair. They had just admitted to their feelings and they hadn't had the chance to do anything about it. They hadn't had the chance to kiss each other. To hold each other.

"It's okay Arthur. I forgive you. You are a good King. You will be the greatest Camelot has ever seen. You are my King", Merlin tried to assure Arthur. He didn't dare tell him here, in front of the whole kingdom, how much he loved him. He hoped his eyes spoke for him.

Arthur bowed his head and lit the pyre.

The wood had to be extra dry, as it caught on quickly

At first it was only heat — a wave of scorching air that pressed against his skin. But then the fire caught his tunic, crawled like hungry fingers up his chest, and pain unlike anything Merlin had ever known roared through him. His breath turned into a scream before he even realized he was making it. It felt as though his very flesh was being peeled away, as if fire was eating him from the outside in. Every gasp filled his lungs with smoke, clawing at his throat, choking him.

The world narrowed to fire and agony. His vision blurred with tears, black spots dancing across the faces in the crowd. His wrists strained against the ropes until the skin broke. The flames licked higher, searing his legs, his arms, his face. Each heartbeat was an explosion of pain.

As Merlin screamed, Arthur sobbed.

Chapter Text

Hope is a fragile thing, yet it endures where strength and reason fail.

It is the whisper that rises in silence, the single light that dares to shine against the weight of night.

Hope does not deny suffering, nor does it erase despair — it survives alongside them, stubborn and unyielding.

And though it may falter, hope has a way of returning, like embers stirring back to flame.

For in the heart that still hopes, even ruin can become the ground for miracles.

~○~

The fire licked and ate at Merlin’s skin.

His flesh blistered, split, and blackened — only to knit itself together again in ragged patches, raw and red, before the flames tore it apart anew. Every nerve screamed, no moment’s mercy, no chance for numbness. He was burning, healing, burning again, trapped in a torment without end.

The smell was worse than the pain — charred flesh, acrid smoke, the stench of death clinging to him while death refused to come. Each gasp dragged fire deeper into his lungs, scalding them until they, too, tore and mended, tore and mended. His body convulsed against the ropes, not as a man dying, but as something fighting endlessly to live — or being forced to.

Arthur could not look away.

At first he thought it was a trick of the light, the way the flames shifted and curled, but then he saw it — skin reknitting where it should have crumbled to ash, breath heaving in a chest that should have collapsed. The fire swallowed Merlin whole and still he screamed.

Arthur staggered back, bile rising in his throat. This was no clean death, no ending at all. The pyre was supposed to destroy, yet before his eyes it became a prison. Merlin was not burning to nothing — he was burning forever.

“Gods…” Arthur whispered, his voice breaking as the truth crashed over him.

Merlin could not die.

And Arthur had condemned him to a hell without end.

The crowd seemed to realize it too, as gasps and cries rippled through them. People began pushing toward the pyre — not to harm Merlin, but to help him. Many had wept when the fire was lit, but now, faced with a man endlessly suffering, unable to die, their grief turned to desperate action.

Arthur didn’t think. He grabbed his knife, pulled the hood of his chainmail tight over his head, and leapt into the fire.

The screams of the crowd rose behind him, but Arthur could hear only the roar of the flames — and Merlin.

Oh, Merlin. Thrashing against his bonds, screaming raw, choking and gagging.

Arthur forced his way forward, the heat slamming into him, his armor turning into a furnace around his body. His eyes streamed, his lungs burned with every breath, but still he reached him. He hacked at the ropes with shaking hands until, at last, the bindings gave way.

He caught Merlin as he fell, the full weight of him driving Arthur to the ground, both of them tumbling through burning wood in a chaos of sparks and flame. Two sides of the same coin, tangled and falling, powerless against the fire. At least, Arthur thought, they were together.

He held Merlin close, trying to shield him with his own body, smothering flames with his arms. Through smoke-stung eyes, he saw skin knitting over charred flesh, only to tear open again. Healing, burning, healing, burning. A cycle of torment.

“I love you,” Arthur choked out, his voice breaking against the smoke clawing at his throat. He held on tighter, even as his own skin blistered beneath the searing bite of his armor, even as his flesh bubbled and churned. He was a king of his people — and if that meant dying for one of them, in the very fire he himself had lit, then so be it. He would go gladly.

Arthur closed his eyes, resigned to die woth his beloved in his arms – a giant hand gripped his arm and yanked. Arthur clung to Merlin, refusing to let go, determined not to leave the flames without him.

Percival’s strength tore them both free, dragging them onto the cold stone. The fire’s roar gave way to the sound of frantic voices. Gaius and Gwen fell to their knees beside them at once, hands reaching, desperate to tend their wounds.

Arthur layed on his back, turning his head to Merlin. Trembeling reaching out to him. "Merl..."

The word cracked in his throat. His vision darkens as his hand fell to the floor and darkness engulfed him.

____________________☆____________________

The first thing Arthur took notice of were voices. Quiet and hushed, but there. He could hear a silent laugh, a quiet joke.

A warm and comfortable feeling settled in his chest.

It felt like he was on a hunting trip with his knights. The hushed conversations, laughter and joking around.

His knights always liked to have a relaxed evening. As king he couldn't participate as often as he liked. But Merlin always did. Merlin and Leon shared a joke and a woman laughed.

A woman? On a hunting trip? Usually Merlin was the only non-knight there and-

"Merlin!"

Arthur ripped his eyes open and shot up.

Gwen, Leon and Merlin stared at him.

Slowly blinking at him.

Merlin started grinning, it felt like the sun was rising. He seemed unharmed. No charred skin, fluffy hair, wearing his usal clothing and sitting on a bench next to Leon. 

Looking at him as if he was worried aboht Arthur.

"Finally waking up, your Highness? Enough beautisleep? Though I have to dissapoint you, it didn't fix anything", Merlin quipped.

"MeRlin! I can't believe I jumped into the fire for you, you absolut baffon!", Arthur seized.

Merlin grinned at him happily before turning to Gwen and Leon. He wispered something and both of them nodded their heads. Gwen got up, curtisied and left. Leon walked over, put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a short squeeze, before also taking a leave.

Now it was just Merlin and him. Alone in the same room with out boundary between them for the first time in what felt like forever. 

Merlin stood up slowly and walked over, maintaining eyecontact. Trying to see any apprehension or doubt.

But there was none. As soon as Arthur could, he grabbed Merlins hand and pulled him down to him. 

Arranging on the little cod until Merlin was laying firmly pressed to Arthur, half on half next to him. Arthurs hand craddeled his head, tangeling in the curls. His other hand layed intertwined with Merlins on his chest.

"I'm so sorry Merlin. I didn't- If I could have I- I'm sorry", Arthur squeezed his eyes closed. He was King, he shouldn't cry. On that note he definitely shouldn't cuddle with his manservant neither. But something about jumping in the fire and burning with him, burned away his strenght to care. He didn’t need to be king of Camelot now. He needed to be Arthur, he needed Merlin to be loved and safe. 

"I am so sorry that you burned. I tried to sway tbe council to let you walk away. But they wouldn't.. I couldn't save you. Please...", he sounded utterly pathetic in his own ears. He squeezed Merlins hand and accepted the tears on his cheeks. 

Merlin pushed himself up and brushed his thumb over Arthurs face. He smiled at him, small and sad. 

"It's okay Sweetheart." Arthur made a small stangled sound, but Merlin continued: "I know you tried. I never had a doubt that you would want to kill me. I know. I'm sorry for keeping my magic a secret for so long. I just didn't know how to go about this. I know now. And I'm grateful for you. I love you, Arthur."

Arthurs brain shortcircuted. He stared at him, his voice failing him. He felt like he was floating. No duties, no crown, no council. Just Merlin, oh his Merlin.

He pulled his beloved close and crushed his lips on Merlins.

Chapter Text

Every decision is a quiet crossroad where the weight of possibility meets the limits of time. To choose one path is to abandon countless others, and in this loss lies both the burden and beauty of freedom. Decisions shape us not only by their outcomes but by the courage it takes to make them. Often we search for certainty, yet true certainty is rare; what guides us instead is trust—trust in reason, in instinct, or in the unknown. Each choice echoes beyond the moment, weaving into the larger pattern of who we become. In the end, it is less about choosing perfectly and more about choosing sincerely, for authenticity gives meaning even to mistakes.

¤□¤

Iseldir had come with a deligation of 20 druids. They had arrived the morning after Merlin’s trial and had demanded to be seen imidiatly. 

Arthur would rather have stayed in bed with Merlin, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He had alot to do, even with out the druids. But even he had to admitt, that he could need the asistance to go over the laws together. 

He had very little knowledge regarding magic. Maybe they could even help him appoint a court sorcerer. And personally, maybe they could tell him about Merlins circumstances.

Merlin, who was still sleeping in Arthurs bed. Not to be disturbed and protected by Gwaine and Elyan at the door.

Leon was by Arthurs side, he would need his strenght and calm at his side, with Merlin missing. Having his oldest friend at his side steadied Arthur.

The guards stood rigid and tense. Theur eyes followed the approaching pair. Their stress was evident in their posture.

The two of them stepped into one of the meeting rooms, where the druids had already taken a seat at the long table. 

They were not all of them, only six of them. All wearing dark purple robes. Each one decorated and adorded diffrently. Some had colorful ribbons at their wastes, some had small chains and ring attached. They seemed calm and at ease. As if they didn’t worry about beeing in the heart of Camelot.

Their leader, Iseldir, stood up and looked Arthur in the eyes. He inclined his head while maintaining eye contact. 

Arthur returned the nod calmly befor heading to his seat.

"Welcome to Camelot, I am very delighted to welcome you all as friends. Thank you for comming. Please let me assure you that you will not be persecuted any longer and that you are under the protection of the Camelor law.

 I look forward to reestablishing our bonds. We have much to discuss.", Arthur inclined his head again at the end before sitting down.

Iseldir nodded: "Thank you Arthur Pandragon. We look forward to reconciliation. But first I must inquire something even more important: What is to happen to the sorcerer that was burned yesterday? He is not dead and is unable to die, so what will you do?"

This took Arthur by suprise. Sure the druids were compassionate people, but inquiering about Merlin. And knowing that he was alive? Iseldir apperently knew something Arthur didn't.

"For now he is confined. His fate will be decided later by me and my council. He wasn't and won't be prosecuted for his magic if that is your concern. I assure you all trials of magic are dropped. Now if you would like to–"

Iseldir shook his head and interrupted Arthur: "I deeply apologize, but I am not the person you have to talk to about your laws or my people. I am merly a leader of one tribe. You should talk to Emrys. He is our God and Protector after all.

Is it possible to see the sorcerer? I came here for him."

Arthur closed his mouth and stared at the druids. They all were staring back at Arthur, seemingly without blinking. He pressed his lips into a thin line, he would have to seek this Emrys out. Maybe he could still strike a deal with Iseldir as a symbol, but he would probably be more open to that after seeing Merlin. What ever he wanted from him.

He turned to Leon and nodded at him. Leon seemed to understand, as he left the room. 

Arthur turned back to continue the conversation, but Iseldir was talking to the woman on his right side. All the druids were either silently staring at him or conversing among each other. 

It was very apparent that none of them felt the need to talk to Arthur about any kind of treaty. 

So he settled with looking at them, cataloging their clothings, their behaviour and maniourisms. He shoved any thoughts about this 'Emrys' into the back of his head. 

He would have enough time to brood over a plan to find him.

It didn't take long for Leon to return. Elyan was at his side, Merlin and Gwaine behind them. 

Merlins eyes grew wide when he saw Iseldir.

All of the druids stood up and bowed to Merlin, deeply.

The suprise Merlin showed was not as big as Arthurs, who quickly schooled his face into calm neutrality. Many questions made themselfes known in his head. /How did Merlin know Iseldir? Why did Iseldir want to see him? Why are they bowing to his servant of all people?

Iseldir rose as the only one, before adressing Merlin: "Emrys, thank you for seeing us. We are honored to be in your presence. We were delighted to hear about the lift of the ban on magic. That was no doubt your doing and we thank you.

We were worried when we heard about a trial against you. I am sure, you were alright but many of us worried. Especially our children. We came to confirm your well-being and pledge our lifes to you."

Merlin Emrys? That couldn't be right. Emrys was supposed to be the greatest magic wielder to ever be born. Iseldir had called Emrys a god. That would mean that Merlin was a god. That couldn't possible be true.

"Erm, it's. It's alright. Please, uhh, sit down. You really don't need to bow. Please don't. I'm fine. And please don't pleaded anything to me. I'm just Merlin, okay? Don't call me Emrys or anything like that. Just Merlin", Merlin seemed starteled but not surprised of beeing called basically a god. 

So he knew.

This did change some things. But it certaintly explained how Merlin survived the fire. He also had an idea how to use this as an argument wirh the council.

"This was all we wanted to know. Thank you, Emrys. Thank you, Arthur Pandragon", Iseldir bowed again befor alle the druids shuffled out of the room. 

Arrhur stood up, and also made to leave the room: "Gwaine, Elyan. Please take Merlin back to my rooms or Gaius chambers. Stay with him. He is to stay there."

He could feel Merlins eyes on his back, but didn't turn to him. He needed to see his council.

Merlin stayed behind with the two knights, looking after Leon and his king. He should have definitely told Arthur about the whole Emrys thing beforhand. 

Since he didn't have much of a choice but also didn't want to be alone he headed to Gaius. His friends walking with him, not behind and infront of him like guards but at his side. 

When they arrived, Gaius took one look at him before putting him and the knights to work. 

The whole day passed brewing potions, sorting herbs, cleaning up, mixing salves. 

It was in the late afternoon when all of them were summoned to the front balkony of the castle. The one that Arthur used to talk to his people. 

When they arrived Arthur was already there and talking to Lord Vayren. He looked up as they arrived and nodded at them.

Shortly after he stepped out onto the balcony. 

The late sun was casting a golden edge around his figure. He raised his hands, and the crowd below fell into silence.

“Yesterday,” Arthur began, his voice carrying clear and steady, “you all bore witness to a horrific sight. I want to assure you that both I and the accused, Merlin, are alive and well. Our physician has tended to us.”

He let the murmurs ripple before continuing. “Merlin has remained confined until now. It is the judgment of myself and my council that he has suffered enough. He will be officially pardoned of all accusations.”

The crowd stirred again, but Arthur’s voice grew stronger. “Today I met with leaders of the druids. They spoke of their people’s chosen representative. As the druids are a great part of our realm and of magic itself, I will honor their choice. Tomorrow, their representative will be formally appointed as Camelot’s Court Sorcerer.”

He turned then, meeting Merlin’s wide eyes. “Please, step forward—Merlin Emrys of Ealdor.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, the name echoing against the stone. Merlin stood frozen, heart pounding, until Arthur turned back with a small, steady smile and held out his hand.

And Merlin took it.

Chapter Text

Love and destiny often appear as two separate forces, yet they are deeply intertwined. Destiny is the map we cannot fully read, the quiet thread running through our lives, while love is the moment we realize that someone else’s presence feels written into our own story. Some claim love is mere chance, a fortunate accident of time and place, but others feel it is the hand of destiny, guiding two lives toward an inevitable meeting. Perhaps both are true: destiny provides the stage, but love is the act that gives it meaning.

Love defies calculation; it cannot be weighed like choices or measured like time. It is the sudden clarity in chaos, the feeling that the universe has conspired to place two hearts together. Yet even if destiny draws people close, it is love that must be chosen, nurtured, and lived. The path of destiny may open the door, but only love has the courage to step through it.

In this way, love becomes the most human response to fate. We cannot control the silent currents of destiny, but we can embrace them with openness, tenderness, and trust. Love is not simply found—it is created in the meeting of two souls willing to see each other as part of a larger design.

☆♥︎☆

Merlin’s hands were clammy with sweat. He twirled a piece of his clothing between his fingers.

He hadn’t been this nervous in forever.

It was strange, really. He had faced death more times than he could count. He had watched kingdoms burn, fought off creatures from legend, and carried secrets heavier than stone. But this? This simple act of walking forward, of saying words he had spoken in dreams a thousand times before—it felt like the hardest thing he had ever done.

Behind him, Gwaine chuckled quietly, catching Merlin’s fidgeting. “You’re going to tear that sleeve clean off if you keep twisting it.”

Merlin shot him a glare, though his lips betrayed the twitch of a smile. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m not supposed to,” Gwaine grinned, leaning casually against the wall, as if this were any other day. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t faint before you even get to the altar. Imagine Arthur’s face if you did.”

Merlin groaned. “Don’t even joke about that.”

Yet the thought slipped unbidden into his mind: Arthur waiting out there, proud and radiant, more king than ever but also more human than anyone Merlin had ever known. Two years had passed since the druids had bowed and called him Emrys, two years since Arthur had lifted his hand before all of Camelot and named him Court Sorcerer. The world had changed since then, slowly, almost tenderly. Magic was no longer whispered in shadows. The druids came and went freely through the gates. Even the common folk had learned that enchantments were not monsters in disguise, but simply another craft, another way of living.

And through it all, Arthur had stood firm. With him.

Merlin’s heart stuttered at the thought. The sleeve of his robe was well on its way to being wrung in half when the door opened and Leon stepped in.

“It’s time,” Leon said gently. His voice carried that steady calm Merlin had always relied on.

Merlin swallowed hard. His throat felt dry, his chest tight. He nodded.

Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder. “Go on then, Emrys. Try not to trip.”

Merlin muttered something very un-sorcerer-like under his breath, which only made Gwaine laugh louder, but he moved forward nonetheless. His steps felt heavy, as if every memory of the years behind him pressed into the soles of his feet: the long nights by the fire in Gaius’s chambers, the endless lies and near-reveals, the pain of watching Arthur walk blind to what was right beside him. And now—now all of that had led to this.

The doors opened.

Light flooded in, spilling like gold over the floor. The courtyard had been transformed for the occasion. Bright banners hung from the walls, flowers twined through the stone railings. The air was alive with music, not grand or overwhelming, but warm, carrying the laughter and celebration of the people who had gathered.

And there he was.

Arthur.

He stood at the end of the aisle, dressed in regal finery but looking, to Merlin’s eyes, unbearably familiar. The same unruly blond hair, the same stubborn tilt of his chin, the same piercing blue eyes that had once glared at him across training fields and council chambers. Only now they were softened, warmed with something no crown could ever diminish.

For a moment, the noise of the crowd faded. There was only Merlin and Arthur, and the unshakable truth that bound them together: everything they had endured had brought them here.

Merlin walked. His legs felt shaky, his palms damp, but he kept moving. Every step lighter than the last, as if with each one, a little more of the burden he had carried fell away.

When he reached Arthur, he let out a shaky laugh. “You look ridiculous,” he whispered, just loud enough for Arthur to hear.

Arthur smirked, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not exactly holding yourself together either. You’re pale as a ghost.”

“Thanks,” Merlin muttered, though the corner of his mouth lifted anyway.

The officiant’s voice rose, solemn and steady, carrying across the courtyard. He spoke of unity, of choice, of bonds stronger than blood or fate. Merlin heard the words distantly, like the echo of something he had always known. His focus was on Arthur—the weight of his gaze, the steadiness in his hand as their fingers brushed, the unspoken conversation that passed between them with every heartbeat.

When it came time to speak, Merlin’s voice trembled at first, but he forced the words out. “I have stood beside you through battles, through trials, through fire and fear. And every time, I thought I would lose you, but I never did. I will keep standing beside you, Arthur, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Arthur’s eyes softened, the mask of the king slipping for a moment to reveal the man beneath. His voice was firm, clear, carrying the weight of truth. “You’ve always been there, Merlin, even when I didn’t see it, even when I didn’t deserve it. You’ve been my strength, my conscience, my friend—and more than that. I cannot imagine ruling without you, or living without you. Today, I promise I never will.”

The crowd was silent, breath held in reverence. And then, as the vows were sealed and their hands bound together with a strip of cloth embroidered in both Camelot’s crest and the druids’ knot, a cheer erupted.

It rolled through the courtyard like thunder, joyous and unrestrained. Knights clashed their swords against their shields, peasants lifted their children high, druids and villagers alike called blessings into the air.

Merlin blinked against the sting in his eyes. Arthur’s hand tightened around his.

The kiss that followed was not dramatic, not staged for spectacle. It was simple, tender, and utterly real. For a moment, all of Camelot bore witness not to a king and his sorcerer, but to two men who had chosen each other despite everything.

The celebration stretched long into the evening. Tables were laden with food, laughter rang out in every corner, and music wove through the air like a spell of its own. Gwaine was already halfway drunk and loudly insisting on teaching a group of druids a particularly raucous tavern song. Elyan and Leon watched on with exasperated fondness. Gwen, radiant in her gown, pulled Merlin into a fierce embrace at one point and whispered, “About time,” into his ear before kissing his cheek.

Arthur laughed more freely than Merlin had ever heard him. The weight of the crown seemed, for once, to rest lightly on his head.

As night fell and stars kindled above, Merlin found himself standing at the edge of the courtyard, breathing in the cool air. He needed a moment to let it all sink in.

Arthur found him there, slipping up beside him without a word. They stood in silence for a while, side by side, the murmur of the festivities fading into the distance.

Finally, Arthur spoke. “Do you ever think about how close we came to missing this?”

Merlin huffed a laugh. “Every day.”

Arthur turned to him then, eyes serious. “I don’t ever want to go back to that. To the lies, the fear, the distance. Not with you.”

“You won’t have to,” Merlin said softly. “We’ve both come too far for that.”

Arthur reached for his hand. Their fingers twined, and in that simple gesture was every promise they had ever made, every battle they had ever fought, every choice that had led them here.

Above them, the stars shone bright and unyielding. The same stars that had watched over their struggles now bore witness to their peace.

For the first time in years, Merlin felt truly at home.

And as Arthur leaned closer, their foreheads touching in quiet intimacy, Merlin thought that perhaps hope was not just a fragile thing after all. Perhaps it was the strongest magic of all—the kind that built kingdoms, healed wounds, and bound two souls together across lifetimes.

He closed his eyes, breathed in, and let the moment settle into eternity.