Chapter Text
Merlin throws himself into a great pile of leaves on the side of the path. He breathes in the hearty smell of rotting leaves and rolls onto his back. Gwen is struggling to control her smile.
“Merlin,” she admonishes, “we’ve got to go.”
“They won’t miss us if we stay out here a little longer,” Merlin says, stretching. The sun is warm, a pleasant heat on his skin amid the cool air of autumn.
“I don’t know….”
“Gwen.”
She huffs and throws herself into the leaves beside him, dropping a few on Merlin’s face. He laughs.
“That’s better.”
“How’s Morgana feeling?” Merlin asks.
“She’s had better days,” Gwen responds. She grimaces. “She’s sleeping even less. She’s sad so much of the time.”
Merlin can’t help but think of when she ran off to the druid camp and he’d brought her back. His chest hurts at the thought of being in her position, at the fact that he can’t do anything to comfort her, not really.
“Maybe we should try and cheer her up,” Merlin suggests. “What about a picnic, before it gets too cold? We can get her favorite cakes from the kitchens—oh! What about going on a trip somewhere?”
“Where would we take her?” Gwen asks.
“Anywhere,” Merlin grins. “Getting out of Camelot for a while might be nice.”
“For you or for her?” she teases.
“I wouldn’t mind leaving Arthur’s smelly socks behind for a while.”
“Wouldn’t Arthur come with us?” Gwen asks. “Uther wouldn’t let her go without at least a few knights, or Arthur.”
Merlin makes a face.
“I suppose he can come.”
“He’ll be thrilled he has your approval, Merlin,” Gwen giggles. She rises up from the leaves and shakes a few out of her hair. “We ought to go back. It’s nearly time for dinner.”
“Yeah,” he agrees.
Merlin carefully bundles up the herbs and flowers they collected that afternoon. They make their way back slowly, just as the sun starts to set. When they get closer to Camelot, Merlin feels in the air that something isn’t quite right. He pauses.
“What is it?” Gwen asks.
“Something’s—it’s a little quiet, don’t you think?”
The streets of the lower town are hushed, rather than quiet. No, the silence is definitely uncomfortable, unwelcome. The closer they get to the courtyard, the more Merlin feels like the gaping pit in his stomach might swallow him whole. Gwen must notice it; she latches onto his arm and they walk up the hill together.
Just within the courtyard, they find the crowd, still silenced, and mostly unmoving. On the balcony, Uther rustles about. He scans the crowd, then turns away and walks inside with Arthur on his heels.
Merlin is about to comment on how Arthur looks a little unwell when he sees just what happened.
They’re taking down the gallows. The rope slung over the top goes lax and one of the executioners catches the body, dropping it on the platform with a careless thump. Merlin starts to move through the crowd, his lips pressed tightly together, to keep himself from being sick.
He knows he’ll never get used to this, no matter how long he’ll be in Camelot under Uther’s laws. Sometimes he wakes in the night in a sweat, shaking, feeling like he’s coming apart, like fire burns under his skin and rents him into a million pieces, and he just can’t get it out. He waits it out, but the fire fades to embers. It never truly goes out. He knows it’s always there, waiting for him in case he slips up. Worse is when he’s actually on a pyre in his dreams and Arthur’s tying him up there.
It’s one of his greatest fears, other than—
Morgana appears out of nowhere.
“Merlin,” she hisses through a frail smile, her fingers digging into his arms. “Come with me.”
“Er. All right?”
She’s turning him around when he glances back. The crowd seems to part for him, and he sees her on the platform, her eyes half-open, her neck broken and already mottled with bruises. Her mouth is almost puckered into a kiss that should be on Merlin’s cheek, not stained red with blood. Some of it dribbles down her chin on and drips onto the platform.
“No.”
He’s moving, and then he’s not. Morgana is calling out to Gwen. People are shifting all around him, he thinks, but Merlin doesn’t see any of it. Morgana’s hand on his upper arm is an anchor, but he’s struggling. He’s reaching, and he thinks he might be shouting. He knows he’s crying, but how can he not? He feels like he’s on fire. He wishes he were on fire.
Then it’s dark and cold, like the walls of the castle, and the earth is shaking. He knows he’s not there, mere feet away from her body cursorily covered with a white cloth, her clothes still dirty from working Ealdor’s fields, but she’s all he sees.
Merlin tears out of Morgana’s grip, only to meet a wall. The ground shakes harder. He slides down, and hears glass shattering. Some shards swipe across his face, and it’s refreshing, like rain.
Slowly, he starts to breathe again. He exhales and exhales, and he can’t stop crying, and he’s hoping if he blows all the air out of his body, maybe he’ll stop the pain. When he does manage to stop, he’s free of it, but he feels the hole it rent in him. It wants him. It wants his whole self. What a demanding thing it is, his grief, taking him over with almost supernatural precision.
He opens his eyes and sees the rubble and glass around him. Morgana is sitting a few feet away, curled up against the opposite wall. She’s watching him warily, a shard of glass in her hand outstretched like a knife.
“You have magic,” she whispers. Merlin looks around. He doesn’t feel scared or worried. He doesn’t feel anything at all, so he nods.
“I do.”
“I won’t tell.”
“I know you won’t,” Merlin said evenly. The look of pity on Morgana’s face is almost angering. Almost. Merlin sighs.
“I’m sorry you had to see this,” he says, waving vaguely at the mess.
“Don’t be. It’s all right to be scared and angry,” she says. She moves a few pieces of glass out of the way and edges closer to him. “You deserve to be.”
Merlin shakes his head.
“I need to go get Arthur’s dinner,” Merlin states. He stands up and offers Morgana a hand. He looks around. “I should fix this.”
He waves a hand, ignoring Morgana watching him raptly, and in moments it’s as if Merlin’s grief never happened. It’s still raining, though. Lightning still lights up the sky between clouds warring like knights in a tournament. Morgana still watches him.
“Thanks for helping, my lady,” Merlin murmurs. He pushes his hands into his pockets and walks away. Morgana lets him.
He wishes there’s another way to get to Arthur’s chambers than through the courtyard, but there isn’t. Thankfully, it’s empty and there’s not a trace of the execution there. Merlin wonders where Gaius is. He wonders what the hell happened in those few hours when he’d been out with Gwen.
Merlin pauses, balancing the tray with one hand to wipe at his eyes and steady his breathing. He peers around the corner and catches a flash of his mother dead on the platform in his mind’s eye. He exhales and walks on.
He knocks at Arthur’s door and gets a quiet, “Enter.” Merlin closed the door softly and puts Arthur food on the table wordlessly. Arthur doesn’t look up from his papers.
“You can go.”
Merlin makes to leave.
“Merlin?”
He turns. Arthur’s face is pale and drawn. He looks confused.
“I sent word that you didn’t need to work tonight,” he says, frowning.
“I didn’t get the message,” Merlin says. His voice comes out steady. He prides himself in that accomplishment silently. Arthur stands up and crosses the room to where he stands.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Truly.”
“What happened?” he asks. He counts the number of flagstones under their feet.
“Merlin, are you—are you okay?”
He looks at Arthur then. Whatever Arthur planned to say next visibly dies on his lips. He sighs, hunches, and shakes his head. Arthur’s hand rests on his shoulder and gives him a light shake. It’s probably supposed to console him.
“Go rest. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“Do you really think I can rest without knowing why your father executed my mother?”
Arthur recoils and bites into his lip. He blinks rapidly.
“No.”
“Tell me, and I’ll go.”
“Merlin—”
“Tell me, or I’m leaving, and I won’t come back,” Merlin says. He knows some part of him doesn’t mean it, but most of him does. Arthur clearly sees it.
“Someone tipped off a patrol by the border that a woman was using sorcery,” Arthur says. “They brought her in with evidence. Gaius—Gaius couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Did you?”
“Merlin.”
“Did you even try?”
“Of course I did! Your mother was a good woman. I fought my father on it until the last second,” Arthur says, shaking. Hell, the whole room seems to be shaking. “What kind of person do you take me for if you think I didn’t at least try?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Merlin says. His anger recedes into the hole, but its embers still smolder. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
“I wish I could’ve saved her,” Arthur says. His eyes are wet. Merlin turns away, backs up a few steps. When he looks at him again, Arthur’s whole body is tense, coiled, ready to move, but his face speaks volumes, and it’s like Merlin’s looking in a mirror.
“It’s not your fault,” Merlin says. He knows Arthur’s mind is half on his own mother, that maybe he’s upset about this on the surface, but at the end of the day he’s always mourning her, always wishing he hadn’t killed her. He’s not really upset about what happened that day, the dark hole says. Merlin nods.
“It—”
“It’s not. You did everything you could,” Merlin says. He folds his hands behind his back. “If that’s everything, I’d like to go speak to Gaius.”
Merlin’s hand is on the door before Arthur’s voice cuts through the silence.
“Merlin,” he says. He turns around. Something shifts, and he says, “Your job is safe. I made sure of it. And… I’ll do anything to make sure you’re comfortable.”
Merlin nods, hoping it conveys thanks. He sighs, and he leaves.
She’s on the table in Gaius’s chambers when he arrives. Gaius is sitting silently beside her. Merlin loses it again. He’s not quite angry anymore, but he’s suddenly overwhelmed with feeling when he’d been so devoid of it since leaving Morgana’s company. Gaius holds onto him as he cries, and when he pulls back, Gaius looks like he doesn’t have the energy left in him to cry.
“My boy,” he says, broken.
“We need to bury her,” he states, rising from his seat.
“Uther was good enough to let us keep her body.”
Merlin scoffs. “I don’t want to hear Uther and good in the same sentence,” he says. Gaius says nothing. Merlin pulls out a few large sheets and starts wrapping up her body.
“You’re going now?”
“As good a time as any,” Merlin grunts, heaving her into his arms. He whispers a spell and she’s much easier to carry. Gaius doesn’t move.
“I can’t,” he says. “Merlin, I can’t.”
Merlin understands. He lets Gaius close the door behind him.
He meets Gwen on the way out of the citadel. She nearly hugs him, but she can’t quite get around the body in his arms. So she walks with him out of Camelot for the second time that day, not saying a word, tears quietly filling her eyes. Her presence is enough for him.
Merlin considers going all the way to Ealdor, but he knows he won’t make it back in time for breakfast. He can’t stand the thought of her being far from him, not now. So he buries her in the Darkling Wood, marking the grave, even though those condemned as sorcerers were not legally allowed the honor. He puts her in a place he knows he’ll see it, right by where he often goes to collect herbs for Gaius.
“She was framed,” Merlin says eventually. Gwen looks up at him. “I know it. She never used magic. She never had magic to use.”
Gwen doesn’t reply. She’s surely remembering what happened to her father not too long ago. Merlin’s head hangs, his eyes fixed on the grave marker.
“I’ll find who did this,” Merlin says.
“I—”
“Don’t. Please don’t tell me it’s a bad idea. I already know,” Merlin says with a tiny laugh. Gwen’s sad composure doesn’t crack.
“It won’t solve anything.”
“It will if they mean ill to others. This wasn’t random. I know it.”
“Merlin….”
“I won’t be stupid about it,” he vows. Gwen wraps her arms around him and hugs him close. Her hair smells sweet and nice. “I won’t do anything until I know for sure.”
“Promise?”
He nods.
“Good.”
They go back to Camelot in almost total silence. She apologizes for not being there when he saw; Morgana apparently had her go find Arthur and let him know that he’d seen. Merlin thanks her softly and kisses the top of her head when they part ways.
Merlin goes about the next week as he usually does, minus talking. He can’t find anything to say, really, and it unnerves Arthur, but not in an amusing way. Arthur’s quiet, too, and he walks on eggshells around him. It starts to anger him. It’s as if he thinks he’s to blame. Merlin knows that’s not the case—Uther’s to blame, he’s always to blame—but some small part of him starts to sour and curdle around Arthur.
The days grow cold, but Merlin’s still out on the pitch with Arthur and his knights. He watches, and in that time he can almost forget about what happened. This is something normal. This is steady and unchanging, the clanging of swords, the grunts and the gasps when someone lands a blow. Arthur always comes out victorious, but it’s not quite right; he doesn’t look at Merlin like he always does when he wins and beams. He glances, and his smile strains. He works his knights even harder.
Merlin avoids Morgana at all costs. He decides it’s instinct. But then Gwen corners him after he weasels out of three separate requests from Morgana to see her in her chambers.
“Morgana loves the idea of getting away for a little while. She’s spoken to Uther and he’s agreed to it,” Gwen explains.
“Er.”
“You’re not getting out of this,” Gwen warns. “Arthur already knows, apparently.”
“Great,” Merlin mutters.
“Is he… are you both okay?” she asks.
“Fine, I guess.”
Gwen purses her lips, meaning she clearly doesn’t believe him. Merlin can’t be bothered about it.
“Morgana wants you to come by for dinner tonight. I wouldn’t turn her down,” Gwen says. Merlin nods, says he’ll be there, and he grins. He can’t exactly worm out of this now. “Are you all right?”
“Not really,” Merlin says, “but I’ll be okay.”
His dreams feature his mother more than anything now. He burns with her. Merlin doesn’t get much sleep these days, and when he does, he wakes up feeling worse than before, like he’s slid a little further down the hole.
Merlin sits in Arthur’s chambers and polishes his armor while Arthur attends a meeting with Uther. He’s meticulous. He takes his time. The last thing he wants is for Arthur not to be protected from his assailants, even if they’re just his knights during training.
“Merlin!”
He looks up as Arthur storms into the room, stripping off his jacket as he walks.
“I need a bath,” he says.
“You’ve come from a meeting, not training,” Merlin frowns.
“I still need a bath,” he grits out. “Go.”
Merlin rolls his eyes and leaves the armor behind. When he returns, Arthur’s nowhere to be found. He fills the basin up and heats the water with his magic. He pokes at the fire and makes a show of warming up one more bucket of water over the flames.
Arthur returns and silently strips away his clothes. He gets into the bath and soaks for a long time before speaking up.
“Hand me the soap,” he says. Merlin obeys. He grabs Merlin’s wrist. “Sit. There’s something I want to discuss.”
“While you’re bathing?” Merlin retorts. He pulls up a chair next to the basin anyway.
“Shut up, Merlin. I hear you’re dining with Morgana once I’m done with you, so I figure now’s the best time,” he says, his voice tight.
“What is it?”
“I wanted to know how you’re doing. Coping,” he clarifies. Merlin lets out an angry sound, visibly startling Arthur.
“Why does everyone keep asking? I’m fine. I’m doing my job, aren’t I?”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Arthur says.
“You? Worried about me?”
“I never said that,” he says hastily. Merlin knows he’s wearing a silly grin, but he can’t help it. Arthur splashes water at him. “Hey!”
“You deserved it.”
“Prat.”
“You can’t call me that,” he says, even though he’s laughing.
“Prince Prat, my lord,” Merlin corrects. He suddenly finds he can’t quite stop laughing. It hurts his whole body, especially his stomach and his face. Arthur seems vaguely pleased.
“It wasn’t that funny,” he says.
“Not really,” Merlin admits.
“We’re going on a trip, I hear,” Arthur goes on. “Morgana wants a change of scenery. Uther’s letting her go on the condition that I accompany her.”
“It was my idea,” Merlin says brightly. Arthur splashes him again. “Augh! Quit that!”
“We’re leaving at dawn the day after tomorrow, so you’ll need to pack for us soon,” he says.
“Where are we going?”
“Morgana’s deciding, apparently,” Arthur says, pulling a face. “God help us all.”
“How is your father okay with just letting us go?”
“Morgana has her ways,” he says, shaking his head. “She’s a terror. Why are you dining with her, anyway?”
Merlin nearly drops the cloth in his hands into the tub. Arthur smirks.
“Not sure,” he hastily responds. “It’s probably got to do with the trip.”
“Right.”
“Why does it sound like you don’t believe me?”
“I don’t,” Arthur says cheerfully. “You’re a terrible liar, Merlin.”
He snorts at that.
“Get the cloth, will you? Then get my dinner and you’ll be free to go,” Arthur says, rising from the water. Merlin turns away and hands the cloth to him; he slips out before Arthur’s finished drying himself off.
Out in the corridor, he feels the weight settle back on his shoulders. Perhaps that’s why he’s been keeping to Arthur’s chambers so much—in spite of the awkward tension between them, Arthur is still a comfort to him, still a little bit of hope he can nurture. He’s clinging to it, as always, but out in the cold corridor, he feels like it’s slipping further away with every day.
The hole in him isn’t getting smaller, Merlin realizes. He’s only getting better at hiding it. He hopes he’ll figure out a way to stopper it up soon.
Morgana welcomes him graciously like any lady of the court, even though he’s just a servant. There’s a slight quiver in her smile, though, that betrays the grace of her movements. Gwen is arranging a vase of fresh flowers on a table when he arrives. She smiles at him.
“That’ll be all, Gwen,” she says. Gwen nods and leaves. “I told her we can manage on our own tonight.”
“Of course,” he says. He thinks he’ll end up serving, as a servant should, but Morgana means it. She takes care of herself and lets Merlin do the same. They sit around the corner of the table nearest the window and eat quietly. Merlin hasn’t had a proper meal from the kitchens in a long time. It’s almost too good.
“I want you to teach me magic,” Morgana says, once she sets her fork down. Merlin chokes on the pork. She hands him his cup of watered wine and waits patiently.
“You want what?” he coughed.
“Teach me. You’re powerful; I felt it. Merlin, I’ve never felt anything like that,” she says, leaning closer, lowering her voice. “It was terrifying, but I can’t feel it now. You hide it so well.”
“It’s all I am,” he says, and she seems to understand. She sits back.
“Please, Merlin. I don’t have anyone else.”
“Uther could find out,” Merlin says. “I’d lose my head before he’d even clap you in chains.”
Morgana’s hopeful glint sobered.
“I know. It’s a terrible risk I’m asking you to take,” she says, “but you’re here, in Camelot. Why on earth would you come here?”
“I… couldn’t stay in Ealdor anymore. I didn’t fit in,” he said, shifting in his seat. “My mum wanted me to find someone who could help me control my magic, so she sent me to Gaius.”
He’s surprised at how calm he sounds, talking about her. Morgana softens.
“Gaius… doesn’t want me to help you,” Merlin adds. She frowns. “He fears what Uther would do if he learned about your magic.”
“Don’t we all,” she mutters.
“Will you let me consider it?” Merlin asks. She looks up. “I don’t know much. I’ve got a book… but I just make things up. I never used real spells until I came here. Everything was instinct.”
“How long have you been able to do this?”
“Since I was born.”
Morgana looks sufficiently awed. Merlin starts to smile. He’s never seen her like this, humbled, happy, hopeful. It’s so different from the way she’s been the entire time he’s been in Camelot. This Morgana isn’t quite so angry and scared.
“I’ll help you,” he blurts. “I’ll do it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
She takes his hand in hers and squeezes, sending a bright shock right through him. He grins even more widely.
“There’s one more thing—I was planning on using it as a bargaining chip, but since there’s no need….”
She stands and retrieves a folded piece of paper from within her drawers. Morgana hands it to Merlin. It’s a map with a few marks on it, and there’s a scrap of paper in the folds with Morgana’s writing on it.
“I copied it from the patrol report. That’s where they found the man who reported your mother, and that’s how they described him,” Morgana says, pointing. She moves her finger to a castle on the map about half a day’s walk from the first spot. “That’s where we’ll be going.”
Abruptly, Merlin understands.
“We’re going to find him,” she says with steely conviction. “He’ll pay for what he did. We’ll be there for two weeks, so we’ll have plenty of time to track him down.”
Plenty of time to kill him, she means.
“I don’t know about this,” he starts.
“Don’t you at least want to know why?”
“Of course, but—”
“I don’t see the problem here,” Morgana says. “I’d want the man dead if I were you.”
“It’s not that I don’t, it’s just… it’s done, isn’t it? What good will killing him do?”
“It’ll do you good,” Morgana states. “If you do it, do it for yourself. Not for me or anyone else. Like you said, if you do it for your mother, it won’t help or harm her. It’s only going to affect you, so it might as well be for you.”
“We can look into it, I suppose,” Merlin says tentatively. “But if I decide to stop, we stop. Okay?”
Morgana smirks. “Yes, sir.”
“Can you tell me what you know?”
That small part of him that liked the idea of finding and killing the man, the part that had been so vocal and strong in the first few days following the execution—by the time Morgana was finished regaling him with the information she’d wheedled out of Uther and from the knights for him (for him!), that small part was not so small. It was overwhelming, and when Merlin left her chambers, he didn’t feel like there was any other way to satisfy that small part of him, to stopper up that gaping, hungry hole, than to find the bastard and let him feel his pain.
It’s startlingly simple, in the end. They spend two frustrating weeks sneaking off to the town, questioning locals, tracking down leads. In the meantime, Arthur hunts, dragging Merlin with him every time. He nearly pushes Merlin into a stream once, which could have resulted in hypothermia or worse, but Arthur only laughed, illuminated by the bright, bleak sunlight. They eat a lot of good food and drink plenty of wine. They spend many nights talking by the fire, their tongues loosened by alcohol, warm and comfortable. For the first time since Hunith’s death, Merlin feels entirely happy and at ease with Arthur, and Arthur is in the best mood Merlin’s observed in weeks.
The fruitlessness of the search is disheartening, though, so that Merlin and Morgana are equally perturbed and sullen when they depart for Camelot. Arthur and Gwen are too content with the world to notice. On their way back when they stop to rest somewhere do they hear whispers of the man’s name. Morgana’s head jumps up from her dinner, and Merlin’s already on his feet, excusing himself. Morgana follows shortly afterwards.
“The Willow Inn, yes?” she says when she finds him loitering around the corner of the tavern. Merlin peers back in through the window; Arthur and Gwen both look bewildered, but they laugh at something and go back to their food, smiling again. Arthur’s smile is stunning when it’s directed at Gwen. Merlin turns back to Morgana.
He thinks his blood is on fire. He digs his nails into his palms to steady himself.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Her hand is on the knife at her waist. She hands another one to Merlin as they make their way down the street. All Morgana needs to do is ask for information and it’s handed to her on a silver platter. They don’t even need to resort to bribery this time.
He’s staying in Room Four upstairs, they learn. Merlin is calm when they open the door. The man is at the desk, scribbling a note. He turns at the sound and makes for the window. Merlin slams it shut with his magic and locks the door.
“You’re one of Kanen’s men,” he realizes.
“Hunith’s boy.”
Merlin throws the knife, just like Morgana taught him, and lets it hover at the man’s throat. He backs him up against the wall before walking up to him.
“Was it revenge?” he asks.
“We’re all broke because of you and her,” he spits. “Of course it was bloody revenge.”
Merlin grabs the knife and cuts his throat without a moment’s hesitation.
“You’ll be familiar with the idea, then,” he says belatedly. He steps back and wipes the blood off of his hands on the man’s shirt. It’s all over so fast, it’s almost disappointing.
“You could’ve found out more from him,” Morgana says, startling him out of his thoughts.
“I wanted it over.”
“But—”
“No, Morgana. There’s no honor in drawing this out,” Merlin says. She purses her lips, holding back what’s surely a surly retort. What does a servant know of honor?
“We should go,” Morgana eventually says.
Merlin nods, not ready to look away from the corpse. Merlin’s gaze rests on the knife in his hand. The blood is virulent red in the dim light. It almost seems to pulse as the candlelight wavers.
“How do you feel?”
“The same, but… different.”
Disconnected.
Merlin stops her. “Throw the knife at the wall and stop it with your magic,” he says. She’s tried it before a handful of times, but never with a knife. She hesitates. He gentles the grip on her wrist. “Trust your magic. It won’t hurt you. It’s not a bad thing.”
She lets out a slow breath. Her face darkens.
“Uther’s teachings aren’t easy to forget,” she says tightly.
“I know.”
She throws it with a tiny snarl and stops it hardly a hair from the wall. It hovers weakly before falling to the ground. Merlin beams.
“Great job!”
“I have a good teacher,” she says kindly. “It helps, seeing you do magic. I can feel what it’s supposed to feel like.”
Morgana loops her arm through Merlin’s and leads him out. They close the door behind them and leave the inn. No on stops them. Merlin doesn’t bother cleaning off his knife; it’s a good weight at his side, and somehow it’s comforting having evidence that it was done.
He still feels different, but he doesn’t know why. Morgana is happy, though. Morgana is happier than Merlin has ever known her, and it’s because of him. He’s proud of that.
Gwen and Arthur are gone from the tavern when they return, so they retire. Arthur is just getting into bed.
“Where’ve you been?” he demands, whirling around at the sound of the door opening and the floorboards creaking under his weight.
“Walking.”
“At this hour?”
Merlin shrugs. He removes his jacket and wraps the knife in it with his back turned to Arthur.
“With Morgana?”
He shrugs again. Arthur lets out an exasperated sound.
“Merlin,” he says. “I know you’ve got a bit of a crush on Morgana, but this is getting inappropriate. She’s got claws. You’re asking to be ripped apart.”
Merlin has to laugh at that.
“It’s not—I don’t fancy her!”
“Sure you don’t.”
“I don’t. I don’t—”
He stops himself. He’s already strange enough in Arthur’s eyes. Sure, Morgana is beautiful and he feels attracted to her, but he’s only ever truly felt anything for men. He doesn’t think Arthur would understand, so he shuts his mouth and gets ready to sleep.
“Hang on.”
Arthur’s out of bed and grabbing Merlin before he can stop him.
“Hey!”
“Is that blood?”
He points at a dark patch on Merlin’s outer thigh—where he’d carelessly rubbed his hand earlier. Then Arthur’s prodding at the spot; it comes away damp.
“Are you okay?” he asks. He fixes his bright blue eyes on Merlin, searching for something. The tension in his mouth makes him look worried.
Merlin’s stunned into silence.
“Talk, Merlin!”
“I’m fine!” he bursts. “Why don’t any of you believe me when I say that?”
Arthur stiffens. They’re not talking about the blood anymore, apparently.
“Your mother died,” Arthur says. Merlin bristles. “You’re not fine, no matter how much you pretend.”
“I am! I am.”
“I don’t believe you,” he drawls.
“You should. I am.”
“Now?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you and Morgana have been randomly leaving this whole time we’ve been out here! Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“You mean Gwen noticed, and she told you,” Merlin interjected. Arthur’s face was red and angry now.
“You’re—you’re insufferable.”
“That’s new.”
“Merlin! I’m trying—”
“What? You’re trying to what?”
Arthur stops short.
“I’m trying to help.”
“That time’s passed,” he hears himself say. The hurt that crosses Arthur’s face almost makes Merlin take it back, but he doesn’t. He holds his ground. “I get you couldn’t do anything about it, but I can’t just stand by. I had to do something.”
“You found the informant?” Arthur asks.
Merlin nods. No use lying about it now.
“And, what?”
“He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes. You know what that word means.”
“You killed him?”
“He’s not the first person I’ve killed,” Merlin says simply. He slips away from Arthur and climbs into bed before he can do anything else. He looked over his shoulder. Arthur’s just standing, not having moved. He looks even more upset than he did when they’d talked on the day his mother died.
Merlin rolls over and closes his eyes, his heart thumping noisily in his chest. Arthur blows the candle out. The bed next to him creaks and sags, but Arthur says nothing more.
After they return to Camelot, Merlin takes to teaching Morgana magic in the privacy of her chambers often enough to warrant suspicious looks from Gwen. Arthur doesn’t comment on his increasingly frequent absences since he spends the rest of the time in his chambers anyway. Then again, Arthur doesn’t quite meet his eye anymore. Merlin knows it would have hurt him deeply a few weeks ago, but now his heart is hard as iron. He doesn’t feel it quite the same way.
Morgana progresses rapidly, and the more they practice, the easier her nights become. She actually sleeps, once in a while, even if only for a few hours. Merlin tells Gaius that his most recent concoction is working and he doubles up. He and Morgana end up pouring it out the window every evening and then using the bottles as practice targets.
“Why do you care for Arthur so much?” she asks one day on a particularly cold day in winter. They made several small fires in some of her spare bottles. Merlin lights the fireplace with ease; Morgana’s skills aren’t quite there yet.
“He’s a good man,” he says. “He’ll be the greatest king Albion’s ever known.”
“Do you really believe that? He’s like Uther,” Morgana says.
“He’s not,” Merlin shakes his head. “He’s better than him; you know it. I’m going to show him someday that magic’s nothing to fear.”
“But not any time soon?”
“It’s not right yet,” he says wistfully. “I want to tell him more than anyone.”
“I know,” she says gently. She touches his hand consolingly. They move closer to the fire. “What would he do if he knew about me?”
“He’d… panic first, I think. But he’d be okay with you. He’d want to protect you,” Merlin says. “He loves you like a sister.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“There’s a dragon under the castle. He tells me I’m going to help Arthur be this great king and bring magic back to Camelot.”
“You believe the dragon?”
Merlin grins. He feels better now, after all this time. The fire is starting to thaw the chill at his core. He hands Morgana one of the bottles.
“See if you can get this to your bed,” Merlin instructs. “Focus. Trust your magic.”
She gets it halfway across the room before Arthur’s voice startles them both.
“Merlin!”
He bursts into the room. They’re both on their feet before he reaches them. Arthur looks between them several times.
“What is it, Arthur?” Morgana demands.
“Did something break?” he asks, looking around. He sees the remains of the bottle on the floor behind him.
“Is there something you need?” she asks sweetly.
“Yes. My servant. Merlin, you’re supposed to be dressing me for the banquet tonight,” he growls, dragging Merlin bodily across the room, ignoring all words of protest. He swears he hears Morgana laughing as they leave.
Arthur doesn’t release him until they reach the first empty alcove between Morgana’s chambers and his. He shoves Merlin against the wall and crowds in around him. He hits his head against he stone.
“Ow.”
“Merlin. Whatever’s going on with you and Morgana, it has to stop,” Arthur says in a low voice. He stills. “Gwen says my father’s noticed more than once.”
“What? How?”
“Something about Morgana glowing, looking happy or something,” he says, shaking his head. He makes a disgusted face. “It’s inappropriate. Put an end to it.”
“I already told you! It’s not like that!”
“Then what, do tell, are you doing in there every night?”
Merlin shut his mouth.
“I can’t tell you.”
“You can’t—you can’t tell me? I’m your master. I command it.”
Merlin rolled his eyes and pushed Arthur away.
“Aren’t you going to be late?”
“There is no banquet you buffoon! I made it up! Shows where your mind’s been the last few days,” Arthur shouts. He drags Merlin out of the alcove by the sleeve. “Come on. You’re going to clean all my armor again right now, and I’m going to watch. You’re not dismissed until you’re done.”
“It’s late!”
“Exactly.”
They’re at Arthur’s chambers when it hits him.
“Are you jealous?” Merlin asks. Arthur rounds on him and laughs coldly. It’s an ugly sound, coming from him.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You missed me.”
“I required your services,” he says, pushing his armor into Merlin’s chest. “Now serve.”
“Yes, sire,” Merlin smirks.
He settles into the chair and deliberately takes his time. Every time Arthur starts to nod off, he clangs the metal pieces together and makes a half-hearted apology. Arthur glares before going back to his reading. It’s well into the night when Merlin puts the last shining piece of armor on the table and the rag down beside it. He sits back.
“Finished.”
Arthur glares even harder.
“I meant it, Merlin,” he says. “Whatever you’re doing… stop.”
Merlin’s grin hardens.
“It’s my free time. I can do what I want,” he says.
“What you do in your free time reflects what I allow you to do,” Arthur says insistently, “and if you keep getting caught leaving Morgana’s chambers at hours like this, we’re all going to be miserable.”
“Then I’m not going to get caught anymore.”
“Are you admitting to it?”
“To what?” he asks innocently. “Bedding her?”
Arthur turns scarlet.
“I’m not.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Why don’t you believe me?”
“I’ve seen how you look at her! You’re like every other lovestruck man at court. She’s beautiful. What I don’t understand—”
“Why she’d let me in? Is that it?” Merlin stands up. “No, I don’t think you would.”
“That’s not—”
“No, it is,” Merlin says. He sighs. There’s no use arguing with him. “I’ve told you. It’s not like that. Morgana’s my friend.”
“I don’t—”
“Understand?” Merlin says. “Hardly surprising.”
“Merlin.”
“No, don’t strain yourself, sire. Just go to bed.”
He sets out Arthur’s sleep clothes as he speaks.
“There is a real banquet tomorrow, though; I did remember that,” Merlin adds. “So I’ll have your clothes ready for you with a bath once you’re done with training the knights.”
Arthur’s watching him, like he’s waiting for something, either for Merlin to do something or for his own mouth to say something. Merlin waits. He gives him the opportunity, but Arthur lets it go.
“Good night, Merlin.”
“Night, Arthur.”
They start going out to the Darkling Wood instead, even in the winter. Morgana takes Gwen out for walks sometimes, and Merlin times his herb searches carefully. She’s progressing, getting a better grip on her magic. He watches the darkness disappear from under her eyes every day.
One day Morgana tells him she’ll stay in, to keep Uther happy and off their backs, and he goes out to gather wood with bunch of other people from the lower town. He makes the smoke dance without thinking, and someone sees.
Uther calls in a man called the Witchfinder not a day later.